Chapter 16
The next morning, Pierce arrived at Boodle’s with an unusual lightness in his step, though he would have denied it if anyone had been foolish enough to mention it.
The gentlemen’s club was already alive with the subdued hum of conversation, the polished floors gleaming beneath the morning light that filtered through the tall windows.
Pierce removed his gloves as he entered the private room where Nathaniel Vernon, Earl of Brydges, was waiting, and the moment Nathaniel saw his expression, his brows climbed almost to his hairline.
"Well, well," Nathaniel said, settling deeper into his chair as a servant approached with a silver tray. "I have known you for years, and I do believe I have just witnessed something extraordinary."
Pierce took the offered glass of port and regarded him suspiciously. "What have you witnessed?"
"A sheepish smile of… joy? Is it?"
Pierce glanced down at his drink before looking back at his friend. "I am not smiling."
"You are," Nathaniel insisted, accepting his own glass with a gracious nod to the servant.
"Will you be breaking fast this morning with us, Your Grace?" the servant asked.
"Yes, bring whatever is hot and abundant for us both," Pierce said.
The servant bowed and left the two gentlemen.
Nathaniel continued to tease his friend. "It is a very small smile, but I know you well enough to recognize the type of smile. Either you have visited an old mistress, or you have finally consummated your marriage."
Pierce gave him a long, cold stare over the rim of his glass. "I will not speak of such things with you."
Nathaniel grinned. "Very well. Since you have apparently become a gentleman of mysterious virtue, why have you called me to meet you here? I was still in bed entertaining a … morsel this morning when I received your message."
"You are an insufferable fool," Pierce said.
"Yes, and you used to be one as well, only now your hand is held to marriage, and the debauchery is left to me," he said, smiling. “I shall have to disport myself twice as hard to make up for the lack.”
"I asked you to meet me here to discuss some news," Pierce replied.
"That is intriguing. What is the news you wished to discuss?" Nathaniel asked.
Pierce set his glass aside and leaned back, his amusement fading into something more serious. "I received word this morning from one of my investigators. We have a new lead concerning the woman who left Hugh at Ravenfield."
Nathaniel straightened, his expression becoming attentive. "The woman from the masquerade?"
"Yes," Pierce replied, tapping one finger against the arm of his chair. "An unknown woman, travelling without a chaperone, was seen taking a carriage south shortly after leaving my house that night. We have not yet identified her, but the direction of travel gives us something to investigate."
Nathaniel took a thoughtful sip of his port. "I fail to see why you look so pleased about it. You have Hugh. You have a duchess. Your household is finally in order. Why trouble yourself with ghosts?"
Pierce's jaw tightened. "Because she may not be a ghost."
His thoughts returned to the note that had been left with Hugh, to the impossible revelation it had contained.
For two years he had lived with questions about Augusta, questions no one had been willing to answer.
Her father had told him she was dead and the infant did not survive, yet had shut him out of the funeral arrangements and refused to provide anything beyond the barest details.
Now Hugh was alive, and someone had known precisely where to leave him.
"I need to know what happened," Pierce said quietly. "That woman knows something about Augusta. Perhaps she knows everything."
Nathaniel studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I shall help you investigate."
Pierce looked across at him and gave a brief nod. "Thank you."
"Do not thank me yet," Nathaniel replied, settling back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I may require payment."
Pierce sighed. "What do you want?"
"The truth about your duchess."
Pierce's brows drew together. "What about her?"
Nathaniel smiled broadly. "She has kept you away from half the gaming tables and every disreputable supper in London for longer than any woman I have ever known. I am beginning to suspect she possesses supernatural powers."
Pierce almost laughed. "Margaret is not supernatural."
"She wore a Flora costume and marched into a room full of gentlemen demanding scandal. I maintain that the evidence is compelling."
Pierce shook his head, but despite himself, a smile threatened again.
Margaret had become a persistent presence in his thoughts, far more persistent than he cared to admit.
She was spirited, unpredictable, and entirely unwilling to behave according to the rules he had spent his life imposing upon himself and everyone around him.
Worse, he found that he liked her defiance.
A brief image of how he had pleasured her the night before entered his mind, making the room feel too warm and close. He placed a finger in his cravat and loosened it.
"She is the sort of woman who makes me lose my mind," he admitted, turning his glass slowly between his fingers. "She is unpredictable, infuriating, and utterly irresistible."
Nathaniel's grin widened. "There he is. There's the debauchery I recognize… even if it is for your own wife."
Pierce ignored him. "I do not particularly like the fact that she makes me break my own rules. Yet I find myself rather entertained by the possibility that she is beginning to break hers as well."
The servant arrived and set down a breakfast before them. There were sausages in a thick gravy, roasted potatoes, and bread. A steaming pot of tea was set alongside it.
"Is that all, Your Grace?" the servant asked.
"More port," Nathaniel answered for him.
Pierce nodded his head in agreement. Considering what he was dealing with, he could use another drink. Possibly several.
Pierce sliced into his breakfast with a famished hunger. He had not realized that last night's incident had given him an appetite.
"Hungry?" Nathaniel asked.
Pierce slowed down, "I'm merely thinking," he said to recover his obvious folly.
"About?" Nathaniel asked.
"What to do about Margaret's constant disobedience. She is meant to be an arrangement and therefore not have any say in the household, but she thinks otherwise," he said.
Nathaniel pointed at him with his glass. "You are so accustomed to having everyone obey you that you have not considered what happens when your duchess decides to become even more difficult."
"She is already difficult," Pierce.
"And if she retaliates by refusing to let you enter her bedchamber?"
Pierce went still.
Nathaniel's grin became positively wicked. "I believe, Your Grace, that you may discover you do not enjoy losing quite as much as you pretend."
