Rowan groaned again, burying his face in the collar of his coat. “Magnus, I assure you, I am perfectly functional,” he mumbled.
Magnus’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “My dear friend, if this is functional, I would hate to see what chaos looks like.”
Each bump in the road made Rowan lurch, prompting another low grumble, and Magnus couldn’t resist a small, triumphant smile. “See? Even the carriage agrees with me.”
Rowan groaned, rubbing his temples. “Why must you tease me so, Magnus Fitzgerald? Honestly, must you always be so insufferable?”
Magnus raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward. “What? It is not my fault that you are dangerously close to resembling a drowned rat on this carriage.”
“That is hardly fair,” Rowan whined, his voice high. “You, of all people, barely speak to anyone, and yet I seem to be the sole recipient of your… amusement. Have you ever considered saving some of this teasing for other poor souls you might encounter? They, too, might bear the brunt of your sharp wit.”
Magnus’s smirk deepened. “You mistake blunt observation for wit. You are merely an easy target. One could argue it is an act of kindness to allow you to survive this journey with your dignity intact.”
Rowan rolled his eyes, though a reluctant chuckle escaped him. “Kindness? I call it cruel. Truly, you should make new acquaintances just to disperse some of this… relentless cruelty. Spare an innocent or two.”
Magnus leaned back, hands folded across his chest, letting the sunlight fall across his face. “Open your eyes, Rowan. If you throw up in this carriage, I will leave you on the side of the road. Do not call my bluff.”
Rowan sat up reluctantly. “Magnus Fitzgerald… one day, someone will have the pleasure of teasing you back properly.”
Magnus’s smirk waned. The only person who came to mind was Dorothy. She was the only one who had ever talked back to him. Who had challenged him in ways that still made him both frustrated and strangely intrigued. Even though he believed she was still cautious, perhaps even a little afraid of him, she had spoken back to him.
The carriage jostled them along the road toward the manor, and Magnus’s thoughts drifted toward home. Usually, after long business trips, he looked forward to returning to the house, to the order of the manor. But this time, it was different. He knew that there were people waiting, expecting him... not just in his official capacity but because of the lives that now moved around the household. He found himself anticipating their presence, the rhythms of the house, in a way that surprised him.
Magnus glanced beside himself at the small, carefully wrapped packages resting on the seat. Gifts for Dorothy and Eugenia, just as Dorothy had asked him to do. He allowed himself a private smile, imagining their faces, the joy they might bring them. Normally, he wouldn’t have indulged such things, but this... this was different. For the first time, the idea of returning felt warm, almost like coming back to affairs that mattered.
Rowan caught Magnus glancing at the small parcel tucked beside him in the carriage. A faint smile brushed across his features, and he gave a brief chuckle.
“I’ve known you since Bath, Magnus,” Rowan said, amusement in his voice, leaning back against the seat. “I’ve never seen you buy anything for anyone with your own hands. Never. Not even a trinket for a friend.”
Magnus didn’t respond at once, his eyes fixed on the manor outside the window as the carriage pulled in.
“You do realize what this means?” Rowan pressed, a teasing lilt creeping in. “This woman, your duchess... she’s done what no one else could. The very same one you claim is upsetting your household… she’s changed you. She’s made you… different.”
Magnus’s fingers tightened around the parcel, just slightly, though his expression remained composed. “I do not listen to the words of a drunk man, Rowan. Sober up, all right?”
Rowan continued chuckling softly beside him as the carriage rolled to a stop. The sun was low, casting the manor in a warm golden hue, the last remnants of day slipping toward evening. The quiet of the estate seemed almost surreal after the clamor of travel and meetings, and Magnus felt a rare flutter of anticipation at returning.
The carriage door opened, and the butler greeted him promptly. “Your Grace, welcome back.”
“Thank you, Keene,” Magnus answered.
“Dinner will be served in your study shortly.”
Magnus shook his head. “No. Prepare for dinner with Dorothy and Eugenia in the formal dining room. Let them know.”
The butler inclined his head. “Shall I take all the bags to your chamber, Your Grace?”
“Leave the one I’m holding,” Magnus said, gripping the parcel tightly. “I wish first to see Eugenia.”
As he began ascending the grand staircase, Rowan lingered behind. “I think I’ll get comfortable in the drawing room, perhaps enjoy a few more drinks before dinner.”
Magnus turned. “Rowan, if you take any more drinks, you are not invited to dinner with us. Go to your guest room and retire if you plan on drinking.”
“Oh, come on, I am not drunk,” Rowan argued.
“Yes, you are.”
“I am not.”
