A soft exclamation drew her gaze, and there was Cecilia, approaching with cautious steps, her gloved hand pressed lightly to her breast as though to steady her heart. “Dorothy,” she whispered, then more firmly, “it’s wonderful to see you.”
Dorothy could not speak at first. She only reached out, catching Cecilia’s hand in hers. The familiar touch unraveled whatcomposure remained, and for a heartbeat, they simply stared at each other.
Then, Howard, her father, approached them. He halted before her, his hat lifted from his head, as though instinct compelled courtesy even in bewilderment. “Dorothy,” he said,` “I take it you’re here for the Ravenmoor ball?”
Her eyes widened. “The Ravenmoor ball?” She could scarcely believe her ears. “You mean it is Alice’s ball?”
Cecilia gave a soft laugh, her composure beginning to return. “You did not know?” She leaned closer, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Yes, dearest, the Duchess of Ravenmoor—Alice. The very same Alice we ran wild with when we were children.”
Lucy clasped Dorothy’s hand with a playful tug. “Emma’s best friend! How many times did she sneak us sugared almonds when Papa thought we had had quite enough? Oh, Dorothy, have you truly forgotten?”
“I did not forget,” Dorothy protested, though her lips curved despite herself. “I only did not know that this was her ball. I thought it a grand London assembly but not Alice’s.”
Their father’s stern face softened at last into a smile. “It is Alice’s indeed. She and her duke open their doors this season. I daresay, you will not escape her notice once she sees you. She will be delighted to find you here again.”
Dorothy shook her head, still astonished. “That means Emma will surely be coming.”
At once, Lucy’s eyes lit with mischief. “Of course, she will. Do you think the Duchess of Ravenmoor would host without Emma by her side? It would be scandalous.”
Cecilia folded her arms, her smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Emma never could resist a ball, and certainly not one where she might hold court beside her dearest friend. I imagine she will have a new gown made specially for the occasion.”
Their father gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You girls never change. Emma may be duchess herself now, but you still talk of her as if she were only the neighbor’s daughter trotting over to steal pies from our kitchen.” He looked at Dorothy. “It seems you shall all be together again.”
Lucy squeezed her hand. “You must prepare yourself, Dorothy. Emma will surely scold you for not writing enough.”
“I will also be scolding you. You promised letters,” Cecilia gave a mock sigh. “Yet here you are in London, and not a single page to your poor sister.”
Lucy nudged Dorothy with her elbow. “A duchess forgets her little family, it seems. Perhaps she is too grand now to remember us at all.”
Their laughter rang bright in the air, familiar and unrestrained, until a voice cut through it, smooth but edged with authority.
“You should be more careful,” Magnus said, his tone even though it carried weight enough to still them at once. He had stepped nearer without Dorothy noticing, tall and immovable beside her. His gaze rested on Lucy, then Cecilia, before sweeping to their father. “A duchess deserves respect, even from her own family.”
Lucy’s eyes widened, her color draining as she realized to whom she had spoken so glibly. Cecilia’s smile faltered, and their father straightened, his hat twisting between his hands. An uneasy silence fell over the group, the kind that thickened the very air.
Dorothy stepped in quickly, her voice gentle. “They meant no disrespect, Your Grace. Only a sister’s mischief, nothing more.”
Magnus did not shift, his height and composure casting too large a shadow for her words to wholly dissolve. “Mischief unchecked,” he said quietly, “too easily strays into insolence. Even family ought to remember what is owed.”
The weight of his tone settled heavily, and Dorothy saw it in her father’s stiff shoulders, in Lucy’s downcast eyes, and in Cecilia’s nervous grip on her gloves. They were not accustomed to such a presence and were clearly eager to be away from it.
Her father cleared his throat, already stepping back. “It is good to see you again, Your Grace. We have detained you long enough. We must be on our way.”
Dorothy’s heart squeezed, caught between loyalty to both sides. “Will you not at least come to dinner at the Walford residence one of these days?” she asked quickly, reaching for something to soften the moment. “Please. It has been so long since we were all together.”
Her father hesitated, then nodded once. “Very well. We shall come.” His eyes darted again to Magnus, wary, before he tipped his hat. “Until then.”
Within moments, her family had taken their leave, their steps brisk and their laughter gone, leaving Dorothy standing beside her husband, her chest tight with unspoken words.
“What is it? You have not said a word since the walk in the park.”
They had scarcely stepped through the great doors of the Walford London Estate before Magnus pointed out the issue. She tugged off her gloves, slower than necessary, her thoughts whirling. The last thing she wished was for her father and sisters to think her husband cold and unfeeling, like so many believed him to be.
Yes, he could be stern, formidable, even immovable, but that was not the man she had begun to see. She wanted them to glimpse the gentler truth, the moments she herself caught when his guard slipped. Instead, all they had seen was the Duke, all authority and steel.
“I did not like how you addressed my family, Your Grace.”
His brows drew together. “I addressed them as was proper.”
