Chapter 13 #2
Mrs. Norris smiled faintly. "Several times."
"And?"
"Hugh threw a spoon at her."
Pierce closed his eyes briefly. "I see."
"I thought you might."
He opened his eyes and found Mrs. Norris watching him with an expression that was dangerously close to amusement. "You find this entertaining?"
"Not at all, Your Grace," she replied, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her. "I merely find it interesting that Her Grace succeeded where three experienced servants have failed."
Pierce disliked the observation because he knew it was true.
Margaret had somehow understood Hugh in a matter of minutes.
She had spoken to him, laughed with him, and treated him like a little person rather than a delicate problem requiring constant management.
Pierce had spent days trying to ensure his son was protected, fed, dressed, and properly cared for, yet Margaret had accomplished something he could not explain.
He had to tell her. The thought immediately irritated him.
Pierce had never enjoyed admitting that someone else was right, particularly when that someone was a woman who had spent the previous two days pointedly avoiding him.
Margaret would undoubtedly smile that infuriating smile of hers and remind him that she had told him so.
He could already hear her voice, and the anticipation of it stirred something dangerously close to amusement within him.
"Very well," he said at last, reaching for his tea. "I shall speak with her."
Mrs. Norris raised an eyebrow. "About Hugh?"
"About Hugh."
"Of course."
Pierce narrowed his eyes. "Is there something amusing about that?"
"Nothing whatsoever, Your Grace."
He knew that tone. "Mrs. Norris."
She straightened, entirely innocent. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"Go and tell the Duchess that we shall dine together this evening. Tell Margaret that I expect her at dinner."
"Yes, Your Grace."
She turned towards the door, but Pierce stopped her. "And tell her that it is not a request."
Mrs. Norris glanced back over her shoulder. "I shall convey the sentiment."
There was something in her expression that made Pierce suspect his instructions would somehow become considerably less intimidating by the time they reached his wife. He sighed and returned to his correspondence, though the words on the page had suddenly become difficult to concentrate upon.
He had expected marriage to require duty, obedience, and an orderly household. He had not expected Margaret Wilmore to turn every carefully arranged part of his life upside down.
Nor had he expected to find himself looking forward to dinner.
* * *
Margaret was seated before the dressing table, pretending to read a book while thinking about anything but the words upon the page, when a gentle knock sounded at the door.
She looked towards it with immediate suspicion. "Come in," she called.
Mrs. Norris entered with the calm expression of a woman who had never once been intimidated by an angry duke, an irritated duchess, or any other creature possessing a title.
"Your Grace," Mrs. Norris said with a small curtsy, "His Grace has asked that you join him for dinner this evening."
Margaret lowered the book and stared at her. "Has he?" she asked, her tone carrying considerably more displeasure than the simple announcement required.
Mrs. Norris nodded. "He has."
Margaret closed the book with a decisive snap. "Then His Grace may dine with himself. He appears to have managed it perfectly well for most of his life."
Mrs. Norris's lips twitched, but she wisely concealed the smile. "I suspected you might say something of the sort."
Margaret rose and began pacing across the room, her irritation returning with every step.
"He spends two days barely speaking to me, then suddenly sends you to summon me to dinner as though I were one of his footmen.
He could at least have the courtesy to ask me himself.
" She folded her arms, then added bitterly, "Perhaps he has issued a new household rule forbidding direct conversation between husband and wife. "
Mrs. Norris watched her for a moment before speaking more softly. "Your Grace, may I tell you something about His Grace?"
Margaret stopped pacing. "I suppose you are going to tell me that beneath all that arrogance beats a tender heart."
Mrs. Norris smiled. "Not precisely. I was going to tell you that His Grace has always been strict because he never knew anything else."
Margaret's expression changed.
“His mother died when he was still in leading strings,” Mrs. Norris explained, going on to say that Pierce's mother had left him without even clear memories of the woman who should have comforted him.
He had been raised as an heir rather than as a child, surrounded by tutors, lessons, expectations, and constant reminders that duty came before everything else.
"He was taught how to govern an estate, how to conduct himself in society, and how never to show weakness," Mrs. Norris said gently. "No one ever taught him how to be a father, or an affectionate husband."
Margaret's irritation slowly faded. She thought of Pierce standing beside Hugh's cot, holding his son with such fierce protectiveness that it had almost frightened her. Perhaps his rules were not cruelty after all, but fear dressed in the only language he had ever been taught.
She sighed and looked towards the window. "That sounds rather lonely," she admitted.
"It was," Mrs. Norris said simply. Margaret remained quiet for a moment, considering the man she had so readily labelled impossible.
Then she lifted her chin. "Very well. Tell His Grace I accept his invitation."
Mrs. Norris smiled warmly. "I shall, Your Grace."
As the housekeeper left, Margaret glanced at herself in the mirror and muttered, "Though heaven help him if he attempts to make rules about table manners.