Chapter 11 #2
Dorothy tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Hardly receive callers? Surely there must be some who come to such a grand estate to see the Duke. He is in his study every single day. Is he always alone?”
Mrs. Redmond gave the slightest shake of her head.
“I am not sure about that, Your Grace. I know of none who visits, save His Grace, the Duke of Langridge, His Grace’s most trusted companion.
He comes and goes as freely, but beyond him?
No one. We have had little cause to open the drawing rooms in many a year. ”
Mrs. Tresswell nodded. “That is true enough. I cannot remember the last time I saw the lamps in the great hall lit for company.”
Dorothy’s brow furrowed. “I have been here almost two months now, and indeed, I have not seen a guest. Only the villagers, when they seek an audience… and even then, they are never received by His Grace himself, are they?”
Mrs. Redmond’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Rarely, Your Grace. The steward attends to them. The Duke… prefers solitude. The villagers often whisper that they might catch a glimpse of him once or twice in a season. Some say he passes them like a shadow, scarcely a word spoken.”
Mrs. Tresswell leaned forward, lowering her voice as though even the stone walls might overhear.
“It has been so since long before your arrival, Your Grace. They are accustomed to his ways now, though it does not stop their chatter. Why, just last week, I overheard two women in the village bakery wondering if His Grace had forgotten how to converse with ordinary folk altogether.”
Dorothy’s lips curved wryly, though her mind turned over the truth of it.
Indeed, for all her new title, she too had scarcely seen Magnus at all.
“So, the great halls echo, and the drawing rooms gather dust, and no one comes to sit by the fire but one person, the Duke of Langridge?” she mused softly.
Mrs. Redmond nodded. “Precisely so, Your Grace. So, I would beg leave to say that the household has always managed well with what is at hand. What would be the use?”
Dorothy paused to think. “The use, Mrs. Redmond, is in readiness. You see, I have been here for nearly two months, and save for a few villagers seeking an audience, there have been no callers, no guests, no gatherings of any kind. Yet I know that a time will surely come when I will be required to host, to receive, to preside as Duchess of Walford. I cannot be found unprepared.”
She thought of her sisters, how each, upon their marriages, had risen with apparent ease to the demands of their new stations.
How she herself had sat at their side during endless lectures on manners, at balls and musicales they had orchestrated with elegance, and how she had listened and learned even though she did not really see use for the lectures back then.
“Before I married,” she continued more softly, as though half to herself, “I attended balls my sisters arranged. I know what is expected of a duchess during the Season. Though His Grace may not care for such things, society will still expect it of me. The house, as it stands, does not reflect such a standard. The drawing rooms are dark, the drapes faded, the ornaments dreadfully old-fashioned. The grandeur of the exterior is not matched within. It does not speak welcome. It does not speak Walford.”
Her gaze flicked through the window to the vast parkland. “I am not seeking to give His Grace an air he would disdain. I wish only to bring the house in readiness so that if the need arises, if duty calls, I may stand as a duchess ought to stand, prepared.”
Silence met her words, the hush stretching over the room until Dorothy’s heart began to quicken in doubt. Then Mrs. Tresswell shifted slightly, and Mrs. Redmond folded her hands more tightly against her apron, as though restraining some further opinion.
Dorothy nodded, acknowledging the concern but unwilling to yield.
“Then we shall be thoughtful about it. No great tearing down, no reckless expense. Only what is needful and what will bring comfort. I should like your guidance, Mrs. Redmond, in knowing which areas require the least disruption and which might best be addressed first.”
There was another pause. Mrs. Redmond inclined her head again, more slowly this time, as if testing Dorothy’s resolve and finding it firmer than expected.
“If it pleases Your Grace, I can draw up a list of such places. The draught at the stairwell, perhaps… and the cracked plaster might be tended without much disturbance.”
“Excellent,” Dorothy said warmly. “Then we shall begin there. I want the household to see that we care for both its comfort and its dignity.”
Mrs. Tresswell looked at her and nodded. “I will help with the servants, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Tresswell.” Dorothy smiled.
Mrs. Redmond dipped into a respectful curtsey. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall—”
Scarcely had Mrs. Redmond finished her sentence, when there was a firm knock upon the drawing-room door, and Magnus opened it himself, stepping inside. Both Mrs. Redmund and Mrs. Tresswell rose instantly, their demeanor shifting to one of stiff deference as they dipped their heads.
“Mrs. Tresswell, Mrs. Redmond,” Magnus said, “if you would allow me a moment with Her Grace.”
They needed no further encouragement. With murmured acknowledgements, they withdrew in haste, leaving Dorothy to stand in the sudden hush. She had risen as well, her hands clasped before her to steady the quick flutter at her breast.
It struck her then that this was the very first time she had been alone with him, face to face, since that mortifying afternoon at the window. A silence stretched between them, heavy, weighted with all that had been left unsaid, until she lifted her eyes to meet his.
Magnus regarded her a moment longer, then inclined his head, as though settling upon his words. “I thought it proper to inform you,” he said, “I shall be away for some time. A business matter calls me to Yorkshire and other regions. I expect to be gone two months at the very least.”
Dorothy, still standing with her hands clasped, felt a faint tightening in her chest. Two months. He might as well have said two years, so long had silence already stood between them.
