“Prepare Eugenia for lunch,” he said. “I shall be dining with her, and she is to be at the table when the time comes.”
He saw the surprise flicker across her face before she composed herself, bowing slightly. “Yes, Your Grace,” she replied.
With that, Magnus finally stepped from the study, leaving the governess to carry out his instructions.
Magnus had only stepped from his study to check on Eugenia when he stumbled on the letter. Now, it was all he could think about. Dorothy. She worried him in a manner entirely unfamiliar, entirely maddening. He hated it when something gnawed at his thoughts, when his mind would not release it, and he prided himself on an unwavering command over his affairs. In business, no matter the complexity of a negotiation or the risk of a venture, nothing unsettled him. Every alliance, every contract, every coin spent or gained was calculated with precision.
Yet here, in his own household, with this woman who refused to conform, nothing could be measured or predicted. Every strategy he devised for the child, every arrangement of the household, every carefully considered moment of instruction seemed to unravel at her presence. Dorothy had become an equation that defied reason, and Magnus had no solution. He could not decipher why she moved as she did, why she balked at his plans, or why she held her own ideas with such stubborn fervor. The more he pondered it, the more he realized that she had claimed a corner of his mind he had never intended to surrender.
“She is not fitting into it,” he mumbled to himself as he made his way back to his bedchamber.
The truth, as Magnus allowed himself to admit only in these rare, unguarded moments, was that he had married her for utility, believing her boldness and cleverness might shape Eugenia into a proper young lady. Yet, as he watched Dorothy now, it became painfully clear that her defiance and playfulness were not the tempered guidance he had envisioned. She questioned, she pushed, she challenged his plans at every turn, and now, she filled him with unease.
Magnus wondered whether the outcomes of his decision would match the meticulous calculations of his mind.
CHAPTER TEN
“Did something happen?” Dorothy asked.
“Nothing happened,” Magnus responded.
“Did someone die?”
“Dorothy, eat your food.”
“I cannot eat when you are sitting there,” she said, dropping her spoon.
Magnus let out a low sigh, dropping his own cutlery onto the plate with a soft clatter that sounded far louder than he intended. Perhaps it was a mistake. When had he ever yielded to anyone’s will? Anyone outside the rigid demands of business or the precise logic of his household? Yet here he was, allowing himself to sit across from Dorothy in a display of leniency he had never before permitted. He hated it, truly despised the sensationof it, this uneasy stirring in his chest that felt as though her mere presence had shifted the axis of his carefully ordered world.
He had long been accustomed to solitude, to dining alone in his study, in the privacy of his chambers, or in his own private dining room. The clatter of silverware, the rustle of napkins, even the faint murmur of another person eating near him had always grated against his sensibilities. But he understood that to make Dorothy keep eating alone would be cruel. She had grown up surrounded by siblings, by laughter and conversation over meals, and even after her sisters had married, she had retained the habit of shared tables. To deny her that simple pleasure now, in the vast emptiness of his estate, seemed an act most unkind, one he could not abide.
Dorothy lifted her fork again, though she did not bring it to her lips. “I must confess,” she said carefully, “that I rather like eating alone, or perhaps, together with Eugenia when she is not occupied with her lessons. I find it… peaceful.”
Magnus’s eyes narrowed, a faint lift of one brow betraying his incredulity. “You... like it?”
“Yes,” she said plainly, a hint of defensiveness in her tone. “I very much like it. So, your presence here today is... unsettling.”
“That is… ironic,” he said slowly, his voice edged with dry amusement. “I would have thought a lady born in Mayfair, accustomed to the endless parade of company, the constant functions, the shared luncheons with family and acquaintancesalike, would find solitary dining oppressive rather than… agreeable.”
Dorothy’s eyes flicked up to meet his, a spark of challenge in their depths. “Perhaps that is precisely why I find it agreeable. I have grown accustomed to noise, to chaos, to the… unending chatter of others. Solitude is a reprieve, not a punishment.”
Magnus leaned back slightly in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching. If he had not read her letter, he would have believed her. “A reprieve, you say?”
Dorothy tried to look at him, but looked at Eugenia instead. “Sometimes, Eugenia and I use this time to bond, Your Grace. Your sudden presence at the table, where you have never been before, upsets the balance of my routine. That is all.”
“Routine,” he repeated. “Dorothy, this is my home. I can eat whenever and wherever I want to.”
Dorothy took a sip of her water. “Are you doing this to... spite me? For questioning you this morning? Because I can assure you, it is not working, Your Grace. I might be unsettled by your presence, but I am not that bothered.”
“Of course, you are not. Deep down, you prefer to eat this way, regardless of how you see me,” he argued.
Dorothy’s lips pressed together. “Perhaps I resent the intrusion because I am still… learning the bounds of this household. What to say, what not to say... What am I allowed to do and what not”
Magnus’s gaze sharpened. “Yet you speak freely,” he said, leaning forward. “As if the dining room were yours alone. You contradict yourself.”
Dorothy tilted her head, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. “Perhaps I am learning from you, then, Your Grace. Perhaps one day I will master contradiction as well as you.”
He did not respond immediately, letting silence hang between them like a taut cord. He allowed a slow breath, but his eyes betrayed him, tracing the light in hers and the subtle curve of her lips as she spoke. He found himself watching the way her hands moved, how her brows furrowed when she was thinking, how her voice held that faint edge of determination that both irritated and intrigued him. Each word she spoke chipped subtly at the walls he had built around himself, though he would not, could not, admit it.
