Chapter Twenty - Tour of the Veil #3
She frowned at him and said, “is there…something different about Gnash?”
“What do you mean?” he said in a way that was far too innocent to not be forced.
“They don’t talk to him,” she said suspiciously, “they don’t even look at him if they can help it.”
Dorian shrugged in an all too nonchalant manner and said, “they’re goblins, they’re mysterious. Don’t read too much into it.”
She was about to speak again when to her surprise he reached out to take her hand. It was so rare that he reached out to her that she nearly pulled away out of reflex. However he grasped it firmly, their gloved hands entwined, and began to pull her down the street, “Come, there’s more to see.”
The rest of the week passed in much the same way. Each day there was something new, some building he had forgotten, some person she had to meet. Still, he would smile at her and say “come, there’s more to see.”
By the time they got back to Blackthorn Hall in the afternoons her feet were pounding.
Dorian would, without fail, awkwardly thank her for her company and head up the winding staircase to the North Tower.
Rosamund would barely have a moment to ease her aching feet into hot water before Wulf dragged her to the ballroom for her fencing lessons.
Wulf ran her through drills, correcting her form, as the muscle memory from her lessons with her father and Edmund began to kick in.
She would flop down onto her bed in the evening with blisters on her heels and callouses on her palms, feeling delightfully exhausted.
The days of spending all her time alone in the conservatory were over.
By the end of the second week she had barely set foot in it, rushing down in the evening to ensure the new shoots were watered.
Elswyth had been concerned when one of her invitations was refused.
She even went so far as to suggest she would visit Blackthorn Hall personally to see Rosamund’s well being for herself.
When she had rushed into Tidehall that evening, Elswyth had taken in her appearance, her flushed face, beaming smile and said nothing further.
Though the older woman did spend the rest of the night with a pleased smile on her face.
Her etiquette lessons had moved on, and most of their time was taken up on wedding planning.
This took the form of Elswyth passing on what Celeste and Seraphine had decided on her behalf, whilst Rosamund and her mentor attempted to figure out what they could get away with changing.
Part of her had dreaded these discussions, had kept her awake at night, but now they were just a mild irritation.
If anything she was desperate to get it out of the way.
Being married to Dorian no longer held the fear it once did.
With their truce in place, the idea of spending the rest of her life with him did not seem so bad anymore.
Love was out of the question, but then she had never been foolish enough to think that she would ever marry for love.
Nobles like them rarely did. But perhaps they would have a partnership, companionship.
That was more than what most women could hope for in Valdyr, and more than she had initially thought she would get.
For the first time since she had left Kilgavie, since Todric’s death, she was starting to believe that she could truly build something here. With him.
She had thought that given the purpose of Blackthorn Hall, she might cease her renovations of the conservatory. After all, this was part of the deception they showed to the rest of Aurelmere. However, Dorian had insisted she continue.
“We can say it is my one concession to you,” he said as he sat at one of the wrought iron tables as she worked on re-potting, “one part of this place that is yours.”
“That is not necessarily a lie,” she said brandishing her trowel at him.
He had given her one of his rare true smiles and said, “the best lies are usually grounded in truth.”
She could not remember when they had started spending their evenings this way.
He at one of the tables pouring over missives and petitions, whilst she worked on her plants.
Often, they would work in silence with only the sound of papers shuffling, the snip of her shears and the occasional sigh from Dorian.
Other times his sighing would start to irritate her, and she would demand to know what was wrong.
And so he had started to explain his work.
Even a place as beautiful as The Veil still had it’s complaints, and through their discussions she started to learn about how the district operated, the various smaller councils that wished to have their say; the miners, the guildmasters, the tradesmen.
Then there were the requests from his brothers, from his father.
The constant demand for more. Dorian had to balance it all and keep them protected from the rest of Aurelmere.
There had been one outrageous demand for iron from Bastian that he had thrown into the now functional fountain.
Rosamund had fished it out, sat down at the table and pulled a blank bit of paper towards herself.
With her dirt covered fingers she had picked up the quill and penned a response before handing it back to Dorian.
He had raised his eyebrows in surprise as he read it and glanced at her over the top of the paper, “I see your lessons with Elswyth are going well.”
After that, he would occasionally pass her some of the papers to read over and respond too.
He even stopped reading them after a while, gesturing for her to place them on the pile to send away with Osric.
She thought that it might have been her imagination, or even wishful thinking, but she his shoulders were a little less hunched.
He sat straighter in his chair, and his brow was less furrowed.
She was glad to lift the burden from him, eager even.
She felt stimulated in a way that she had not felt since her lessons with her father.
It was like another muscle she did not realise she had not been working, and it felt good to shake off the dust and challenge herself.
She felt more like herself again. The woman she was before her brother’s execution. Before her father died. Before Todric.