Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“Did something happen?” Dorothy asked.
“Nothing happened,” Magnus responded.
“Did someone die?”
“Dorothy, eat your food.”
“I cannot eat when you are sitting there,” she said, dropping her spoon.
Magnus let out a low sigh, dropping his own cutlery onto the plate with a soft clatter that sounded far louder than he intended.
Perhaps it was a mistake. When had he ever yielded to anyone’s will?
Anyone outside the rigid demands of business or the precise logic of his household?
Yet here he was, allowing himself to sit across from Dorothy in a display of leniency he had never before permitted.
He hated it, truly despised the sensation of it, this uneasy stirring in his chest that felt as though her mere presence had shifted the axis of his carefully ordered world.
He had long been accustomed to solitude, to dining alone in his study, in the privacy of his chambers, or in his own private dining room.
The clatter of silverware, the rustle of napkins, even the faint murmur of another person eating near him had always grated against his sensibilities.
But he understood that to make Dorothy keep eating alone would be cruel.
She had grown up surrounded by siblings, by laughter and conversation over meals, and even after her sisters had married, she had retained the habit of shared tables.
To deny her that simple pleasure now, in the vast emptiness of his estate, seemed an act most unkind, one he could not abide.
Dorothy lifted her fork again, though she did not bring it to her lips. “I must confess,” she said carefully, “that I rather like eating alone, or perhaps, together with Eugenia when she is not occupied with her lessons. I find it… peaceful.”
Magnus’s eyes narrowed, a faint lift of one brow betraying his incredulity. “You... like it?”
“Yes,” she said plainly, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. “I very much like it. So, your presence here today is... unsettling.”
“That is… ironic,” he said slowly, his voice edged with dry amusement.
“I would have thought a lady born in Mayfair, accustomed to the endless parade of company, the constant functions, the shared luncheons with family and acquaintances alike, would find solitary dining oppressive rather than… agreeable.”
Dorothy’s eyes flicked up to meet his, a spark of challenge in their depths. “Perhaps that is precisely why I find it agreeable. I have grown accustomed to noise, to chaos, to the… unending chatter of others. Solitude is a reprieve, not a punishment.”
Magnus leaned back slightly in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching. If he had not read her letter, he would have believed her. “A reprieve, you say?”
Dorothy tried to look at him, but looked at Eugenia instead. “Sometimes, Eugenia and I use this time to bond, Your Grace. Your sudden presence at the table, where you have never been before, upsets the balance of my routine. That is all.”
“Routine,” he repeated. “Dorothy, this is my home. I can eat whenever and wherever I want to.”
Dorothy took a sip of her water. “Are you doing this to... spite me? For questioning you this morning? Because I can assure you, it is not working, Your Grace. I might be unsettled by your presence, but I am not that bothered.”
“Of course, you are not. Deep down, you prefer to eat this way, regardless of how you see me,” he argued.
Dorothy’s lips pressed together. “Perhaps I resent the intrusion because I am still… learning the bounds of this household. What to say, what not to say... What am I allowed to do and what not”
Magnus’s gaze sharpened. “Yet you speak freely,” he said, leaning forward. “As if the dining room were yours alone. You contradict yourself.”
Dorothy tilted her head, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. “Perhaps I am learning from you, then, Your Grace. Perhaps one day I will master contradiction as well as you.”
He did not respond immediately, letting silence hang between them like a taut cord.
He allowed a slow breath, but his eyes betrayed him, tracing the light in hers and the subtle curve of her lips as she spoke.
He found himself watching the way her hands moved, how her brows furrowed when she was thinking, how her voice held that faint edge of determination that both irritated and intrigued him.
Each word she spoke chipped subtly at the walls he had built around himself, though he would not, could not, admit it.
Then he leaned forward, meeting her eyes. “Dorothy, do not think that such… rebellion will make me less watchful. I am not a man to be so easily swayed by charm or defiance.”
“Do you think I would ever attempt to charm you?” she asked with widened eyes. “Not in a million years! What could I possibly have to gain from such an endeavor?”
