Chapter 17
Iwant to see Hugh. I want to see Margaret.
Pierce returned to Ravenfield House in the late afternoon with an unfamiliar sense of satisfaction settling over him.
The business that had occupied his morning had been tedious, but as the carriage approached the familiar iron gates, he found himself looking forward to crossing the threshold in a manner that would once have seemed impossible.
After Augusta vanished, he had spent years convincing himself that home was merely a place where one slept between obligations. Now, he found himself thinking that home could be something more.
He handed his gloves and hat to the footman and glanced towards the staircase.
"Mrs. Norris," he called out, his voice carrying through the entrance hall. "Have Her Grace summoned to me. In the parlor."
The words felt surprisingly natural, and Pierce was still considering that curious fact when Mrs. Norris appeared from the adjoining corridor, her usually composed expression carrying an unmistakable trace of anxiety.
She clasped her hands before her and hesitated, which immediately caught his attention. "Your Grace," she began carefully, "Her Grace has left the house."
Pierce went completely still. For one terrible instant, the entrance hall seemed to disappear around him, replaced by another night, another empty corridor.
And another woman who has walked out of my life without giving me the opportunity to stop her. Just like Augusta.
His mind supplied the name before he could prevent it, and the old wound opened with startling speed. His chest tightened, his heartbeat quickened, and every instinct he possessed demanded that he find out where Margaret had gone.
"Left?" he repeated, his voice suddenly colder. "Where?"
Mrs. Norris hurried to reassure him. "Her Grace said she was going shopping, Your Grace. She left with a footman as her chaperone and instructed me to tell you where she had gone."
The tension in Pierce's shoulders eased by a fraction.
She has not vanished. She has not fled the house in secret.
She had gone shopping and, apparently, considered it perfectly reasonable to leave her husband to discover the fact upon his return. "Very well," he said at last, his expression settling into its customary severity. "That will be all, Mrs. Norris."
The housekeeper curtsied and withdrew, leaving Pierce alone in the hall with his thoughts. Relief quickly gave way to annoyance, although beneath the annoyance was something considerably more dangerous: amusement.
Margaret had done exactly what he had expected her to do.
She had ignored his instructions to rest, taken herself into London, and apparently ignored all possibilities of his displeasure.
Pierce almost smiled. If she enjoyed breaking his rules, then he would simply have to keep breaking hers as well.
It seemed only fair, and Pierce had always appreciated fairness when it suited him.
For the moment, however, he decided to make use of the unexpected solitude by visiting his son.
He climbed the stairs and entered the nursery, where the nanny immediately rose from her chair with Hugh in her arms.
"Good afternoon," Pierce said, approaching with the solemnity of a general inspecting his troops. "Report."
The nanny blinked. "Report, Your Grace?"
"Yes. Sleeping, eating, crying, temper, general disposition," he instructed, holding out his arms for the child. "Do not omit anything of importance."
The young woman struggled not to smile. "Master Hugh slept for nearly an hour after luncheon, Your Grace. He ate some of his food, though not all of it, and he has been rather restless since waking."
"Restless," Pierce repeated gravely. "How serious."
"He is one year old, Your Grace."
"I am aware of his age."
The nanny lowered her eyes to conceal another smile as Pierce took Hugh from her. He settled the little boy against his chest, expecting at least some recognition from his son. Instead, Hugh stared at him for several seconds before his little face crumpled, and a loud cry filled the nursery.
Pierce frowned. "What is the matter with him?"
The nanny approached cautiously. "He may simply be tired."
"But I have only just arrived."
"Yes, that is the difficulty of it," she said.
Pierce looked at her sharply. "Are you suggesting my presence is upsetting him?"
"I would never presume to suggest such a thing, Your Grace."
"You just did."
"I merely meant that Master Hugh has become accustomed to certain routines and does not adapt to the change when his parents arrive. Or do not."
Pierce looked down at the crying child in his arms and felt a peculiar mixture of frustration and guilt. "Very well," he murmured, adjusting Hugh against his shoulder. "We shall establish a new routine."
Hugh objected to this proposal with even greater enthusiasm. He appeared determined to ensure that the entire household heard something about it, for he cried.
