Chapter 12
It was evening by the time the last of the guests had departed, and Margaret found herself walking beside Pierce towards the staircase, her hand resting lightly upon his arm.
The wedding breakfast had seemed endless, filled with introductions, congratulations, probing questions, and enough conversation to leave her exhausted, yet none of it had prepared her for the quiet intimacy of being alone with her husband at the end of the day.
Her heart had begun pounding the moment they left the drawing room, and she could not stop herself from wondering.
Will tonight be the night Pierce expects me to fulfil the marriage? We had agreed that it would be a practical arrangement, but what if he has changed his mind? Does he expect consummation?
She glanced towards him and caught the clean, masculine scent of him, and the thought immediately became more troublesome than it had any right to be.
Pierce seemed entirely unaware of the turmoil inside her, or perhaps he was simply very good at pretending. His expression remained composed as they climbed the broad staircase, one hand resting casually behind his back.
"Did you have a pleasant time?" he asked, glancing down at her.
"It was pleasant enough," Margaret replied, attempting to sound indifferent.
"You performed your duties well as duchess," he observed, the faintest amusement touching his voice. "You met all the right people, smiled at all the right moments, and managed not to insult anyone important."
Margaret looked up at him. "I am wounded that you noticed only the last part."
"I noticed everything."
She decided she did not like the sound of that. "It was an exhausting day."
Pierce stopped before a door farther along the corridor. He turned towards her with that maddeningly calm expression and gestured towards it. "We have arrived at your room. Goodnight, Duchess."
Margaret stared at the door, then back at him. "Oh. Yes... Goodnight."
Pierce's brow lifted. "Were you expecting more than me escorting you to your room?"
"No," she replied too quickly. "Of course not."
Unfortunately, her gaze betrayed her by dropping momentarily to his mouth. She cursed herself inwardly. Of all the foolish things she might have done, staring at her husband's lips was surely among the least dignified. Pierce noticed, naturally. The man noticed everything.
He stepped closer.
Margaret's breath caught as he placed one hand against the door beside her and gently closed the distance between them. His other hand settled at her waist, not quite pulling her closer, but near enough that she could feel the warmth of him.
His voice lowered, thickened by restrained desire. "Are you certain about that? Because I would be happy to oblige."
Margaret's heart seemed to leap into her throat. "I..." She swallowed, suddenly very conscious of how little space remained between them. "No. I do not need anything from you."
She lifted a hand to his chest, intending to push him away, but the moment her palm touched him, she forgot what she had meant to do. Beneath the fine fabric of his evening coat, his chest was solid and warm, and her fingers lingered for one treacherous second too long.
Pierce looked down at her hand, then back into her eyes.
The amusement had disappeared from his face.
His gaze travelled slowly over her features, pausing at her eyes before dropping to her lips.
Margaret felt the weight of his attention like a physical touch, and when his eyes lowered briefly towards the curve of her bodice, heat rushed into her cheeks.
She should have moved. She should have removed her hand.
Instead, she remained perfectly still, caught between wanting him to step away and wondering what would happen if he did not.
Pierce seemed to be fighting the same battle. For one breathless moment, neither spoke.
Then he stepped back. "Very well," he said quietly. "Goodnight."
Margaret blinked, scarcely believing him. He straightened his coat, restored his usual composure, and walked down the corridor towards his own chamber without looking back.
She remained where he had left her for several seconds before fumbling with the handle and entering her room. The moment the door closed behind her, she leaned against it and pressed a hand to her racing heart.
"What is wrong with me?" she whispered, staring at the ceiling.
She had spent days convincing herself that Pierce was dangerous, arrogant, moody, and possibly incapable of tenderness. She had promised herself that she would keep her distance and preserve her freedom. Yet the instant he stood too close, all her sensible arguments seemed to vanish.
Margaret covered her face with both hands. "You are a duchess now," she muttered sternly. "Try behaving like one."
The room, unhelpfully, offered no advice.
She lowered her hands and stared at the door through which he had just disappeared. She could still feel the warmth of his chest beneath her palm, and the memory sent another foolish flutter through her stomach.
"Oh, this is going to be a disaster," she murmured.
And for once, Margaret suspected her instincts were entirely correct.
* * *
Pierce had spent the better part of the morning ensuring that the nursery was in perfect order, which was absurd when he considered that Hugh was one year old and therefore entirely incapable of appreciating the distinction between a properly arranged room and one in which a book had been left upon the wrong table.
Nevertheless, Pierce insisted upon order, particularly where his son was concerned. The fire had been lit, the breakfast tray prepared, the nursery aired, and the nanny instructed several times on the precise routine he expected her to follow.