Pierce slowly lifted his glass, his expression unreadable, though the faintest smile returned to his mouth. "Then I suppose," he said, "we shall have to see which of us is more stubborn."
Nathaniel laughed again, and Pierce said nothing more. Yet beneath his calm exterior, he was already wondering precisely how far Margaret would push him, and, more dangerously, how far he was willing to let her.
* * *
Margaret entered the breakfast room the following morning and stopped just inside the doorway when she realized, with growing horror, that she had slept extraordinarily late.
Sunlight had already flooded the tall windows, illuminating the polished table and the silver laid out for breakfast, and several servants were moving quietly about the room. Her cheeks warmed as an unpleasant thought occurred to her.
Did everyone in the household hear me the previous night?
She could still remember the quiet intimacy of Pierce's study, the warmth of his voice, and the fact that she had let him pleasure her.
Good heavens, I am a wanton woman.
She took her seat and tried to appear perfectly composed, though she was anything but.
"Where is His Grace?" she asked, reaching for the teapot with far more dignity than she felt.
The nearest servant lowered his eyes, wisely deciding that this was not a question he ought to answer, and Margaret immediately called for Mrs. Norris.
The housekeeper arrived moments later, her expression calm and entirely too knowing for Margaret's comfort, and gave a polite curtsy.
"The Duke departed for business about an hour ago, Your Grace," Mrs. Norris explained, approaching the table. "He left instructions that I was to give you his message when you appeared."
Margaret stared at her. "Instructions?" she repeated, setting down her teacup. "How very thoughtful of him. I do hope he remembered to leave instructions regarding the weather as well."
Mrs. Norris concealed what looked suspiciously like a smile. "His Grace wished you to rest this morning. When he returns, you are to demonstrate how you have been feeding Master Hugh, so that he may observe the progress you have made."
Margaret's eyebrows rose. "The audacity of this man. He is arranging my schedule according to his preferences again." She pushed a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear and gave an indignant little huff. "I am his wife, not one of his footmen."
Mrs. Norris folded her hands before her. "His Grace has always believed that order prevents confusion, Your Grace."
"His Grace has always believed that order prevents anyone from doing anything he has not personally authorized," Margaret corrected, giving the older woman a pointed look. "There is a distinction."
Mrs. Norris's lips twitched. "Yes, Your Grace."
Margaret studied her suspiciously. "You agree with me?"
"I would never presume to agree or disagree with my employers."
"That was an extraordinarily diplomatic answer."
"Years of service, Your Grace."
Margaret could not help laughing. For all her annoyance, she liked Mrs. Norris, and she suspected the housekeeper was far too clever to be fooled by Pierce's stern exterior.
Still, Margaret was not about to surrender her independence simply because her husband had decided that her morning should be spent sitting obediently in her chamber.
I warned Pierce that if he imposed himself too heavily upon me, I would resist. I had meant it then, and I mean it now.
Therefore, when she found Hugh awake, she decided that the best way to make her point was to spend the rest of the late morning with him on her own terms. With the nanny nearby, Margaret sat beside the little boy and talked to him as though he were capable of answering every question she asked.
Hugh rewarded her with an increasingly confident smile, and each time he smiled, Margaret's heart seemed to grow a little softer.
"You see that?" she whispered, brushing a finger gently across his cheek. "Your father thinks he must arrange everything for you, but I have discovered that you and I require no such arrangements."
Hugh gurgled happily and reached for the ribbon at her sleeve. Margaret laughed as she gently rescued it from his determined fingers. "Precisely. You understand me perfectly."
By noon, Hugh had eaten most of his meal, played with a wooden horse, and finally surrendered to sleep.
Margaret watched him for a moment after the nanny carried him away, feeling an unexpected warmth in her chest. She had entered this household believing she was merely fulfilling an obligation, yet the child was making it increasingly difficult to maintain that distance.
She might not know what she felt for Pierce, but she knew she already cared deeply for Hugh.
She glanced towards the clock, almost one. Pierce still had not returned.
Margaret considered the message he had left for her and felt her irritation return.
"Rest," she muttered beneath her breath, gathering her skirts as she crossed the room. "Demonstrate. Wait for His Grace. How very convenient that every command he gives me is somehow described as a reasonable suggestion."
She paused before the mirror in her chamber and studied her reflection. A smile slowly appeared. "Well, if His Grace is permitted to conduct business without asking my permission, I see no reason why I cannot conduct a little business of my own."
The afternoon was perfect for shopping.
When Margaret announced her intention to go into London, Mrs. Norris appeared almost immediately, as though the housekeeper possessed some mysterious ability to sense impending trouble.
"Your Grace," she began cautiously, "might it be better to wait until the Duke returns?"
Margaret reached for her cloak. "Absolutely not."
"But His Grace…"
"...is not here," Margaret finished, fastening the clasp beneath her chin. "Which means that for the next few hours I am in charge of myself."
Mrs. Norris sighed softly. "You intend to go shopping?"
"I do."
"Should I call the carriage?" Mrs. Norris asked.
"Obviously."
"And a footman?" she continued.
Margaret gave her a triumphant smile. "You see? We are already understanding each other."
Mrs. Norris regarded her for several seconds before surrendering. "Very well, Your Grace. I shall have the carriage prepared."
Margaret swept towards the door, satisfaction warming her. "Excellent. And Mrs. Norris?"
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"If His Grace asks where I have gone, you may tell him precisely where I am."
The housekeeper looked amused. "And what shall I tell him?"
Margaret paused, then smiled sweetly. "Tell him his duchess has gone shopping…without his permission."
She swept out before Mrs. Norris could answer, feeling rather pleased with herself. If Pierce wished to discover whether she could follow rules, she thought, he was about to discover something far more interesting.
The new Duchess of Ravenfield had never been particularly good at obeying orders.