Magnus’s eyes held hers steadily, unflinching. “Responses can be gained in many ways,” he said. “Even a smile, a tilt of the head, a well-timed word... charm is rarely wasted.”
“I would never do so!” Dorothy exclaimed, waving her hand as if the very notion were preposterous. “I have no interest in...”
“Even if you did,” he interrupted, voice quiet but firm. “It would not work. I am not easily swayed.”
Dorothy blinked, indignation lacing her cheeks. “I am hardly attempting anything, Your Grace. Even if I were, I would fail. You need not worry, Your Grace. There’s no way one can charm a brick wall.”
He regarded her calmly, though inwardly he felt the faint stirrings of a sensation he was unfamiliar with.
A restless sort of awareness he could not calculate, a subtle tension that the petite figure across the table provoked in him.
He had not taken the time to consider why he was so unnerved by her mere presence.
He told himself, firmly, that she could not rattle him.
Yet, the truth was disquietingly clear that she already had.
“Are you calling me a brick wall?”
Dorothy’s eyes met his. “No... no, of course not, Your Grace,” she said quickly, the faintest flush rising to her cheeks.
There was a brief pause, long enough for him to see her swallow, to notice how she adjusted her posture ever so slightly, the tiniest shift of unease that betrayed her awareness of his scrutiny.
He found himself observing her every motion.
The way she tilted her head, the way her fingers toyed with the edge of her napkin.
A slow, private satisfaction settled over him, tempered with restraint. She still had the capacity to fluster ever so slightly under his gaze, and despite all her boldness, that small intimidation he could provoke pleased him more than he would admit, even to himself.
He allowed the corner of his mouth to lift. Not a smile, not quite, but enough to mark the moment. Brick wall, indeed. Perhaps she was bold, perhaps even audacious, but she had not yet learned how fully he could see through her.
Magnus returned his gaze to his meal, though the satisfaction lingered, a subtle warmth behind his otherwise guarded composure. She had made her point, yet in doing so, she reminded him that she was not entirely immune to him. That thought, strangely, was not unpleasant.
“Remind me again,” he said at last, “what is your strategy for Eugenia?”
Dorothy lowered her eyes almost instantly, lashes veiling her expression, and shook her head. “You already told me to rethink it, Your Grace. There is no need to trouble yourself with what I had in mind.”
“No,” he countered smoothly, leaning a little forward. “I want to hear it.”
For a moment, she hesitated, hands resting in her lap, and he felt, unreasonably, absurdly, that the tension had shifted. It was not only he who unsettled her. He was, he realized, in a slightly better mood than he had been at the start of the day, and for once, he had the patience to listen.
When she finally looked up, it was with a hint of resignation. “You will not agree with it anyway.”
He tilted his head, conceding that she was not wrong. His methods had not exactly yielded the results he wanted with Eugenia, had they? Perhaps it was folly to demand this woman simply mimic his ways when, in truth, he had brought her here precisely because something needed to change.
“Humor me,” he said after a pause, surprising even himself. “What is the overall plan in your mind?”
That seemed to startle her. She blinked once, twice, then drew a breath as though to steady herself.
“I want her to have time to be a child,” she said, the words tumbling out with a conviction that caught him off guard.
“Of course, she should have her lessons; I agree that is important. But I want to take her out. To the garden. On picnics. I want her to laugh and run and learn about flowers, to see things beyond arithmetic and French conjugations. I want to teach her the little things I know.”
Her voice softened, but her gaze did not falter. “It would take no more than an hour a day. That is all I am asking.”
She bit her lip at the end of her little declaration, and Magnus sat forward almost at once, his gaze fixed.
A sharp current ran through him, unwelcome.
He had seen that gesture before, long ago, in a context he did not care to recall.
To him, it had always been a sign of someone turning pain inward, hurting themselves in silence.
It unsettled him, seeing Dorothy do it now.
He forced his voice steady, pushing his turmoil to the back of his mind. “So, an hour a day to play.”
“Yes,” she said, almost defensive now. “That is all.”