By the time Margaret was due to arrive, Pierce had already inspected everything twice. He told himself it was because the first meeting between his wife and his son mattered. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted everything to go perfectly.
Margaret appeared several minutes later, and Pierce's first thought was that she looked entirely too alluring for eight o'clock in the morning.
Her dark hair had been arranged simply, with a few soft strands framing her face, and the pale morning gown she wore suited her remarkably well.
He stared for half a second longer than was proper before remembering himself.
"You are late," he said instead, his voice deliberately cool.
Margaret paused in the doorway and stared at him. "Good morning to you as well."
"It is nearly ten minutes past eight."
"And I was under the impression that most people were still asleep at this hour," she said.
"Hugh was."
She blinked. "Was?"
Pierce gestured towards the nanny, who stood beside the small table near the window. "He has only just fallen asleep again."
The nanny smiled apologetically. "He took a few bites of breakfast, Your Grace, and then decided he did not want to eat."
Margaret looked at Pierce. Pierce looked at the nanny. The nanny glanced towards the porridge.
"He has inherited your manners," Margaret observed.
Pierce slowly turned his head towards her. "I beg your pardon?"
"He has clearly decided that breakfast is best eaten when he decides to eat it."
The nanny lowered her head, hiding a smile.
Pierce ignored both of them. "How long has he been asleep?"
"Only a few minutes, Your Grace," the nanny replied.
"Then we shall try again tomorrow morning."
Margaret frowned. "Why tomorrow?"
Pierce gave her a measured look. "Because he has only just gone to sleep."
"But surely he shall wake again soon."
"He might."
"Then why can we not wait?"
"Because I have already established the routine."
Margaret folded her arms. "You have established a routine for a baby?"
"A routine is precisely what prevents bad behavior from becoming a habit."
She stared at him as though he had just announced that Hugh was being trained for military service. Pierce had already learned to recognize that expression. Margaret possessed a remarkable talent for making her disagreement obvious without saying a word.
"The mornings will be your time with Hugh," he continued, deciding it was better to explain before she began arguing.
"The nanny will remain with you both, of course.
You will not be expected to manage him alone.
The purpose is to allow him to become accustomed to your presence gradually while you learn his routine and your responsibilities.
The nanny will care for him for the remainder of the day. "
Margaret's brows drew together. "You have planned everything."
"Yes."
"Without consulting me?" She placed her hands on her hips.
"Yes."
"And you believe I shall simply agree?" She threw her hands in the air.
"No," Pierce replied calmly. "I believe you will complain but comply."
She stared at him. He almost smiled.
Margaret turned towards the sleeping child, then back to him. "I find the arrangement unreasonable."
"I do not care."
Her eyes widened. "You do not care?"
"This household is run according to my rules," Pierce said, his tone firm. "You are my wife and the Duchess of Ravenfield, but that does not mean you may arrive here and overturn the systems that have kept this house functioning."
Margaret's lips parted, clearly preparing an answer that Pierce suspected would be considerably less respectful than his position required. He waited.
She finally said, "You are aware that I am not one of your servants?"
"Perfectly."
"Then perhaps you should stop speaking to me as though I am one."
Pierce studied her. There was fire in those dark eyes again, the same stubborn spark he had noticed the night she had entered a smoking room full of gentlemen wearing masks and asked one of them to ruin her. It should have irritated him.
It did not. He chose not to investigate further.
"I am not speaking to you as a servant," he replied. "I am explaining the expectations of your position."
"Then perhaps explain them without ordering me about."
"You are asking for a great deal from a man who has been married to you for one day."
"And you are demanding a great deal from a woman who has been married to you for one day."
Pierce's mouth twitched despite himself.
Margaret noticed. "You find this amusing?"
"A little."
"That is exceedingly rude," she said.
"So I have been told."
She sighed and looked towards Hugh's crib. Her expression softened immediately. "I simply want to meet him properly while he is awake."
Pierce's amusement faded. That, at least, he understood. He had expected resistance, but not because she did not care about Hugh. If anything, Margaret seemed determined to do right by the boy, and that fact had begun to trouble him in ways he had not anticipated.
"You will," he said more quietly. "Tomorrow morning."
She looked back at him. "You promise?"
"I do."
Margaret nodded, though she still appeared dissatisfied. "Very well. But if Hugh throws his breakfast at me tomorrow, I shall consider it a sign that he agrees with me."
Pierce raised a brow. "Then I shall have to teach him better judgement."
Margaret smiled. "Good luck with that, Your Grace."
She turned to leave, and Pierce watched her go for longer than he intended.
His household had been orderly before Margaret arrived.
He was beginning to suspect that order was about to become considerably more difficult to maintain.