Then he leaned forward, meeting her eyes. “Dorothy, do not think that such… rebellion will make me less watchful. I am not a man to be so easily swayed by charm or defiance.”
“Do you think I would ever attempt to charm you?” she asked with widened eyes. “Not in a million years! What could I possibly have to gain from such an endeavor?”
Magnus’s eyes held hers steadily, unflinching. “Responses can be gained in many ways,” he said. “Even a smile, a tilt of the head, a well-timed word... charm is rarely wasted.”
“I would never do so!” Dorothy exclaimed, waving her hand as if the very notion were preposterous. “I have no interest in...”
“Even if you did,” he interrupted, voice quiet but firm. “It would not work. I am not easily swayed.”
Dorothy blinked, indignation lacing her cheeks. “I am hardly attempting anything, Your Grace. Even if I were, I would fail. You need not worry, Your Grace. There’s no way one can charm a brick wall.”
He regarded her calmly, though inwardly he felt the faint stirrings of a sensation he was unfamiliar with. A restless sort of awareness he could not calculate, a subtle tension that the petite figure across the table provoked in him. He had not taken the time to consider why he was so unnerved by her mere presence. He told himself, firmly, that she could not rattle him. Yet, the truth was disquietingly clear that she already had.
“Are you calling me a brick wall?”
Dorothy’s eyes met his. “No... no, of course not, Your Grace,” she said quickly, the faintest flush rising to her cheeks.
There was a brief pause, long enough for him to see her swallow, to notice how she adjusted her posture ever so slightly,the tiniest shift of unease that betrayed her awareness of his scrutiny. He found himself observing her every motion. The way she tilted her head, the way her fingers toyed with the edge of her napkin.
A slow, private satisfaction settled over him, tempered with restraint. She still had the capacity to fluster ever so slightly under his gaze, and despite all her boldness, that small intimidation he could provoke pleased him more than he would admit, even to himself.
He allowed the corner of his mouth to lift. Not a smile, not quite, but enough to mark the moment. Brick wall, indeed. Perhaps she was bold, perhaps even audacious, but she had not yet learned how fully he could see through her.
Magnus returned his gaze to his meal, though the satisfaction lingered, a subtle warmth behind his otherwise guarded composure. She had made her point, yet in doing so, she reminded him that she was not entirely immune to him. That thought, strangely, was not unpleasant.
“Remind me again,” he said at last, “what is your strategy for Eugenia?”
Dorothy lowered her eyes almost instantly, lashes veiling her expression, and shook her head. “You already told me to rethink it, Your Grace. There is no need to trouble yourself with what I had in mind.”
“No,” he countered smoothly, leaning a little forward. “I want to hear it.”
For a moment, she hesitated, hands resting in her lap, and he felt, unreasonably, absurdly, that the tension had shifted. It was not only he who unsettled her. He was, he realized, in a slightly better mood than he had been at the start of the day, and for once, he had the patience to listen.
When she finally looked up, it was with a hint of resignation. “You will not agree with it anyway.”
He tilted his head, conceding that she was not wrong. His methods had not exactly yielded the results he wanted with Eugenia, had they? Perhaps it was folly to demand this woman simply mimic his ways when, in truth, he had brought her here precisely because something needed to change.
“Humor me,” he said after a pause, surprising even himself. “What is the overall plan in your mind?”
That seemed to startle her. She blinked once, twice, then drew a breath as though to steady herself. “I want her to have time to be a child,” she said, the words tumbling out with a conviction that caught him off guard. “Of course, she should have her lessons; I agree that is important. But I want to take her out. To the garden. On picnics. I want her to laugh and run and learn about flowers, to see things beyond arithmetic and French conjugations. I want to teach her the little things I know.”
Her voice softened, but her gaze did not falter. “It would take no more than an hour a day. That is all I am asking.”
She bit her lip at the end of her little declaration, and Magnus sat forward almost at once, his gaze fixed. A sharp current ran through him, unwelcome. He had seen that gesture before, long ago, in a context he did not care to recall. To him, it had always been a sign of someone turning pain inward, hurting themselves in silence. It unsettled him, seeing Dorothy do it now.
He forced his voice steady, pushing his turmoil to the back of his mind. “So, an hour a day to play.”
“Yes,” she said, almost defensive now. “That is all.”
Magnus sat back in his chair, a long breath leaving him as though he had reached the end of some private battle. He turned to Eugenia, who paid attention only to her plate. “Very well,” he said at last. “It is… reasonable. An hour each day, as you say. Lessons and freedom, both in balance.” His gaze, sharp and steady, lingered on her a moment longer before he added, almost as an afterthought, “But for now, the lake is off limits. Eugenia will not be allowed there. Not under any circumstances.”
Dorothy straightened, her lips pressing together, but she did not argue. “That is fair,” she said simply. “I can agree to that.”
The words hung between them, a truce drawn not on equal footing, but one she accepted, nonetheless. For Magnus, itwas enough. He leaned back further, the faintest shadow of satisfaction crossing his face.
He reckoned that he was glad he had come down to have luncheon with them that day.
Dorothy drew the tall sash window open, letting in a soft rush of summer air. She lifted Eugenia carefully onto the cushioned seat, so she might see more clearly, then leaned beside her, pointing toward the elm tree just beyond.
