Page 82 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

She had spoken about Hugh, about Pierce, about Ravenfield Manor, and even about the peculiar habits of the servants without once considering how strange it was. She had become so accustomed to thinking of herself as a visitor that she had failed to recognize the truth until this very moment, she was the Duchess of Ravenfield now.

Whatever she thought of her husband, whatever uncertainties remained between them, she belonged to that household now. The thought should have frightened her more than it did, but instead she felt an odd little flutter of pride.

"You have gone quiet," Iris said, drawing her from her thoughts with a gentle tap against her wrist.

Margaret blinked and looked up. "Have I?"

"You have," Camelia agreed, studying her suspiciously. "You were smiling at absolutely nothing."

"I was not smiling."

"You were," Pamela insisted, taking another sip of tea. "It was a very peculiar smile, too."

Margaret straightened her shoulders. "There is nothing peculiar about my smile."

Iris leaned closer, lowering her voice as though preparing to interrogate a criminal. "What troubles you?"

"Nothing," Margaret replied too quickly.

Her sisters exchanged a look. Margaret knew that look. They had perfected it during childhood, and it had always meant that they knew she was hiding something. She smiled sweetly. "Truly. Nothing at all."

But even as she said it, her thoughts returned to Ravenfield Manor and the little boy waiting there, and to the infuriating duke who had somehow begun to feel less like a stranger.

CHAPTER 20

Oh no. Not here. Anyone but her.

Margaret had just lifted her coffee when she noticed Lady Darren approaching with a small procession of ladies behind her. The woman wore a smile that was perfectly pleasant in appearance and entirely devoid of warmth, which Margaret had already learned was one of the Ton's favorite expressions.

Lady Darren stopped beside their table, dipping her head with elaborate politeness before allowing her gaze to settle upon Margaret. There was something expectant in that gaze, as though she had arrived hoping to find a weakness and had every intention of enjoying herself when she discovered one.

"Your Grace," Lady Darren said, placing one gloved hand delicately against the other, "Good day, ladies."

The women exchanged greetings, but Margaret stayed stiff, waiting for the daggers that she knew would soon come.

"How fortunate to run into you here. I was just telling Lady Melda here how very charitable of you to devote yourself to raising a child who is, apparently, not even your husband's wife's son." Her smile sharpened.

What does she mean by that?

Margaret's expression remained calm. "I do not believe I know your meaning, Lady Darren."

"I do hope you will forgive my frankness, but there has been considerable speculation. Poor Augusta was said to have been terrified of the Duke, and one cannot help wondering whether the little boy might have come from a rather less respectable circumstance," Lady Darren said.

The implication was so vile that for one heartbeat Margaret could only stare at her. All the breath had gone out of her lungs.

She thought of Hugh's small fingers curling around hers, his frightened eyes softening whenever she sang to him, and something fierce rose within her.

"Why I never…" Iris started with a sharp tongue as she glared at Lady Darren, ready to reprimand her.

"It’s alright, Iris," Margaret said, cutting her off. She set down her coffee with deliberate care before looking up at Lady Darren.

"How fortunate for you, Lady Darren, that your concern for my family is so profound. I should hate to think you that your life is so severely lacking in love and pleasure that you must repeat gossip in order to have some sense of fulfillment that you do not receive at home."

A few ladies behind Lady Darren shifted uncomfortably, and Margaret noticed one of them suddenly become fascinated by the sugar bowl.

Lady Darren's smile tightened. "I assure you, Your Grace, I meant no offense. I merely thought you ought to know that people are concerned for your safety. After all, if Augusta was frightened enough to disappear, one wonders whether you might eventually suffer the same fate. Should you ever require assistance, you need only ask."

Margaret felt Iris's hand lightly touch her arm beneath the table, but she was already beyond restraint. She had spent far too much of her life allowing people to mistake good manners for weakness, and she had no intention of beginning now merely because she wore a duchess's title.