Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Do you think Helios was a bad person?” Magnus asked, his voice low, almost contemplative, as he leaned against the edge of the study desk.
Rowan froze where he sat, a quill in hand, blinking at him. “Pardon?”
Magnus pushed off the desk slightly, pacing, his gaze distant. “The story—Clytie and Helios. Clytie’s devotion. Love unreturned. Did Helios do wrong? Was he cruel?”
Rowan set the quill down and rubbed his forehead. “I… well, in the end, perhaps it depends on perspective, Magnus. I mean, certainly to some people, he might have done wrong, but it wasn’t his fault that Clytie doted on him.
Magnus stopped pacing and looked sharply at him. “Hm,” he murmured. “That does not help.”
Rowan sighed. “Are you ready to talk about it?”
Rowan stepped closer, voice soft but steady.
“I mean, these past two weeks, I have seen you here almost every day, working as though the world rests solely on your shoulders. You have sent for me for the littlest of things, and we have been working without stopping. But Magnus… you’ve eaten little, slept less, and your eyes, they look…
exhausted. I have never seen you so unkempt.
I mean no disrespect, but you look miserable. ”
Magnus leaned back in his chair, stiff and controlled, and said, “Nothing is wrong, Rowan. I simply need to work. To occupy my mind with something tangible. That is all.”
Rowan shook his head, a faint frown creasing his brow. “Do you want to know how I know something is wrong?”
Magnus’s gaze flicked toward him, wary, but he said nothing.
Rowan’s eyes softened as he sat back. “Because Eugenia, the child who barely speaks, saw me when I arrived here a week ago and ran to me, asking where Dorothy was. Do you know how shocked I was that Eugenia spoke to me? I had no idea she had even started talking. This very morning, she insisted on knowing if I had brought Dorothy back with me.” He paused, letting the weight of the observation sink in.
“Yet, you still deny that nothing is amiss in your household?”
Magnus exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Dorothy went to her father’s house,” he said evenly. “To spend some time away. She needed to clear her head. Everything is fine.”
Rowan, arms crossed and brow furrowed, fixed him with an incredulous stare. “Stop it, Magnus,” he said sharply, uncharacteristically serious. “Don’t hide behind that. Tell me what the issue is. We cannot keep working like this.”
Magnus hesitated, the quill in his hand hovering over the desk before he reluctantly set it down. “Very well,” he said, voice low. “We had a slight quarrel concerning the matter of an heir. She required some time away from me. That is all.”
Magnus straightened, resting his hands on the edge of the desk. “Do not worry, Rowan,” he said firmly. “I will speak with Eugenia about it myself. There is nothing more for you to concern yourself with.”
Rowan’s expression softened, though the seriousness in his eyes remained. “Perhaps it is time for you to let go,” he said carefully.
Magnus’s brows lifted, but he feigned ignorance. “Let go of what?”
Rowan pressed on, leaning slightly forward. “It has been many years, my friend. You cannot possibly still be thinking about how your sister—”
Magnus’s hand shot up, cutting him off. “We are not speaking of that,” he said sharply, his voice ice-cold. “Don’t do that, Rowan.”
“You are the one doing it,” Rowan argued. “More than anyone else, I understand, Magnus. I get why you would prefer that the Fitzgerald name die with you. But Dorothy does not understand that, and I think it is unfair—”
“I do not wish to work anymore. I believe you should leave,” Magnus snapped, rubbing his temples.
Rowan, knowing better than to quarrel with Magnus in such a state, stood silently and moved toward the door.
Before stepping out, he paused and looked back.
“You should think within yourself, Magnus. Deep down, you know that if your sister were to discover the reason for your determination, she would not approve.”
Magnus’s glare followed him to the door, sharp and deadly. Rowan gave a small, knowing nod and quietly left, closing the door behind him.
Magnus sank back into his chair, burying his face in his palms as a dull ache pressed behind his eyes. He could no longer deny it. He felt miserable, unsettled, and restless.
Slowly, he rose from where he sat and made his way to Eugenia’s room.
Despite his anger, despite his insistence on the boundaries he had set, he knew, with an undeniable certainty, that he needed to be near Dorothy.