She managed a composed nod. “I see,” she answered softly. “Do you travel often?”
His gaze lingered on her, unreadable, before he stepped further into the room.
He moved with the slow deliberation of a man contemplating if he should respond to her.
Then he turned aside and walked to the far corner, where the fire’s glow reached only faintly.
“Rarely,” he said at last. “I dislike it. I prefer my business matters kept close, handled here, alone.”
Dorothy inclined her head once more. “Very well,” she murmured, and silence pressed in on them. It grew thick and restless until she felt she must flee or suffocate beneath it. She drew in a breath, about to excuse herself, when his voice cut gently through the hush.
“About that day,” Magnus said in a low tone.
“At the window.” He turned slightly toward her, the firelight catching the hard lines of his profile.
“I know I may have been… over the top. I did not mean to undermine your ability to keep Eugenia safe. If you felt offended, then I beg you to believe, it was never my intention.”
Dorothy straightened, her hands twisting lightly in the folds of her gown. She studied him for a moment, then asked quietly, “Do you wish to tell me why you were so flustered by it?”
He looked at her then, directly and with such intensity that she felt the question tremble in her own chest. His eyes did not waver, nor did his composure break. “No,” he answered simply. “I do not.”
“Why not?” Dorothy pressed, her voice quiet but unflinching. “Is it because it would make you vulnerable?”
The faintest shadow of amusement touched his mouth. “I am not familiar with the term vulnerability,” he said.
She nearly retorted, nearly told him that she had seen it herself, plain as day, in his eyes that afternoon by the window.
The unguarded flicker, the fracture in his immovable facade.
But she held her tongue, unwilling to test him further, unwilling to watch him draw those walls higher.
Instead, she inclined her head with grace.
“Very well,” she said softly. “I wish you well on your trip, Your Grace. You need not worry. I shall not take Eugenia to the lake. Nor shall I place her by any windows. We shall dine together, keep her to her lessons, perhaps even resort to card games or other dull diversions. That will be enough.”
Something unreadable crossed his expression then, the barest shift in the line of his mouth. “Thank you.”
“If you’re going on this business trip, Your Grace, perhaps you could bring something back for Eugenia?”
He raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of skepticism and mild amusement. “I fail to see why that would be necessary. She has everything she needs.”
“It would be… nice,” she said softly, leaning just a little closer, though not enough for him to notice her pulse quicken. “Something small, nothing extravagant, but a little gift for her. My papa used to do that when we were little, and it made me very happy. It would make her happy.”
He let out a short, reluctant laugh, shaking his head. “What, pray tell, would make a little girl happy?”
Dorothy tilted her head, pretending to consider, though ideas tumbled quickly into her mind.
“A small doll. Or perhaps a book, something with pictures. Maybe even a wooden horse that wobbles when you push it though I fear it might tumble over.” She let her lips twitch.
“If it falls, well, it’s allowed to fall. She will learn resilience.”
Magnus’s brow furrowed slightly, and she caught it immediately.
There was a faint tightening around his eyes, as if he were weighing how he would possibly accomplish this.
Like he had no clue in the world how to get the gifts she spoke of.
She felt a tickle of amusement at the look on his face, and before she could stop herself, a laugh escaped her.
He blinked at her, caught off guard. “What is so amusing?”
Dorothy pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to hide her grin, but the warmth in her chest made her unable to fully contain it. “Your face, Your Grace,” she said simply, still laughing.
“My face?” His tone carried both surprise and disbelief.
“Yes. You… look confused. Dazed. Like you have no idea where or how to find these things for a little girl.” She laughed again, soft and musical, unable to stop herself.
Magnus’s lips twitched, then a small, almost reluctant smile tugged at the corners. “Why does this amuse you?”
“I don’t think I have ever seen anyone make that face,” she said, letting the word slip out before she could stop herself. “Like you have no plan, no… idea.”
He leaned back slightly, a dazed sort of wonder in his gaze, and then, quietly, almost warmly, he said, “I have no idea.”
Dorothy’s laughter softened into a smile. “Well, I can write you a contact. A name. If you make it to London, this person can show you where to find all the things Eugenia would love.”
Magnus inclined his head and gave a small, grateful nod. “Thank you. Truly.” He paused, a faint edge of something like pride or disbelief in his expression. “That’s the first time anyone has ever laughed at my face.”
Dorothy’s grin widened. “Again, I’ve never seen anyone make that kind of face before. It’s… rather charming.”
He laughed, a soft, unguarded sound that seemed to fill the corners of the room. Dorothy felt a warmth in her chest she hadn’t expected. For a moment, it was like the first time she’d seen a hint of the man behind the title, the discipline, the cold control. He looked… human. Real.
“I wish you a safe trip,” she said, brushing her hand along the edge of the desk as she turned.
Magnus straightened. “Please do not forget the name. You will bring it to me, yes?”
“I shall,” she replied, smiling, and with that, she left.
Now, with the knowledge that he would be absent for so long, a strange, unfamiliar feeling curled in her chest. She realized, with a disquieting clarity, that she might… miss him. It struck her as utterly preposterous, almost laughable, and yet it persisted, teasing at the edges of her thoughts.
She shook her head as she stepped away, chastising herself for such a ridiculous consideration, but the warmth of that strange awareness lingered, impossible to dismiss entirely.