Chapter 4 #2
A small, genuine smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she allowed herself a moment of ease. For the first time in days, she felt a flicker of calm, a fragile but welcome relief amid the uncertainty.
“So, what actually happens on the wedding night?”
Just as the warmth of the moment settled comfortably between them, Lucy suddenly piped up from her corner, eyes wide with genuine curiosity.
Every head turned to her in stunned silence, brows arching in disbelief at the bluntness of the question.
Lucy, undeterred, grinned sheepishly. “I’ve heard that mamas usually have a talk with their daughters about it. I’m just curious. What sort of things do they say? I mean, Dorothy should know since she’s the one getting married.”
Cecilia and Emma exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance, their expressions a mix of amusement and mild exasperation.
Emma smoothed her skirts and smiled. “Lucy, perhaps you would do well to go downstairs and assist with the wedding preparations. That sort of conversation is not meant for your ears.”
Cecilia nodded, adding. “When it is your turn to marry, dear, you shall have the talk yourself. Until then, you’d best leave it be.”
Lucy opened her mouth to argue, but was cut off by their unwavering gazes. With a dramatic sigh, she gathered herself and retreated, muttering, “Fine. But one day, I’m going to demand to know.”
As the door closed behind her, the room filled with laughter, and Dorothy felt a lightness she hadn’t known she’d needed.
“We do need to have that talk with her,” Emma said to Cecilia once the laughter died down.
Dorothy arched her eyebrows. “There really is a talk?” she questioned. “What is the talk about? What happens on the wedding night?”
Emma and Cecilia settled beside Dorothy, exchanging uncertain looks before Emma spoke first, her voice gentle but hesitant.
Emma began delicately. “Well, Dorothy, the wedding night is quite... an important occasion. One might say it is when two become truly joined, not just in name but in spirit and understanding.”
“It needs to happen for one to be truly... married,” Cecilia stuttered.
Dorothy’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”
“Participate,” Emma answered, nodding with furrowed eyebrows.
“Are you... sure about that?” Dorothy questioned, studying Emma’s face. “You look confused. You don’t seem to be certain. Am I supposed to participate or not?”
“You are,” Cecilia added and scratched the top of her head. “You should participate. You... need to participate.”
Dorothy nodded slowly. “All right. Participate in what?”
“The wedding night,” Cecilia answered.
“What happens on the wedding night?”
“We just told you,” Emma said.
“You become... one,” Cecilia said, softly clapping her hands together. “One... person.”
“One person?” Emma looked at Cecilia with a dazed gaze.
“Well, what was I supposed to say?” Cecilia asked.
“How is she supposed to understand that?” Emma asked.
“Well, you explain it better.”
“How am I supposed to explain it?”
Dorothy let out an exasperated sigh. “Maybe just tell me how your wedding night went,” she suggested. “Because I am utterly confused. What are you talking about? How do we become... one?”
“Well, technically, I did not have a wedding night,” Cecilia answered and cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably.
Cecilia bit her lip, glancing at Emma, who shrugged softly. “Honestly, Dorothy, we never truly had a proper wedding night ourselves either,” Emma admitted quietly. “Our circumstances never quite allowed for it.”
Dorothy shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Then it’s not important.”
The sisters exchanged glances before Cecilia pressed gently. “It is important, Dorothy. If you can have it, the wedding night is very good to have. It marks the beginning of a new chapter.”
Emma nodded in agreement. “It’s a special time, one you ought not to dismiss lightly.”
“But if you two never had one,” Dorothy insisted, shaking her head, “then it can’t be that vital. Besides,” she added with a small smirk, “I have far more pressing matters than mysteries of a wedding night.”
“Dorothy, maybe we haven’t been explanatory,” Emma said. “Cecilia, go get ink and paper. We can… do some visual learning as well.”
Despite their protests, Dorothy stood. “I need to go to the modiste now, and I want you both to come with me and help me pick out my dresses. It has been some time since I shopped for new gowns…the season holds little excitement for me. But if I am to be married, I must at least travel with good dresses.”
“Now?” Emma asked.
“Yes,” Dorothy answered. “Please, Emma. It’s important. I get married in two days.”
“All right,” Emma agreed. “We’ll be ready to leave in an hour.”
“Thank you,” Dorothy beamed.
With that, Dorothy left the room, leaving Emma and Cecilia exchanging worried but fond glances as they prepared to follow.
Dorothy burst into the room, cheeks flushed and breath coming in short gasps as if she had been sprinting. She paused just inside the doorway, panting slightly, eyes wide as they met his.
Magnus was there, standing near the tall window, his silhouette sharp and still, gazing out at the fading twilight beyond the estate grounds. His hands were clasped behind his back, and there was a faint crease between his brows.
He turned slowly, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Did you run all the way here?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying a teasing undertone.
Dorothy swallowed, struggling to steady her breath. “They told me you’d been waiting a while,” she admitted. “Apologies, Your Grace. I was out, shopping for dresses with my sisters.”
A slow, almost amused smile curved Magnus’s lips as he stepped forward, closing the space between them until only a breath separated their faces. His eyes held a seriousness beneath the teasing glint.
“So,” he said, voice low, “you ran all this way because you were terrified of keeping me waiting?”
Dorothy looked away from his intense gaze, her mind swirling. Why had she run all that way? She could have simply walked. There was no eagerness pushing her forward. Was it that this man unnerved her more than she cared to admit?
She kept silent, the question hanging heavy in the air.
