He bowed slightly, not as a husband to a wife, but as a duke acknowledging a duchess. Then he stepped back. He did not linger as she hoped he might.
The door closed softly behind him.
Silence settled. Margaret remained standing in the center of the room for several seconds, listening to the quiet of a house far larger than any she had known. No voices drifted through walls, no footsteps crossed the corridor outside.
She moved to the bed and sat on its edge. The mattress dipped gently beneath her weight. Evening light stretched long across the floorboards. This room was hers.
The scandal had been silenced, her family protected. Everything had been secured, and for the first time since the arrangement had begun, Margaret felt the full weight of stillness.
She folded her hands in her lap and listened to the quiet. This was safety, it was dignity, but there was a sadness in her chest that she could not escape. She had not seen her mother and her sisters that day, and she would not for some time. She was, as far as thetonknew, on her honeymoon and therefore not able to receive guests.
It was a freedom unlike anything she had ever known, and yet sitting alone in a room prepared with such deliberate care, Margaret had never felt so solitary.
A knock came sooner than she expected.
“Enter.”
Mrs. Hill stepped inside with steady composure, hands folded neatly before her apron. She had the air of a woman who had managed large houses and larger personalities without ever raising her voice, and that was a comfort at least.
“Your Grace,” she said, “I hope the chamber meets your satisfaction.”
The title still felt like an ill-fitting garment.
“It does,” Margaret replied. “It is perfect.”
Mrs. Hill allowed herself the smallest nod and a smile.
“His Grace oversaw it personally.”
Margaret did not react outwardly to that.
“I see.”
“If you feel prepared, I would be pleased to show you the rest of the house. Of course, if you wish to wait until the morning–”
“Yes. Now would be perfect.”
They began with the closest wing, the morning room, the private sitting room adjacent to her chambers, and a small library with tall windows overlooking the east gardens. Everything wasimmaculate, though it did feel more like a museum than a home because of it.
“The household is not at full capacity,” Mrs. Hill explained as they descended the stairs. “His Grace prefers his own space.”
“In all matters?” Margaret asked lightly.
“In many.”
They passed through the main drawing room, grand and formal, clearly designed for gatherings that would not occur often.
“You will preside here when required,” Mrs. Hill said. “Though His Grace does not entertain frequently.”
Margaret paused near one of the tall windows, then they continued walking.
“In London,” Margaret said after a moment, “the household was aware of more than it revealed.”
Mrs. Hill glanced at her briefly. “A household survives by understanding what must remain unspoken.”
“And here?”
“The same principle applies.”
