“Dorothy.”
She hesitated, then looked back.
“I asked your maid to place something in your room,” he said. His tone was careful, almost offhand. “A small token from my travels. I hope you like it.”
Something tightened in her chest, an ache she refused to let show. She forced her expression to remain composed, even as warmth threatened to soften her features. With all her strength, she held back the smile that tugged at her lips.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and without another glance, she slipped from the room. But as she walked down the corridor, her heart would not obey her resolve. It beat far too quickly, betraying her pride with every step.
Her steps were measured at first, slow, but the further she went down the corridor, the quicker her pace became. By the time she turned the corner, her composure had entirely deserted her. She was half-running, breathless with eagerness, desperate to see what it was he had thought to bring her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“It is pretty,” Eugenia said softly, her eyes fixed upon the pin.
Dorothy froze. For a moment, she wondered if her imagination had conjured the sound. Her head snapped towards the little girl, her eyes wide. “Eugenia?” she whispered, scarcely daring to breathe. “Did you… did you just speak?”
Dorothy sat at the long breakfast table, her teacup resting untouched upon its saucer. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows, catching the gleam of the delicate brooch pinned just above her bodice. Every so often, her fingers brushed over it, as though to reassure herself it was still there. The faintest hint of lavender and rose clung to her skin, mingling with the warm fragrance of the freshly baked bread that filled the room. Her gloves, soft and faintly perfumed, lay folded beside her plate, tokens she could not help but display even in so simple a setting.
The brooch, the gloves, and the perfume she was wearing were some of the gifts Magnus had gotten for her. Gifts that felt like an unspoken conversation between them, each one chosen with a thoughtfulness she had not expected. He had also gotten her a book that remained upstairs, waiting on her desk.
The Duke had called for her and Eugenia to have breakfast together, and though her appetite was almost non-existent, her anticipation was keen. She told herself she cared only that he saw she had not disregarded him. Yet she knew, in the honesty of her thoughts, that it was something else entirely. She wanted him to look at her and see that she carried his presence with her, even in these small tokens.
Dorothy had been adjusting her gloves on the table once more, her gaze caught upon the shimmer of the brooch when a small voice had broken the silence.
“Eugenia,” she called her again, still dazed.
Eugenia blinked back at her, calm as ever, her expression unreadable. Dorothy leaned closer, her pulse racing in disbelief. “Sweetheart, say it again. Did you speak?” She was half out of her chair now, desperate to catch the words a second time, to prove that the silence that had long shrouded the girl had been broken.
But before Eugenia could respond—or before Dorothy could press her further—the door opened.
Magnus stepped into the room with his usual composed presence, his gaze moving swiftly from Eugenia to Dorothy.Dorothy snapped back in her seat, heart still thundering, her lips parted as though she might speak. Yet she caught herself, unsure if she had imagined it, if it had been nothing more than the hunger of her hope to hear Eugenia speak.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said, steadying her voice as she rose slightly in greeting.
Eugenia dipped her head politely, silent once more.
Dorothy smoothed her skirts and forced her trembling hands to still. Whatever had just happened, she told herself, must wait.
Dorothy felt the warmth of his gaze settle on her in a way it never had before. It was softer, less commanding, more… attentive. She could feel it when his eyes traveled down ever so slightly, taking in the brooch at her throat, the gloves he had gifted her...
For a brief, impossible moment, she thought she saw the barest flicker of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. She didn’t dare breathe a word of it aloud, but inside, she was half convinced that it had been there.
He broke the silence as he cut into his breakfast. “Do you like them?”
Dorothy’s heart skipped. She nodded, careful to keep her composure, though her fingers twitched slightly as they rested upon the table. “Yes, Your Grace, they are… most considerate,”she replied, forcing a calm that made her heart thrum beneath the restraint.
Dorothy shifted in her seat, trying to steady her hands around her teacup. “The perfume. It is quite fragrant,” she managed, her voice careful, almost hesitant.
Magnus glanced up from his plate, his expression unreadable. “It is not overpowering?”
“No, not at all,” she replied quickly, forcing a casual lift of her chin. Her gaze flicked to the brooch pinned at her breast, then back to him, but the blue of his eyes caught her again, and her heart betrayed her.
He raised an eyebrow. “You seem… distracted.”
Dorothy found it increasingly difficult to maintain his gaze. Each time she looked at him, she felt the memory of the day before prickling along her skin. The brief, impossible closeness when he had touched her face. Her heart, she realized with a mix of alarm and fascination, began to race in a way that was entirely unfamiliar.
Dorothy swallowed, forcing herself to look away, toward the window. “I… I suppose I am considering the morning air. It is unusually crisp for this time of year.”