Magnus’s smile lingered, though tempered by seriousness. “Next time, I’d prefer you not exhaust yourself quite so thoroughly, Dorothy,” he added softly. “You will come to find out that the rumors about me aren’t half true.”
Dorothy swallowed, steadying her nerves. “So, what brings you here so late, Your Grace?”
He stepped back slightly, his gaze scanning the room before settling on her once more. “I came to inquire about the wedding preparations. I want to know how things are progressing.” His tone was straightforward.
Dorothy nodded, trying to sound calm despite the flutter in her chest. “The arrangements are well underway. The modiste has nearly finished the gown, and the house is abuzz with activity. The invitations have been sent, and the staff are preparing the guest rooms.”
He studied her for a moment, then asked, “Have you been given any say in the details? The venue, the guests, anything of that sort?”
Dorothy shook her head. “My father has managed most of it. I was only consulted on the gown and a few minor arrangements.”
Magnus’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “That is often how these things go. But soon, you will have your own voice and your own place to make decisions.”
She allowed herself a small nod.
Magnus paused. “Do you have any questions for me, Dorothy? I won’t be here long tonight, but I can spare a few moments to answer whatever you wish to know.”
Dorothy took a slow breath, straightening her back as the challenge settled over her. “Very well, then,” she said. “Which of the rumors about you are actually true, Your Grace?”
A faint smile curved his lips as he moved toward one of the armchairs, settling himself on its arm casually, as if the grandeur of the room could not ruffle his composure. “That depends,” he replied. “What have you heard?”
Dorothy hesitated, then met his gaze squarely. “That you are... cold. Ruthless. That you hold no patience for many things. That your temper is as sharp as your reputation.” She paused, cheeks warming. “That you are a man difficult to know, even harder to please.”
Magnus nodded slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “Most of that is true. I am not a man who gives to softness or idle conversation. Patience is a scarce commodity, and my temper… well, it serves as a warning to those who would waste my time.”
He studied her thoughtfully, the silence stretching just enough to make her wonder what he would say next. “But there is more beneath it all,” he said quietly. “As there is with any man. However, you, unfortunately, might never see beyond this surface that I show to you.”
Dorothy found herself caught between intrigue and caution, wondering which parts of Magnus remained hidden behind those dark, measured eyes.
“But come on now, Miss Lockhart,” he added with a faint grin. “That cannot possibly be the worst rumor you have heard about me.”
Dorothy hesitated, her eyes flickering with uncertainty.
She wasn’t sure if she should speak it aloud, but his invitation left her no choice.
Swallowing her fear, she pressed on, “I’ve heard.
.. that you have made grown men cry. That you have ruined men so thoroughly, in their desperation to seek you or do business with you, they have gone to extreme measures.
There was even a rumor... that a man took his own life because of you, because you refused to see him. ”
She looked up, searching his face for any sign of reaction. “Is that true?”
Magnus’s expression darkened for a brief moment, eyes narrowing. “That is all beneath the surface,” he said quietly, “and I did just tell you that you won’t see what lies beneath.”
Dorothy’s frustration flared. “But you were the one who said I could ask. You can’t revoke that now.”
“Ah, but I can refuse to answer,” he said and rose to walk over to the window. “I wasn’t expecting you to ask about that.”
“So, are these rumors true, or are they false?” she probed.
Magnus inhaled sharply. “Do you have any more questions for me, Miss Lockhart?”
Dorothy scoffed in disbelief. “I just asked a question, Your Grace.”
“I did not hear a good question,” he replied.
Dorothy’s frustration bubbled up as she began to pace the length of the drawing room, her steps quick and uneven.
“Let me ask you this,” she said suddenly, stopping and facing him with eyes alight with confusion and disbelief.
“Why me? I still don’t understand it. No matter how much I try to think it through.
Even if you needed someone for your niece, you could have chosen anyone.
Why did it have to be the one person who was on the verge of ruining your reputation? ”
Without a word, Magnus slowly turned and closed the distance between them, his presence overwhelming as he stood so close that Dorothy could feel the warmth of his breath brushing her skin.
The tension hung thick in the air, but she did not step back.
Instead, her heart pounded against her ribs as she held his gaze.
His voice dropped low, almost a whisper, but it carried a sharp edge beneath the softness. “Think of it as part punishment,” he said, eyes never leaving hers. “For trying to rope me into your scheme. For dragging my name through the mud.”
There was something raw, almost vulnerable in that admission, an intimacy that unsettled and intrigued her all at once. The room felt smaller, the world narrowing to just the two of them.
Dorothy’s gaze flickered downward, drawn irresistibly to his lips. Gathering courage, she asked softly, “Shouldn’t you be used to your name being dragged by now, Your Grace? Given how often it’s spoken in society?”
Dorothy caught herself staring at his lips longer than she intended. Quickly, she looked up, meeting his eyes, and realized with a jolt that he had noticed. Then, to her surprise, his gaze slowly drifted downward, landing on her own lips.
That silent, deliberate motion sent a strange, charged rush through her, a heat that prickled her skin and tightened her breath. Her heart quickened as the charged moment stretched between them, wordless and raw.
Startled by the intensity, she stepped back sharply, breaking the spell. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, she tried to steady the sudden flutter in her chest as the quiet settled once more.
Magnus broke the silence first. “I should go now. I’ll see you at the altar.”
Dorothy nodded, swallowing the flutter in her chest. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
As he turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him, Dorothy practically stumbled toward the settee. She sank down heavily, pressing her hands to her knees as she tried to catch her breath. What had just happened?
Why did it feel as if a slow, fierce fire was burning from inside her, leaving her both unsettled and strangely alive?