Even if he could not bring himself to speak to her, even if he would not force her to confront his desires or his choices, the thought of being apart from her made the walls of his home feel tighter, colder.
Magnus pushed open Eugenia’s door, the soft creak of the hinges announcing his presence.
He found her sitting on the edge of her bed, her small hands clasped together in her lap, eyes downcast. Kneeling beside her, he brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and spoke softly.
“I am sorry, Eugenia,” he said. “The days flew by. I’ve been distant…
lost in my own thoughts. I should have been here with you. For that, I am truly sorry.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Everything will be all right in the end, I promise. For now, it’s all right to feel sad. You can feel whatever you need to, but know that I am here, even if I haven’t been as present as I should.”
Eugenia’s eyes lifted to meet his as Magnus continued, trying to keep his own heart in check. “I thought… perhaps we might go to London for a few days. A change of scenery, some fresh air. We can shop, see things, perhaps even enjoy a little adventure together. Would you like that?”
A smile slowly bloomed on her face. “Will Dorothy be there?” she asked curiously.
Magnus’s smile waned. “She will. You might get to see her,” he agreed with a smile. “I am sure she misses you a lot.”
“Then, yes,” she said softly, her small voice full of hope. “I would like that very much.”
Magnus rose and straightened, feeling a flicker of satisfaction at her joy.
Yet, as he tried to convince himself that the journey was for her, that the change of scenery was for her happiness, the truth lingered in his mind.
It was, in some small, undeniable way, for him as well.
He was still angry with Dorothy, still hurt by her absence, yet beneath that anger stirred the simple, unyielding desire to see her, to be near her, even if only for a fleeting moment.
For now, he would focus on Eugenia, on ensuring her happiness, but he knew that the eclipse of Dorothy’s presence was never far from his thoughts.
Days Later...
“You still have not told anyone why you needed to come to London, Dorothy.”
Dorothy sighed, walking along the gravel path of the city’s streets with her sisters flanking her.
The crisp morning air did little to ease the tightness in her chest, nor the growing sense of frustration that had been simmering ever since she arrived in the city.
Her father’s questioning had come daily at first, his concern wrapped tightly in worry that bordered on suspicion.
Phillip, ever insistent, peppered her with questions, not because he expected an answer but because he enjoyed the discomfort it caused her.
Now her sisters—Emma and Cecilia—had joined in, their curiosity cutting through the fog of her own tangled emotions.
She couldn’t tell them. There was no explanation.
“We’re your sisters,” Cecilia added. “You don’t have to carry whatever it is alone.”
Dorothy’s steps faltered, and she stopped beneath the shade of a sprawling elm. She looked at the two women she had grown up alongside, the women who had always been her confidantes, and she felt the walls she had so carefully constructed start to crumble. Her voice came low, almost a whisper.
“I… love him,” she admitted, the words tasting like both relief and fear on her tongue. “But I feel so much like Clytie. How ironic is it that I have gone from being a wallflower to a sunflower?”
Emma and Cecilia exchanged confused looks. “Clytie?” Emma asked.
“Sunflower?” Cecilia asked too. “Like... the story of Helios? Is that what you’re talking about?”
“Never mind,” Dorothy said, resuming their walk along the road. “I love Magnus with all my heart, all right? I admit it.”
Ever since she had arrived at her father’s house, Dorothy had convinced herself that her departure was borne of frustration, that she needed distance to cool her temper and reclaim her composure.
Yet the truth had begun to reveal itself with quiet, insistent persistence.
All she wanted was to be back at the manor, to see Magnus, to hear Eugenia’s laughter echo through the halls, to return to the rhythm of their days that had once felt so right.
Each night, as she lay in her bed, images of Magnus haunted her thoughts. The warmth of his arms, the intensity of their kiss, the gentle teasing that had made her heart flutter—and with a sinking clarity, she realized she had fallen utterly, irrevocably in love with him.
“But he doesn’t love me back. I cannot have his heart, no matter how much I wish I could.”
Emma and Cecilia exchanged a glance. Emma stepped closer, taking Dorothy’s hand in hers, but Dorothy gently pulled away. She had expected pity, perhaps even judgment, and instead felt a pang of sorrow for the harsh clarity of her own confession.