She tried to focus on her tea, on the delicate clink of the spoon against the cup, anything but the sharp color of his eyes that stillfascinated her and the taut line of his jaw. It puzzled her. Only the night before, in his study, she had been able to speak to him, even with the memory fresh in her mind. Perhaps it had been the darkness of the room, the shadows that allowed her to avoid looking directly at him. Here, in the full morning light, there was no such refuge, and her pulse betrayed her composure.
Dorothy shifted slightly in her seat, attempting a semblance of casualness, though every movement seemed amplified in her awareness. Words came more slowly than usual, as if they had to pass through some unseen filter between thought and speech. She caught herself glancing away whenever he stirred, each tilt of his head sending a jolt of something unfamiliar through her chest.
Yet, despite the confusion, she could not deny the stirrings of something welcome in that quickened heartbeat. It was disconcerting, yes, and entirely out of place in the orderly rhythm of her life, but it made her feel alive in a way that quiet mornings and careful routines never had. She puzzled over the timing, over how such a reaction had begun and whether it was truly the memory of his touch or something else.
Dorothy exhaled softly, forcing herself to shift her thoughts away from his gifts. Perhaps if she concentrated on something else, her heart might slow to a normal rhythm. She turned toward Eugenia, who was sitting very still, her eyes fixed on Magnus as though she were studying him for the first time.
“Eugenia, well, I was thinking,” Dorothy observed, choosing her words carefully as she watched the little girl, “you’ve beenpainting something new, haven’t you? Would you like, perhaps, for His Grace to come and watch you paint sometime? It might be rather… pleasant for him.”
Magnus’s fork paused mid-air, his eyes narrowing in the faintest crease of curiosity. “She’s painting?”
Dorothy glanced at Eugenia, who gave the smallest, almost imperceptible smile. “Yes,” Dorothy said to Magnus, smiling softly herself. “She is. I think it might be nice.”
Magnus cleared his throat, still holding the fork, clearly unused to such informal suggestions. “I… see. Very well.”
Eugenia’s smile widened just a fraction, and Dorothy felt a quiet satisfaction at the small victory. Even if Magnus didn’t speak in tenderness, she could see in that tiny shift that Eugenia’s heart had been heard, and that was enough for now.
“Eugenia,” Dorothy said gently, leaning forward on the edge of her seat, “what are you painting today? Is it a garden?”
The drawing room was quiet except for the soft scratch of brush on canvas. Eugenia’s little hands trembled slightly as she held the brush, her eyes darting from the paper to Magnus, who sat rigid in the high-backed chair opposite her, fingers folded neatly, gaze unwavering.
Dorothy could see it. The subtle tension in Eugenia’s shoulders, the tiny quiver in her fingers. The girl wanted to paint freely, but Magnus’s presence made her feel as though each stroke was being judged, and Dorothy felt the urge to lighten the air.
Eugenia blinked rapidly, pausing mid-stroke. She gave a small nod, her hand hovering over the page, hesitantly.
Dorothy smiled softly. “Do you have a favorite flower in this garden?”
Eugenia’s tiny hand lifted slightly, her fingers curling over the brush, and she pointed to a cluster of roses she had begun to paint, then nodded again, her eyes flicking nervously to Magnus.
Dorothy glanced at Magnus, hoping he might offer some encouragement, but his face remained carefully composed, his eyes still fixed on Eugenia. The girl’s shoulders tensed again, and Dorothy realized she needed to intervene, not with words but with a bridge.
Dorothy rose casually from her chair and made her way over to Magnus. She lowered herself beside him, squatting just enough that her eyes were level with his though their faces were still separated by a polite, proper space. She could see the faint surprise in his gaze, a flicker that softened the usual rigidity he carried. The closeness made her chest thrum in a way she hadn’t expected, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, the quiet between them charged with something unspoken.
“You should say something to her,” Dorothy whispered, nodding toward Eugenia, who was still absorbed in her painting.
“Say something?” he whispered back, lowering his gaze to the tip of her nose.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Magnus’s brows knitted. “I… don’t know what to say. There is nothing to say. She is doing well.”
“Well, you should tell her that,” Dorothy pressed gently, her tone light but teasing, as if daring him to argue.
“Does she need to hear it?” His voice was careful, measured, almost hesitant, as though the idea of speaking praise made him uneasy.
“Yes,” Dorothy said firmly, her eyes locking with his. “She should hear it from you.”
Magnus’s gaze flicked toward her briefly, and she caught a subtle shift in his expression. A momentary softness that was foreign to him but entirely his own. She had never seen him like this, from this angle, in such close proximity. She felt her cheeks flush, the heat creeping up her neck, and she realized she had to pull back before it became too much.
Straightening herself, she cleared her throat softly and stepped away, turning just enough to hide her face for a moment, still aware of Magnus’s calculating gaze on her as she moved.
Dorothy returned to her seat, her heart still fluttering from the closeness with Magnus. For a moment, she tried to focus on her tea, but her attention kept drifting to him. Magnus, after a few seconds, rose from his chair and walked over to Eugenia, who stiffened slightly under his gaze, her small hands gripping the edge of her painting table.
“You’re doing well,” he said, his voice low. “Very well. I do have something to say.”
Eugenia gave a small nod, and the tiniest lift of a smile flickered at the corner of her lips.
Magnus studied the painting, his keen eyes taking in the brush strokes and colors. “Here,” he said, pointing. “You might deepen the shadows in this corner. It will give your subject more dimension. And here, softer strokes will blend the colors better... Do you see?”
