He rose and extended his hand to help her up. “I find that I am famished,” he said, his voice lighter now, as though he hadn’t just been inches away from baring his soul.
Dorothea allowed him to lead her from the drawing room, though her thoughts lingered behind. He had been so close to kissing her. She had seen it in the way his gaze dipped to her mouth, felt it in the unspoken hush between them. What was holding him back? Was it some shadow from his past or a fear he had yet to name? What more could she say or do to show him that she wanted him—not just the parts of him he deemed acceptable, but all of him?
As they entered the dining room, Dominic guided her to her chair and pulled it out. She murmured her thanks, and once she was seated, he took the place beside her—close, but not quite close enough.
He turned slightly to meet her gaze. “I had an informative conversation with your brother earlier today.”
“Oh? What did he want?”
Dominic reached for his wine glass and took a sip before answering. “He was quite insistent that you possess no dowry.”
She furrowed her brow. “That cannot be right. My father assured me that I had a dowry.”
“Did he tell you the specifics?”
“Yes. If I didn’t marry by my five-and-twentieth birthday, I was to inherit the ten thousand pounds.”
Dominic considered her for a moment before murmuring, “Interesting.”
“Perhaps my brother misspoke?”
“Possibly, but he also claimed your father left behind no will.”
Dorothea frowned. “That’s not possible. My father was meticulous. He would never leave something so important unsettled.”
“I daresay your brother has not been rather forthright, especially when it has come to you,” Dominic shared. “Before I came to retrieve you, your brother had been depositing money that my solicitor had been sending to you.”
She pressed her lips together. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“I cannot say.”
Before Dorothea could respond, the footmen entered the room and set steaming bowls of soup before them. The scent of leeks and rich broth filled the space, but Dorothea hardly noticed. Her appetite had vanished.
Dominic lifted his spoon and stirred the soup absently. “I’ll look into the matter further.”
She glanced at him, her voice tight. “How?”
A ghost of a smirk curled his lips. “I have my ways.”
Dorothea turned her attention back to her soup, stirring it gently, though her appetite remained elusive. Just as she lifted the spoon to her lips, a flicker of movement in the corridor caught her eyes. She glanced up and saw two curious eyes watching them.
“Tristan,” she called out. “What are you doing loitering in the corridor?”
The boy stepped into the dining room, wholly unrepentant, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. “I’m bored,” he announced with a dramatic sigh.
Dorothea arched a brow. “Is it not past your bedtime?”
Tristan shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Perhaps. But Anna fell asleep in the chair again. Her head was leaning all funny, and I didn’t want to wake her.” He wandered closer to the table. “What are you eating? It smells delicious.”
“Did you not have your supper?” she asked.
“I did,” Tristan replied. “But that was hours ago.”
Dominic leaned back in his chair and gestured to the one beside him. “Come sit. You can have my soup.”
Tristan’s eyes widened. “Truly?” Without waiting for further encouragement, he darted to the chair and sat down. “Thank you, my lord,” he said before he started devouring the soup.
Dorothea watched the exchange with quiet affection. The way Dominic’s expression softened as he regarded the boy stirred something deep within her. He had no obligation to Tristan, and yet here he was—gentle, patient, and instinctively kind.
