Chapter 6
Dressed in a pale pink muslin gown trimmed with delicate lace at the cuffs and collar, Dorothea stepped out of her bedchamber into the morning hush of the corridor. A soft breeze slipped through the tall windows at the end of the hall, rustling the curtains.
As she made her way towards the entry hall, she offered polite nods to the servants she passed. Though they bowed and curtsied respectfully, she felt the subtle weight of their curiosity, their silent observation of the new lady of the house.
When she entered the dining room, she paused, her gaze sweeping over the long table set for two. But Dominic was not there. Her steps faltered. She had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that after their conversation the night before, he might join her.
But no. She was alone.
Well, not entirely. Two footmen stood along the wall like sentinels, their gazes carefully blank. One of them stepped forward and pulled out her chair. Dorothea murmured her thanks and gracefully sat. Another placed a plate of eggs, toast, and sliced fruit before her.
She picked up her fork but found her appetite lacking. Still, she made herself eat in silence, stealing glances towards the doorway with every passing minute, hoping to see Dominic enter the room.
He had been distant, yes. Guarded. But last night… she’d seen a glimpse of something more. Of the man who had once listened to her read by candlelight in a smoky field tent. The man who had offered her kindness when no one else would.
The butler entered the room with his usual poise, a silver tray balanced in his hands. “The morning newssheets, my lady,” he announced, stepping forward and offering them with a slight bow.
Dorothea accepted the newssheets, her fingers brushing the crisp edges. She hesitated. Her brother had always criticized her for reading them—said it was unseemly for a young woman to care about politics, war, or Society gossip.
As if sensing her doubt, the butler offered, “If I may, his lordship specifically requested that you read the Society pages this morning.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “He did?”
“He did,” the butler confirmed with a faint, reassuring smile.
With newfound curiosity, Dorothea unfolded the sheets and turned to the designated pages. Her eyes scanned the columns until one name leapt out at her.
Lady Warwicke.
“It would appear the handsome—and elusive—Lord Warwicke has at last found himself a bride. But not just any bride: a courageous young woman who reportedly followed her father to war, tending to wounded soldiers and facing danger with uncommon bravery…”
Dorothea stared at the words, rereading them once, then twice. The words didn’t feel real—not exactly—but she was there in ink and rumor, laid bare for all of London to devour.
How had this Mr. Fairchild even known those details? She had never sought out attention, and in the eyes of Society, she had been a nobody. So why this sudden fascination?
Before she could ponder it further, the butler returned to the doorway. “A Lady Sarah and her daughter, Mrs. Arabella Haverleigh, have requested an audience with you, my lady.”
Dorothea’s stomach gave a small lurch, but she forced a smile. “How lovely. Please show them to the drawing room.”
As the butler left to escort the guests, Dorothea rose from the table, gathering her composure like a cloak around her.
She had not expected to see Arabella again so soon.
She had rather hoped—after being removed from her brother’s household—that her sister-in-law might simply fade from her life.
But Arabella had always been persistent when it served her.
Still, Dorothea reminded herself, Arabella had no power here. Not anymore.
She straightened her shoulders and made her way down the corridor to the drawing room.
When she entered, Arabella was already rising from the settee, her fashionable gown pristine, and her blonde curls arranged in an elegant chignon.
Lady Sarah sat beside her, silver hair immaculately coifed, her cane resting against one gloved hand.
Arabella beamed with exaggerated warmth. “Dorothea! It’s so lovely to see you again,” she gushed. “That gown is simply divine on you.”
Dorothea offered a polite smile. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Arabella let out a delicate laugh, too high and too rehearsed. “You’re always so amusing. No, no—this is just a visit. We were eager to see how you’re adjusting to such a grand household.”
“I’m settling in well, thank you.” Dorothea turned to Lady Sarah with genuine warmth. “Good morning, my lady.”
Lady Sarah’s eyes crinkled around the edges. “Good morning, Dorothea. I understand you are now married to the most talked-about gentleman in London.”
“Yes,” Dorothea said with a modest smile. “It came as a surprise to me as well.”
Arabella eagerly seized her hand and led her to the settee. “You must tell us everything! We’re simply dying to hear the story.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” Dorothea replied, carefully arranging her skirts as she sat. “I arrived only yesterday. Dominic and I are still becoming acquainted.”
At that moment, a maid entered with a polished tea service. She set it on the low table and asked, “Shall I pour, my lady?”
