The Duke himself was no different. If he noticed her at all, he gave no sign. He had not once dined with them since the wedding. Each meal passed in strained silence, Dorothy at one end of the long table, Eugenia at the other, Mrs. Tresswell quietly managing between them. Magnus was a shadow that slipped into the library or vanished to his study. A man whose voice Dorothy scarcely remembered.
It was a lonely sort of existence. The marriage had been spoken of in such grand terms. A union of security, of position, of duty. But was this what marriage meant? To sit in gilded rooms with a stranger who was now her husband, to hear her own footsteps echo without a companion, to never feel the warmth of home or family? She thought often of her sisters, of laughter spilling freely across the breakfast table, of quarrels and reconciliations that at least proved there was life. Here, everything was muted, measured, bound by an invisible silence that seemed to stretch from the Duke himself.
More and more, Dorothy longed to take pen to paper. She wanted to ask her sisters plainly, was this the way of things? Was a wife to be treated like a fixture in her husband’s house, admired only for the silence she could keep? Was it her duty to accept this emptiness as the shape of her days? She did notknow. All she knew was that she did not understand, and her heart ached with the not knowing.
Dorothy lowered herself into a crouch beside Eugenia, smoothing her skirts as she bent down so that her eyes were nearer to the child’s.
“Would you like to play hide-and-seek in the garden, Eugenia?” she asked. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”
Eugenia’s dark brows drew together, faintly knitting in puzzlement. Dorothy saw it at once and figured she didn’t know what she was talking about.
“It is very simple,” Dorothy explained. “One of us must cover our eyes and count while the others find a place to hide. When the counting is done, the seeker tries to find the rest. Do you see?”
For the first time that morning, something flickered in the girl’s expression, the smallest brightening, a glimmer of eagerness. She nodded, sharp and enthusiastic, though her lips never parted with a word.
Dorothy let out a little laugh of relief. “Oh, good. Then will you be the one to seek us? I fear that if you choose to hide, we may never find you at all since you are so very quiet. You would disappear as though into thin air, and Mrs. Tresswell, Jenny, and I would be wandering the garden until dusk!”
At that, Eugenia nodded again, even more vigorously this time, her pale face alight in a way Dorothy had not yet seen since she arrived at the manor.
“Very well,” Dorothy said brightly, rising and dusting her skirts. “You must close your eyes, count to twenty, and no peeking. Mrs. Tresswell, Jenny, come quickly, we must find a spot.”
Mrs. Tresswell hesitated, stiff and doubtful, her disapproval plain. “Your Grace, I do not believe?—”
“Oh, nonsense,” Dorothy cut in, catching her arm. “Come along, or we shall both be discovered in the first moment. We must make a true sport of it.”
Before the governess could fashion another protest, Dorothy tugged her hand, holding up her skirts with one hand and casting quick glances over her shoulder to be sure Eugenia’s small figure had truly buried her face against the old sundial as agreed. With the other hand, she practically tugged Mrs. Tresswell along the gravel path that bent towards the rose walk.
“You must think me quite mad,” Mrs. Tresswell muttered, her brows pinched. “This is hardly what is expected of a duke’s household. The child’s time is better spent perfecting her French verbs or her scales upon the pianoforte.”
Dorothy shook her head. “Her French verbs will not vanish in the space of an afternoon. Nor will her scales. But do you not see? She has not once laughed since I came. A girl of her age, andshe does not even know how to play hide-and-seek! Is that not something worth lamenting?”
Mrs. Tresswell stiffened. “I lament nothing save the danger of idleness, Your Grace. It’s just... I fear the Duke’s reproach. He is a man of order.”
“Order!” Dorothy exclaimed, still in a whisper, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “What is a home if it is only orderly? I have been in this house for nearly a month, Mrs. Tresswell, and I tell you truthfully, it is as though I wander through some great mausoleum. No laughter, no chatter, no life. At the table, there is silence. In the drawing room, silence. Even Eugenia, herself, seems afraid.”
Dorothy shook her head again. “Manners without warmth are but a mask. I was raised with a brother who thought it his duty to make every room echo with noise. We quarreled, we teased, we played until we were scolded for grass stains and torn hems. Yet in the end, it made home feel alive. That is what I want for Eugenia. I might not know her as well as you do, but the only reason that His Grace uprooted me from my home in Mayfair is because of Eugenia, and I intend to concentrate on her. It will give me reason in this place. Does it not bother you that she does not speak?”
Mrs. Tresswell pressed her lips together, glancing about the garden. “It does, Your Grace.”
“Then let us do our best to give Eugenia a decent childhood,” Dorothy urged. “Come, quickly, we can hide behind the rose arch! She will never find us there.”
Reluctant though she appeared, Mrs. Tresswell allowed Dorothy to steer her through the tangle of blooms, the faintest ghost of a smile finally breaking her composure.
Mrs. Tresswell glanced about the hedges as they hid. “You have never seen His Grace truly angry before, have you, Your Grace?”
Dorothy arched her eyebrows. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing,” Mrs. Tresswell replied too quickly, though her lips pressed thin as though holding something back. After a moment, she added, “Have you never heard of the Duke’s reputation or the sort of man he is?”
Dorothy’s brows lifted. “I have heard… things,” she admitted. There were whispers enough in London, half-formed tales of tempers and coldness, rumors of a man who ruled his household like a fortress. Yet in her month beneath his roof, she had not seen that side of him. Intimidation, yes, he carried it like a second skin, but never had he raised his voice or descended to cruelty.
Mrs. Tresswell opened her mouth, as if on the brink of some confession, when a soft rustle in the bushes made Dorothy start.
“Mercy!” she exclaimed, clutching at her chest as a small figure stepped soundlessly from the greenery. Eugenia’s pale face appeared before them, her wide eyes blinking at the two women.
Dorothy gave a small yelp and then dissolved into laughter, which set Mrs. Tresswell off as well. The sudden mirth rang through the garden, and to their astonishment, Eugenia’s lips curved into a smile before breaking into the smallest laughter herself.
“You caught us,” Dorothy said between giggles, bending toward her. “You scared me, but you caught us! Did you find Jenny, too?”
