Page 33 of Good Duke Gone Hard

As she continued sweeping clouds in the background, she marveled at the beauty around her. What was left in the autumn blooms, hanging on to the season’s last vestiges of warmth, holding out to display their petals for as long as they could. Surely they didn’t know of the sleep that awaited them. But she could always rely on them to blossom again in the spring, as if their sleep unknowingly restored them.

Margaret heard Dr. Walker’s footsteps crunching toward them, so she rose to stretch her legs and take a gander at Jonathan’s painting.

When she caught sight of the painting, her fingers flew loosely to her mouth. There were several thick long lines of dark green weeds. As would be found in the large pond.

“I have confirmed that I am indeed not your muse, my boy.” Dr. Walker chuckled, then pointed to the canvas. “What do we have here?”

“Weeds…Just some silly old weeds.”

Not so silly, Margaret thought. Did he remember? If he had, he would have been looking at her differently, she was sure.

She wished she could tell him the memory. She wished she could transfer all of her memories into him so he could recall what they shared too many summers ago. But then again, she was also glad she couldn’t. The doctor had explicitly said not to share anything more that might disturb or upset him too much. For Jonathan to learn of his family’s passing was enough for him to process.

Besides, she and Jonathan had been given a new start together. Feeling this way about Jonathan for a second time was almost too much to bear. Would he prize her as his number one this time? Or would he leave again? The weight was almost too heavy, but she knew her soul wouldn’t accept any excuses to carry the load, no matter the poundage. There was no other course of action except to follow her passion for this man who called to everything in her with everything in him.

But at just this moment, a footman came bearing a message for Margaret calling her in another direction. It was requesting her presence for tea with her mother in the pink salon.

Thinking of only the imminent conversation that awaited her, she said the most normal thing she could think of, “I like your weeds.” Then she held up the message for Jonathan and the doctor to notice, “I must chat with mother.”

And she twirled toward the house and pattered off.

Margaret stood behind the door to the pink salon, calming her breaths. It would do her no good to appear breathless, nor would it be helpful to be distracted. Her mother could read body language like Margaret could read a book, so she wanted her wits about her.

“Hello, dear.” Her mother beckoned. “I’m so glad you were free to take tea together.”

“Why yes, of course mother.”

“It’s been too long since we chatted.”

Margaret looked at her mother.

“Just the two of us.”

Margaret nodded. It had been a while, especially since they had been in such close kahoots in bringing Mary and Gregory together. It did seem as though they hadn’t had time together recently.

“Come sit, dear.” Her mother patted the settee beside her. “Stay a while.” The attempt at levity caused Margaret to give a half smile.

“Thank you. I will.” Margaret took her seat beside her mother and noticed the bright dahlias spotting her needlework. “My, you’re ever so talented at that.”

“Two parts talents, four parts time and effort.” Her mother smiled up at her. “Just like you and your artwork. And your abilities on the pianoforte, I might add.”

Margaret’s cheeks heated slightly at the praise, “Yes, well, you did provide the best tutors.” She took a sip of her tea and nibbled on a biscuit.

“Only the best for you and Gregory.” Her mother’s eyes beamed with pride. “Now tell me what’s going on with you and Jonathan?”

Margaret sputtered cookie crumbs. Her mother was rarely this direct. “Jonathan and I?” Margaret scanned her recent memories. Had her mother seen them kiss? Heard them giggling?Themgiggling? Alright, it would have only been Margaret giggling. Regardless, what was her mother asking right now? Had Margaret given something away? As calm as her mother always was, she knew that in the back of her mind her mother wanted her married.

“Yes. You have been showing him around the estates, have you not? How’s the boy’s memory coming along?” She was explicitly asking about memories, yet there was an unmistakable twinkle in her eyes. And an unexpected tone coming from her mother. Not chiding. Not praising. Teasing. It was subtle, but it was there. And she had referred to Jonathan as the boy. The boy. She supposed that would be how her mother viewed Jonathan, what with him practically living at their house and being an inseparable part of the foursome growing up together.

With all the possible answers Margaret could give, she chose the most significant, “He’s not a boy anymore.”

Her mother looked amused. “Yes, I had noticed. I’m not surprised to hear you’re conscious of the fact as well. How is our boy? And by that I mean, man?”

Our boy. He is not our boy. He is my boy. I mean, man. He’s my man. My man?

Margaret shook her head and wrung her hands in her lap. Then she began tapping her foot.

“What’s the matter, dear?”

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