It was that promise, more than the dancing or the spectacle, that compelled her forward as she left the room.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Why do you look so very sad, my dear?” Dorothy asked softly, watching Eugenia, who sat beside Mrs. Tresswell, unnaturally subdued, her small face touched with a shadow of sorrow.
In scarcely two days’ time, they were to make the journey to London. The household hummed with preparations for their short travel, yet beneath the surface, Dorothy could not shake the impression that Magnus remained decidedly gruff on the subject. He had agreed, yes—more quickly than she had expected—but whether it was out of true inclination or merely because she had expressed her own desire, she could not tell. Was he, in some fashion, softening toward her? Or had he only agreed because of Rowan?
The notion unsettled and soothed her in equal measure. Over the past several days, something unspoken had shifted between them. They no longer sparred as they once had. The sharpness that had marked their exchanges seemed dulled, replaced by a tentative civility. Yet civility was not intimacy, and Dorothycould not quite give a name to what lay between them now. Their marriage, so hastily arranged and oddly navigated, existed in a state of limbo, neither estranged nor wholly companionable.
She found herself wondering if London might alter the course. Away from the familiar walls of Walford Manor, with its oppressive stillness and carefully watched silences, perhaps the truth of their peculiar bond would show itself more clearly. Perhaps, when faced with society’s gaze, she and Magnus would be forced to define themselves.
The thought made her heart quicken, though she scarcely admitted to herself why.
“I think she feels it keenly that you must go away, Your Grace. She has been like this since she heard the news.”
The words pierced Dorothy more than she expected. She crossed the room at once, sank gracefully to her knees before the girl, and brushed a curl from Eugenia’s cheek. “Is this true, Eugenia?”
Eugenia nodded and then let out an exasperated sigh.
Dorothy had not expected Eugenia to be troubled by her absence. They had grown close, yes—closer than she might have imagined when first she entered Walford Manor—but still, Dorothy had assumed her presence was but a pleasant addition to the girl’s quiet life, not something essential. To see Eugenia’s face so downcast, even at the thought of her leaving for a mere week, touched her deeply.
It struck her then, in a way, that perhaps no one had ever truly missed her before. Not in earnest. She could not recall a time when her absence had left a gap in another’s world or when someone had looked at her with such unspoken distress at the thought of her going away for a short while. It felt oddly sweet.
She leaned closer, brushing her fingers lightly over Eugenia’s hand. “It is only for a few days, perhaps a week,” she repeated gently, as though reassuring herself as much as the girl. “No more than ten. When I return, I shall have stories to tell you of London.”
Eugenia gave a small nod, but her solemn eyes never wavered. Dorothy smiled faintly, touched and strangely warmed, and asked in a softer tone, “Would you have loved to come?”
Eugenia smiled faintly and nodded again.
“Have you ever been to London?”
Eugenia shook her head and adjusted on the bed, inching closer to Dorothy, as if waiting to hear something.
Dorothy smoothed her skirts and leaned forward, her voice gentle, pitched. “Well, London is not like here, Eugenia. Walford is peaceful and quiet, with the hills and gardens stretching far into the distance. But London... London is all bustle and sound. The streets are wide, filled with carriages and horses, and there are so many people that sometimes one feels as though there is not enough air to go around. The shop windows are bright with ribbons and books and little trinkets, and there is alwayssomeone rushing past, as if the world might come to an end if they do not reach their destination in time.”
She smiled at the memory, her voice warming. “When I was a girl, I used to watch from the carriage window as we drove through the square, and I would see the flower sellers standing at the corners with baskets on their arms. Their blooms were always so bright. Red roses, yellow daffodils, little blue violets. They would call out to anyone passing by, offering them for pennies. The streets smelled of smoke and horses and bread fresh from the ovens, all mixed together in the air. You would not forget it once you breathed it in.”
Eugenia’s eyes widened a little, and she tilted her head as though she could almost imagine it. Dorothy chuckled softly, encouraged. “One day, if you wish to go, we might plan a trip. I should like very much to take you myself. You could meet my family. My brother and sisters. They are the loveliest people you could ever hope to meet. My sisters would adore you, I am sure, and my brother...” She paused, her smile growing a touch mischievous. “...well, my brother always had a knack for finding the best sweets in town. He used to slip me boiled sugar drops when no one was looking. Perhaps he would do the same for you. He can be mischievous, though, so you have to be careful of him.”
Eugenia giggled as she gave a small, hopeful nod, and Dorothy reached to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “My sisters would play with you, too. They loved games when we were younger—hide-and-seek in the corridors, chasing each other in the gardens until the governess was quite beside herself. I daresay they would think of something to make you laugh. Thereis always laughter where my sisters are. I will take you one day. I promise.”
For a moment, there was silence until a small, tremulous voice whispered, “Thank you, Your Grace.”
Dorothy’s breath caught. She gasped aloud, her hand flying to her lips. “I knew it,” she whispered, scarcely believing her own ears. She had heard something days ago at breakfast and thought it a trick of her imagination, a cruel fancy, but here, before her, the words had sounded real. “Eugenia…” Her voice shook as she leaned closer. “You speak?”
The little girl’s eyes shone, and she gave a shy, radiant smile before nodding.
Emotion swept over Dorothy so swiftly that she had to steady herself. “Oh, my dearest girl.” She cupped Eugenia’s cheek with trembling fingers. “I didn’t know. You can take your time. There is no need to hurry, no need to be afraid. Whenever you wish to speak, you may. You need not call me ‘Your Grace.’” Her tone softened, almost pleading. “You may call me Dorothy. Only Dorothy. Always. So that you know, you may be comfortable with me however you choose.”
Eugenia’s smile widened, and though she gave no further words, her nod was full of trust, as though a veil between them had been lifted.
Dorothy leaned closer, lowering her voice as though sharing a treasured secret. “I shall speak with His Grace. On the very nextjourney we make, I will do all I can to see that you come with us. When I go to London,” Dorothy added warmly, “I shall bring you something... no, not just one but several presents. Something that will make you remember me every day I was gone.”
Eugenia’s delight was radiant, her silent laughter lighting her features like the morning sun. Dorothy’s heart swelled. She bent, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Eugenia’s dark curls, breathing in the faint scent of rosewater.
Dorothy knew well enough that Magnus still regarded her chiefly as a keeper for Eugenia, someone to see to the girl’s comfort and little else. He did not want her to be anything more than that in his life. Yet, as she sat watching Eugenia’s bright smile, she understood something with piercing clarity.
If she were ever to be a true role model, someone whom Eugenia might one day look up to and want the kind of life that she had, then she could not remain only what Magnus had cast her to be. Already, the smallest things she had done—the patience, the listening ear, the gentle encouragement—had coaxed words from a child thought to be mute. How much more might be possible if she did more? If she opened the doors of the world for Eugenia, arranged little tea parties where she could meet other children, or guided her into society in gentle steps?
