Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Would you…” Dorothy hesitated, then found her courage. “Would you walk with me in the park, Your Grace?
Her pulse had yet to steady from the shop—from him—and she hoped the bustle of the street might help quiet the thoughts racing in her head. She glanced up at him, then down at the cobblestones, her fingers tugging nervously at the fabric of her skirt.
Magnus’s gaze cut toward her. “I do not care for crowds, Dorothy. London, in particular, is… oppressively crowded. I should rather not take a walk.”
She tilted her chin, unwilling to surrender so easily. “But we might run into my family,” she pressed, her voice softening. “I have word my sisters are coming to town for the ball. Usually, my family takes a stroll in Hyde Park during this time of day. If we are fortunate, we may see them.”
His mouth tightened, the instinctive refusal clear in the set of his jaw. He had already begun to shake his head, and she knew what he meant to say.
Before he could, Dorothy slipped her arm through his, nestling it firmly against his side as though it had always belonged there. The gesture was bold, perhaps reckless, yet carried such an air of natural ease that Magnus faltered. She tipped her face up to him with a coaxing smile.
“Please, Your Grace,” she murmured sweetly. “I am certain we will run into my family. They are usually by the pond at this time. We can say hello before we go to the estate.”
Magnus stilled, then gently withdrew his arm from hers. The movement was neither brusque nor unkind, yet it was enough to make Dorothy’s breath catch, as though she had pressed farther than she ought. He opened his mouth and said slowly, “Dorothy—”
But she cut across him. “What are you afraid of, Your Grace? That something dreadful will happen if you so much as appear comfortable with me?” Her eyes searched his.
“It is only a walk. Nothing more. You do not have to be so cautious, not with me. If it troubles you that I take your arm, I will not do it again.”
For a moment, he only looked at her, his expression unreadable, as though weighing her words.
Dorothy’s breath snagged in her throat. She could not tell if he would turn from her entirely or relent.
The silence stretched, tightening around her nerves until she was forced to grip her own hands together to keep them from trembling.
At last, he exhaled slowly, the resistance loosening from his frame. “Very well,” he said, quieter than he intended. “We can take a short walk until we see your family.” Then, almost formally, he offered her his arm. “You can take my arm. It is only proper.”
Her fingers slipped into place once more, but this time at his invitation, and she smiled to herself.
They began their walk, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
Dorothy said nothing at first, her attention too divided.
The park stretched before them in all its lively chaos, nurses wheeling prams, gentlemen guiding their mounts along the paths, ladies with parasols gliding in clusters of chatter.
Yet she noticed none of it. Her gaze darted left and right, searching every corner, every familiar figure, heart thudding with an eagerness she dared not confess aloud.
Minutes passed, and the crunch of gravel beneath their steps was her only companion.
Then, by the pond, a cluster of silhouettes caught her eye.
Dorothy slowed, squinting. A tall, stooped figure, she knew at once.
Beside him, a young lady with hair gleaming like sunlight, her bonnet tilting back at a careless angle.
“Lucy!” she exclaimed.
Her breath lodged in her chest. Then she saw Cecilia, her serene grace intact even as she turned her head, eyes sweeping over the water.
The sight struck Dorothy with such force that she nearly cried out. “Cecilia!” The word left her lips in a gasp, her voice breaking as she let go of Magnus’s arm.
Lucy saw her first. With a delighted shriek, the girl bolted forward, her skirts flying, and Dorothy did not care how many curious heads turned their way.
She ran, the park spinning around her, until Lucy collided into her arms. Dorothy wrapped her close, clutching her sister as if to never let go, laughter spilling.
Lucy pulled back just enough to stare up at her, wide-eyed and breathless.
“Dorothy? Truly, Dorothy? In Hyde Park?” Her voice was incredulous, as though she half-believed her cousin an apparition sprung from her own longing.
“I thought I would never see you here so soon. Oh, how strange, how wonderful!” She clung again, her laughter bubbling over.
Dorothy’s own smile wavered under the tide of emotion. “I knew I would find you here. You’re so predictable.” She smoothed a curl from Lucy’s flushed cheek, hardly believing the moment herself.
