“You look beautiful in it, Eugenia,” Dorothy said, smoothing the ribbons once more with hands that trembled ever so slightly.
The child lifted her chin, studying their shared reflection with grave satisfaction. “Like Dorothy,” she said at last.
The words pierced Dorothy’s composure, and she bent swiftly to press a kiss against Eugenia’s curls, blinking hard to chase away the sting of sudden tears.
“She has been speaking since you left for London,” Miss Tresswell, standing behind them, said. “Little words, of course. But always the same questions. She asks where you are and when you will be returning.She will say yes,she will say no,and now and again, even thankyou.It has been very nice to hear her voice at last.”
Dorothy’s throat tightened again, though she willed her expression into composure. She brushed at Eugenia’s ribbons with a feigned air of casualness, as though her heart were not breaking open with joy. “I am glad,” she said softly. “So very glad.”
Dorothy straightened, brushing a hand down her own skirts as though to steady herself. “Well, my darling,” she said. “Wecannot keep this to ourselves, can we? I think His Grace ought to see how fine you look.”
At once, Eugenia’s smile faltered. She looked at her reflection again, then down at her hands, her shoulders hunching. Dorothy crouched gently so that their eyes were level.
“There is no need to be afraid,” she said, giggling. “He will like it. Your uncle loves nothing more than to see you happy. You are happy, are you not?”
Eugenia’s lashes fluttered, and after a moment’s hesitation, she gave the smallest of nods.
“That is my girl,” Dorothy whispered, pressing another quick kiss to her curls before rising. She took Eugenia’s hand, and together, they walked through the passages of the house. Dorothy could feel the child’s little fingers tighten in hers with each step, but she kept her pace steady, calm, coaxing courage with every word of reassurance she offered along the way.
They reached the door of Magnus’s study, the faint scratch of his pen audible from within. Dorothy paused only long enough to give Eugenia’s hand a final encouraging squeeze before knocking lightly and entering.
Magnus looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his features. He set down his pen and rose, his tall frame a commanding presence against the backdrop of shelves and papers.
His gaze met hers, steady and disarming, and without thinking, she bit her lip.
It was instinct, born not from fear but from the peculiar nervousness that always stole upon her in his presence now. For after the kiss they had shared at the Ravenmoor Ball, neither of them had spoken of it again.
During their journey back to Walford, they had fallen into a quiet ease. At meals, they conversed politely. She asked him small things about the land, the household, the villages nearby, and he, in turn, would ask if she was comfortable, if she had all she required. They laughed, sometimes though lightly, as though both were cautious of too much intimacy. Never once did he allude to that kiss, nor did she.
Yet the silence had not been a strain. If anything, there was a new comfort between them, as though something had shifted. Dorothy could not help but wonder if he was attempting to pretend the moment had never happened. Or was she right to think that their bond had grown stronger, that it had begun, at last, to resemble the ease of a marriage?
“We want to show you something, Your Grace,” Dorothy said with a smile that belied the flutter in her chest. She stepped aside so that Eugenia, still half-hiding behind her skirts, might be seen.
With the smallest of breaths, Eugenia took a step forward, her purple gown glimmering in the lamplight. She looked at him directly, her lips parting with effort.
“Uncle,” she said, the word soft yet clear, “it’s a hyacinth dress.”
Dorothy’s breath caught, but her gaze flicked swiftly to Magnus. In his countenance, she read what words did not say. The quiet relief, the almost imperceptible easing of his shoulders at hearing his niece’s voice spoken so firmly. It looked as though some weight had lifted, if only a little.
He let out a low chuckle. “Hyacinth, is it? Because of the color?”
Eugenia nodded at once, her dark curls bouncing, and let out a small laugh of her own. Magnus’s eyes lingered on her then, a long, steady admiration that seemed to fold the room into silence. He appeared so entirely content in that moment that Dorothy, watching him, felt her own heart stumble.
But she could see too that Eugenia’s gaze, bright and hopeful, was waiting for something more. The child wanted his words, not merely his gaze. There was no way Eugenia would understand that the softness in his gaze as he stared at her was because he thought she was beautiful. He had to say it.
She cleared her throat softly. “We wanted your opinion on the dress,” she explained, her smile careful.
Magnus’s brow furrowed a little, as though puzzled by the ceremony of it all. He gave a vague, courteous nod but nothing more. Dorothy’s lips curved into a patient smile as she stepped nearer. She rose upon the smallest tip of her toes, her shoulder brushing his arm, and whispered. “Praise her, Magnus. Say nice things.”
His eyes flicked to hers, surprised, and in that instant, comprehension dawned. Turning back to Eugenia, he softened his expression. “You look lovely, my dear,” he said, his voice gentler than Dorothy had ever heard it. A faint smile touched his mouth as he added, “Very lovely indeed. It is a good color on you.”
Eugenia beamed, her entire face alight with joy. “Thank you, Uncle,” she said before spinning away in her hyacinth gown, the ribbons dancing as she skipped from the study.
“Eugenia, don’t run in the hallway,” Dorothy called after her.
Dorothy made to follow after Eugenia, her skirts swaying as she turned, but before she could take a step, she felt a warm pressure against her hand. She glanced down in surprise, seeing that Magnus’s fingers had closed over hers, keeping her from leaving.
Slowly, she turned to him. He was watching her with that intensity she had come to dread and crave in equal measure.
