“What do you mean you do not want to dance with your husband?”
Dorothy lingered close to Emma, unwilling to release her sister’s hand, even as the crowd in the ballroom swirled around them. It had been far too long since they had last seen each other, and though the music beckoned and the dancers twirled in gilded gowns, she felt anchored by Emma’s presence. After tonight, once the ball ended, they would part ways once again, separated by the distance and duties that life demanded. Dorothy wanted to savor these stolen moments before they slipped away.
“Ignore that,” she said in an attempt to change the subject, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. I can hardly believe you’re here. It feels as though we’ve been apart for an eternity.”
Emma’s brows rose, astonished. “No, I will not ignore it. What is troubling you, Dorothy? You don’t want to dance with His Grace?”
“It’s not… I mean, it’s just... he makes me nervous.” Dorothy hesitated, chewing her lip. “Ever since we left the estate, all the way here, he’s been staring at me. I can feel it. Every moment. I don’t like how it makes me feel when he’s near. It’s… unsettling.”
Emma’s mouth curved into a small, knowing smile, amusement glimmering in her eyes. “Unsettling? Or is it possible, just possible, that he’s staring at you because he thinks you’re beautiful? Perhaps he’s admiring his wife.”
Dorothy scoffed, shaking her head briskly. “No, no. That’s not it. He doesn’t see me as a wife, Emma. Not truly. What he is doing is he’s keeping his distance, and I think that’s what’s making him stare. He is checking how far away from him I am.”
Emma’s laughter was soft, melodic, drawing a flush to Dorothy’s cheeks. “Oh, Dorothy, you always overthink. I do not think that is the reason.”
Dorothy sighed heavily. “I think it is so. Oh, Emma, you don’t know the half of it. Lately, I’ve been pushing boundaries. I’m trying to see if there’s a way to make this marriage work. I need to understand what he is and how far I can reach him without overstepping.”
Emma’s gaze softened, filled with quiet admiration and a trace of concern. “What do you mean by pushing boundaries? Are there problems in your marriage, little sister?”
Dorothy glanced at Magnus, who was, as she expected, watching her from across the room. Once she locked eyes with him, helooked away, diverting his attention to the men who had circled him.
“No,” she answered simply. Even if she wanted to bare her heart to Emma, it was not the place nor the time. “Not problems. Just... to make it more... alive. It’s for Eugenia. I’ll explain later.”
“All right. Dorothy, you may protest as much as you like, but the moment will come. You will be expected to dance with your husband.”
Dorothy’s gaze dropped to the polished floor beneath her slippers. She wanted to protest further, to insist that perhaps she could avoid the inevitable, but Emma’s voice stopped her before she could.
“Remember,” Emma continued, voice softening. “Alice has put so much effort into this ball. It is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. She will notice every detail, every guest, every smile, and she would like nothing more than for you to enjoy yourself to the fullest. For once, my dear, let yourself indulge if only a little.”
Dorothy swallowed hard, the edges of her lips twitching into a faint, reluctant smile. Lately, Magnus had been stirring something within her, something she was not ready to confront, at least not until her plan had run its course. She remembered the day before, in that modiste’s shop, when he had stepped so close behind her, brushing the sleeve of her gown with the back of his hand. She could still feel the heat of his presence, the awareness of him pressing near, and the thrill, the danger, theinexplicable exhilaration it had ignited in her chest. She had no words for it then, and she had none now.
Her thoughts returned to Emma’s words. She was right. It would be expected. Though the notion of dancing with Magnus made her pulse quicken with unease, she had to steel herself. She had to present the world with the image of a marriage that was at least outwardly stable, even if the truth of her feelings was far more complicated.
Perhaps, she figured, as her eyes flicked toward Magnus across the room, who stood apart in that familiar, impossibly composed way, that is exactly what she wanted people to see. That all was well between them.
As if on cue, the next dance began, and Emma was immediately swept away by her husband to the dance floor. Dorothy felt her reflexes kicking in. Before her marriage, she would have moved to the wall without hesitation, letting the dancers swirl past her, keeping herself safe and invisible. She was a wallflower then; no one asked her, no one noticed, and it suited her perfectly.
She took a small step back toward the edge of the floor, ready to disappear into the background, when suddenly someone blocked her path. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught.
Magnus stood before her, tall and commanding, yet there was something different in his gaze tonight. Something that made her pulse quicken despite herself. He extended his hand toward her.
“Come, Dorothy,” he said. “We should join the dance.”
She hesitated, staring at the hand he offered. It was a simple gesture, yet every fiber of her being felt the weight of it. She met his eyes, and for a moment, the chatter of the ballroom faded into nothing. Then, gathering her courage, she allowed herself to place her hand in his. His fingers were warm, steady, and gentle, and the small contact sent a thrill through her she could neither name nor resist.
He guided her toward the center of the floor with that familiar, controlled grace he always carried, and she felt herself following, willingly, almost as if her own body recognized that resistance was pointless. The orchestra swelled, and the dance began.
Dorothy kept her head high though her heart was beating fast, and as they moved together, she realized that she had never felt quite so aware of Magnus, so attuned to him yet unsure of what to do with the storm of feelings he seemed to summon effortlessly.
The first steps were awkward, her usual hesitance clashing with his poised confidence, but gradually, she matched his rhythm. Her hand in his felt natural, though her pulse betrayed her every thought. She caught herself stealing glances at him through the corner of her eye, noticing how he seemed entirely composed, as though the dance and she were precisely where he wanted them to be.
As they glided across the ballroom, Dorothy felt a small tickle of courage rise in her chest. She cleared her throat softly, carefulnot to break the rhythm of the dance, and leaned just slightly closer, letting her voice fall just above a whisper.
“Your Grace… do you ever get nervous?”
Magnus tilted his head, the faintest crease appearing between his brows as he studied her. “What do you mean?” he asked.
She swallowed, her pulse quickening. “I mean, you. You always seem composed. Calm. Certain. Do you never get nervous?”