A soft exclamation drew her gaze, and there was Cecilia, approaching with cautious steps, her gloved hand pressed lightly to her breast as though to steady her heart. “Dorothy,” she whispered, then more firmly, “it’s wonderful to see you.”
Dorothy could not speak at first. She only reached out, catching Cecilia’s hand in hers. The familiar touch unraveled what composure remained, and for a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other.
Then, Howard, her father, approached them. He halted before her, his hat lifted from his head, as though instinct compelled courtesy even in bewilderment. “Dorothy,” he said,` “I take it you’re here for the Ravenmoor ball?”
Her eyes widened. “The Ravenmoor ball?” She could scarcely believe her ears. “You mean it is Alice’s ball?”
Cecilia gave a soft laugh, her composure beginning to return. “You did not know?” She leaned closer, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Yes, dearest, the Duchess of Ravenmoor—Alice. The very same Alice we ran wild with when we were children.”
Lucy clasped Dorothy’s hand with a playful tug. “Emma’s best friend! How many times did she sneak us sugared almonds when Papa thought we had had quite enough? Oh, Dorothy, have you truly forgotten?”
“I did not forget,” Dorothy protested, though her lips curved despite herself. “I only did not know that this was her ball. I thought it a grand London assembly but not Alice’s.”
Their father’s stern face softened at last into a smile. “It is Alice’s indeed. She and her duke open their doors this season. I daresay, you will not escape her notice once she sees you. She will be delighted to find you here again.”
Dorothy shook her head, still astonished. “That means Emma will surely be coming.”
At once, Lucy’s eyes lit with mischief. “Of course, she will. Do you think the Duchess of Ravenmoor would host without Emma by her side? It would be scandalous.”
Cecilia folded her arms, her smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Emma never could resist a ball, and certainly not one where she might hold court beside her dearest friend. I imagine she will have a new gown made specially for the occasion.”
Their father gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You girls never change. Emma may be duchess herself now, but you still talk of her as if she were only the neighbor’s daughter trotting over to steal pies from our kitchen.” He looked at Dorothy. “It seems you shall all be together again.”
Lucy squeezed her hand. “You must prepare yourself, Dorothy. Emma will surely scold you for not writing enough.”
“I will also be scolding you. You promised letters,” Cecilia gave a mock sigh. “Yet here you are in London, and not a single page to your poor sister.”
Lucy nudged Dorothy with her elbow. “A duchess forgets her little family, it seems. Perhaps she is too grand now to remember us at all.”
Their laughter rang bright in the air, familiar and unrestrained, until a voice cut through it, smooth but edged with authority.
“You should be more careful,” Magnus said, his tone even though it carried weight enough to still them at once.
He had stepped nearer without Dorothy noticing, tall and immovable beside her.
His gaze rested on Lucy, then Cecilia, before sweeping to their father.
“A duchess deserves respect, even from her own family.”
Lucy’s eyes widened, her color draining as she realized to whom she had spoken so glibly. Cecilia’s smile faltered, and their father straightened, his hat twisting between his hands. An uneasy silence fell over the group, the kind that thickened the very air.
Dorothy stepped in quickly, her voice gentle. “They meant no disrespect, Your Grace. Only a sister’s mischief, nothing more.”
Magnus did not shift, his height and composure casting too large a shadow for her words to wholly dissolve. “Mischief unchecked,” he said quietly, “too easily strays into insolence. Even family ought to remember what is owed.”
The weight of his tone settled heavily, and Dorothy saw it in her father’s stiff shoulders, in Lucy’s downcast eyes, and in Cecilia’s nervous grip on her gloves. They were not accustomed to such a presence and were clearly eager to be away from it.
Her father cleared his throat, already stepping back. “It is good to see you again, Your Grace. We have detained you long enough. We must be on our way.”
Dorothy’s heart squeezed, caught between loyalty to both sides. “Will you not at least come to dinner at the Walford residence one of these days?” she asked quickly, reaching for something to soften the moment. “Please. It has been so long since we were all together.”
Her father hesitated, then nodded once. “Very well. We shall come.” His eyes darted again to Magnus, wary, before he tipped his hat. “Until then.”
Within moments, her family had taken their leave, their steps brisk and their laughter gone, leaving Dorothy standing beside her husband, her chest tight with unspoken words.
“What is it? You have not said a word since the walk in the park.”