Dorothea shook her head. “No, thank you. I shall see to it.”
She poured the tea with steady hands, offering a cup first to Lady Sarah, then to Arabella, before preparing her own.
As she took a sip, she studied Arabella discreetly over the rim of her teacup.
The sudden friendliness, the unexpected call…
something was not right. Arabella, who had once treated her with cool disdain, was now smiling like they’d grown up as dearest friends.
Arabella set down her teacup with a delicate clink. “I saw the article in the morning newssheets. You must be thrilled.”
“I suppose it was rather flattering,” Dorothea remarked, placing her own cup and saucer down.
“I imagine your new position will grant you many invitations to balls, soirées, perhaps even the duchess’s house party,” Arabella said. “And I was hoping—well, your brother was hoping—that you might consider inviting us to accompany you.”
Dorothea raised a brow, not bothering to mask her surprise. “My brother made this request?”
Arabella nodded quickly. “It’s only fair, considering how generously he cared for you after your father passed.”
Dorothea sat straighter, her voice curt. “You and I seem to have different understandings of the word care.”
Arabella waved a hand airily. “He made mistakes. We all did. Let’s not dwell on the past.”
Before Dorothea could answer, Lady Sarah leaned in and said matter-of-factly, “Oh, Arabella, do stop pretending. Your husband is a cad. Let’s not insult the girl’s intelligence.”
“He is not a cad,” Arabella protested with a pout on her lips.
Lady Sarah turned to Dorothea and mouthed exaggeratedly, “Cad.”
Dorothea let out a surprised giggle and quickly pressed her fingers to her lips. She had always liked Lady Sarah, who had shown her kindness even when no one else in her brother’s household had bothered.
Lady Sarah reached down and picked up Dorothea’s teacup, extending it towards her. “Why don’t we enjoy another cup of tea and speak plainly, shall we?”
Dorothea accepted the cup and took a sip. “I would prefer that.”
Arabella lifted her chin. “I merely thought that since you’ll be attending many important events, it would be beneficial—for me and my husband—to be seen alongside you.”
Realization dawned on Dorothea. “Does my brother even know that you are here?”
Arabella shifted uncomfortably. “No… but I’m doing this for him. Truly.”
“For all of us,” Lady Sarah corrected. “The more we’re seen in good company, the better it reflects on all of us.”
Dorothea sat back, weighing her options. She could easily refuse. They had treated her poorly, dismissed her, and made her feel invisible. She owed them nothing.
And yet… there was something desperate in Arabella’s voice. Not arrogant. Not scheming. Pleading.
“Please, Dorothea,” Arabella said quietly. “Matthew won’t say it aloud, but he needs to make proper connections. Ones that will lift us up in the eyes of Society. We… we need help.”
Dorothea set her cup on the tray and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m not opposed. But I’ll need to speak with Dominic before I agree to anything.”
Arabella’s face lit up with relief. “Thank you, Dorothea.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “He may not approve.”
“I understand.”
Lady Sarah gave her a knowing smile. “I hear your husband is very handsome.”
A faint blush crept up Dorothea’s cheeks. “He is, indeed.”
“Good.” Lady Sarah’s smile turned warm. “I’m happy for you, my dear.”
Dorothea was happy—truly, quietly, deeply happy—that Dominic had come back from the dead. That he had survived when so many others hadn’t. Every breath he drew was a small miracle, one she hadn’t dared pray for during those long, desperate nights in the field hospital.
But even as gratitude filled her chest, it was accompanied by something heavier. A weight she couldn’t seem to shake.
Because she knew—had known from the moment she stepped foot into his townhouse—that he didn’t see her as a blessing.
He saw her as a burden. And no matter how she tried to make herself small, to tread lightly and be nothing but agreeable, that truth clung to her like a shadow.
He was alive.
And she was unwanted.
Dominic sat rigidly in his coach, the wheels jostling over the uneven cobblestones as it wound its way through the bustling London streets.
Outside, the city was already awake—hawkers shouting over each other, horses clattering by, the scent of smoke and fresh bread mingling in the spring air.
But inside the coach, there was only the hum of his thoughts.
He had risen before dawn, eaten his breakfast in a nearly empty dining room, and made sure to depart before Dorothea stirred.
A coward’s maneuver, to be sure, but necessary. Facing her had become... complicated.