Page 53 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

She carried him back towards the table where the nanny had left his lunch and studied the bowl with suspicion. "Now, what have we here?" she asked, settling Hugh securely against her arm. "Apparently your nanny believes you ought to eat this. Your father would undoubtedly produce a schedule, a ledger, and perhaps a military escort, but I think we shall simply try."

She dipped the spoon into the food and held it towards him. "One little bite for Hugh." The child opened his mouth.

Margaret stared at him in astonishment. "Well. That was remarkably easy." She gave him another spoonful, and another, and Hugh accepted each one without protest. "You have been deceiving everyone, have you not?" she whispered conspiratorially. "All that crying was merely a strategy. You wanted someone to feed you properly."

By the time the bowl was empty, Margaret was smiling so broadly that her cheeks hurt.

"I knew it," she said triumphantly, setting the spoon down. "You and I shall get along perfectly."

Then the bowl slipped from her fingers.

It struck the floor with a violent crash, shattering the peaceful moment. Hugh startled and immediately burst into frightened sobs.

"Oh, no, no, no, sweetheart," Margaret exclaimed, bending quickly to soothe him, but before she could gather him properly against her shoulder, the nursery door flew open.

Pierce strode inside with an expression that made Margaret's stomach tighten. She’d expected to see anger, but her first impression was a flash of fear across his face. He crossed the room in several swift steps and took Hugh into his arms, holding the boy protectively against his chest.

"What happened?" he demanded, his voice low and sharp as his gaze moved from the crying child to Margaret and finally to the broken bowl.

"I was feeding him," Margaret began, trying to remain calm. "He was perfectly happy, and he ate everything, but then I dropped the… "

"You were alone with him?" Pierce interrupted, his expression darkening. "I told you that you were not to be alone with Hugh."

Margaret stared at him. "He was hungry."

"That is not the point."

"No, apparently the point is that I committed the dreadful crime of feeding your son without submitting a written request first," she retorted, folding her arms.

Pierce's jaw tightened as Hugh continued to whimper against him. "You ignored the schedule, Margaret. You do not yet know how to care for him properly."

Her irritation flared. "Do not know how to care for him?" she repeated, pointing towards the table. "Look at the bowl."

Pierce glanced towards it.

"It is empty," Margaret said, her voice carrying a note of triumph. "Every bite. He ate every single bit of his lunch because I fed him. So perhaps, Your Grace, you might consider that I am learning rather quickly."

She did not wait for his response. With her dignity firmly gathered around her like a cloak, Margaret turned and walked towards the door. Behind her, Hugh made a small protesting sound, and for one moment she nearly turned back, but Pierce's rigid presence stopped her.

"Perhaps," she muttered as she left, "the next time he is hungry, you may consult the schedule."

* * *

Two days had passed since the unfortunate incident with the bowl, and Pierce had discovered that Margaret possessed a talent for silence almost as formidable as her talent for argument. She had not quarreled with him, which would have been easier to endure; instead, she had simply stopped appearing at meals.

Breakfast was taken with an empty chair opposite him, luncheon was conducted with the servants moving quietly about the room, and dinner had become an exercise in listening to the faint ticking of the clock. Pierce found himself staring at that empty chair with increasing irritation, though he refused to admit that he missed her presence.

It was absurd. He had married Margaret for practical reasons, and practical arrangements did not require wives to chatter over breakfast or glare at husbands across the table. He had certainly not asked for companionship. Yet the house seemed strangely dull without her. Even worse, he occasionally caught himself listening for her footsteps in the corridor, only to become annoyed with himself when he realized what he was doing.

"Ridiculous," he muttered one morning as he folded his newspaper, and the footman standing nearby wisely pretended not to hear him.

Pierce was halfway through another fruitless attempt at reading correspondence when Mrs. Norris entered the study carrying a tray of tea.

The housekeeper placed it upon the table with the composed efficiency of a woman who had known Pierce since he was a boy and therefore feared neither his title nor his temper.

"Your Grace," she said, pouring his tea, "I thought you ought to know that Her Grace has spent every morning in the nursery."

Pierce looked up immediately. "Every morning?"