Pierce's patience began to thin. He looked towards the nanny with a dark expression. "What does he want?"
The nanny hesitated. "Her Grace usually sings to him to calm him."
Pierce stared at her. "Lady Margaret sings?" he asked.
"Yes, Your Grace. He settles almost immediately."
Pierce looked down at Hugh, then towards the empty chair where Margaret usually sat.
He could not deny the evidence before him.
Whatever else could be said about his wife, she possessed a natural ability with the child that he lacked.
It was the singing. It was the warmth in her voice, or did Hugh simply prefer her?
The thought should have annoyed him.
Instead, Pierce found himself almost admiring her.
He handed Hugh back to the nanny with a reluctant sigh. "Very well. Continue as usual."
"Yes, Your Grace," she replied, taking the child.
Pierce remained for another moment, watching Hugh settle against the nanny's shoulder.
His thoughts returned to Margaret, wandering through London without him, undoubtedly making decisions without consulting anyone.
She was infuriating, independent, and entirely too determined to prove that she could do as she pleased.
Yet she had kept her promise. She had stayed.
Pierce's expression hardened with quiet resolve as he turned towards the door. If only she obeyed him a little more, life would be considerably easier for everyone involved.
And she will. I have every intention of seeing to that.
* * *
Margaret returned to Ravenfield House in excellent spirits, her arms laden with packages and her mind still pleasantly occupied by the afternoon she had spent in Bond Street.
"Your Grace, let us take these for you." The servants descended upon her the moment she entered, taking boxes and parcels from her hands with the solemn efficiency of soldiers collecting spoils after a battle.
"Take everything to my bedchamber, please," she instructed with a smile, handing a small parcel to a footman. "I am going to have a bath, and I should like an hour in which nobody tells me what I ought to be doing."
The footman wisely said nothing, though Margaret suspected the entire household had already learned that the Duchess of Ravenfield possessed a particular talent for ignoring orders.
A short while later, she was sinking gratefully into a tub before the hearth, the hot water surrounding her in fragrant clouds of steam.
She rested her head against the edge and closed her eyes, allowing the warmth to ease the last remnants of fatigue from her shoulders.
It had been a surprisingly pleasant day, and she found herself thinking of Hugh, wondering whether he had eaten his dinner and whether he would smile when she kissed him goodnight. The thought made her smile.
"Whatever else I may feel about his father, I can no longer deny the affection that has taken root in my heart for the little boy," she said quietly.
By the time she returned to her bedchamber, she felt thoroughly relaxed, her hair damp and loose around her shoulders, a thin drying linen wrapped around her, falling modestly to her knees.
She had barely crossed the threshold when she stopped dead.
Pierce stood beside the hearth, looking entirely too comfortable in her private room.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, clutching the front of her shift as her face immediately heated.
Pierce merely smirked. "I might also ask a question, Duchess. Where did you go?"
Margaret stared at him in disbelief before hurrying across the room and attempting to push him towards the door.
"Leave at once," she insisted, giving his shoulder an indignant shove. "I am indecent."
His amusement deepened. "You were considerably more indecent when you let me pleasure you."
Margaret's hands fell from him as embarrassment swept through her. "That was different," she protested, refusing to examine exactly how different it had been.
Pierce seemed delighted by her discomfort as he turned away from her and began collecting the shopping parcels scattered around the room.
"Did you truly require all of this?" he asked, lifting one box without bothering to inspect it.
"And, more importantly, did you truly need to go shopping yourself?
We have servants to do such things for you. "
Margaret folded her arms. "I spent most of the day with Hugh and then decided to go shopping. I needed to get out of this house."
"You did not spend it with him when you were expected to," he countered, setting another parcel aside. "You were meant to remain here."
His calmness irritated her far more than anger would have done. "You are impossible to satisfy," she declared, lifting her chin. "Since you refuse to leave, you may stand there and waste your own time, but you shall not waste mine. I am going to bed."
Something mischievous stirred within her then. If Pierce insisted upon treating her like a disobedient child, he ought to discover precisely how little his disapproval frightened her.