Abruptly, he let his hand fall and stepped back, as though distance could smother the pressure building in his chest. His heart beat a furious rhythm against his ribs, the sort that left him faintly breathless though he betrayed nothing outwardly.
“The dress is fitting,” he said more firmly, reclaiming something of his usual composure though the words scraped rough in his throat. “It will do for the ball.”
Yet as he spoke, he could still feel the phantom sensation of silk beneath his fingers, and the sharper memory of how she had flinched from his touch, leaving an ache that settled low in his stomach.
Dorothy inclined her head in a small nod, her eyes not quite meeting his as she clutched the gown at her sides. With careful movements, she stepped away, almost as though retreating, and disappeared behind the screen to change.
Magnus turned his head, fastening his gaze upon the looking glass where her reflection had been only moments before, his chest still taut with an odd pressure. He did not allow himself to dwell on it, though the quickened beat of his heart betrayed him.
Magnus inhaled, steadying himself, and pivoted toward the modiste. She stood with her hands folded, her smile polite yet faintly strained, as though she had been holding her breathduring the entire exchange. He strode toward her and stopped only a few feet away.
“Make ten gowns in this style,” he said. “Ten. Each in a different color. Have them sent to Walford Manor.”
At his command, the modiste’s shoulders loosened, as if the tension that had drawn her taut had finally given way. Relief flickered across her face, followed by brisk composure. She sank into a graceful curtsy.
“Very well, Your Grace. I will see to it at once.”
Magnus inclined his head, dismissing her with a glance, though inwardly he could still feel the thrum beneath his ribs. When Dorothy reemerged, once again clothed in the dress she had worn into the shop, she offered a hasty curtsy and murmured something polite before excusing herself. The bell over the door chimed as she vanished from view.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Would you…” Dorothy hesitated, then found her courage. “Would you walk with me in the park, Your Grace?
Her pulse had yet to steady from the shop—from him—and she hoped the bustle of the street might help quiet the thoughts racing in her head. She glanced up at him, then down at the cobblestones, her fingers tugging nervously at the fabric of her skirt.
Magnus’s gaze cut toward her. “I do not care for crowds, Dorothy. London, in particular, is… oppressively crowded. I should rather not take a walk.”
She tilted her chin, unwilling to surrender so easily. “But we might run into my family,” she pressed, her voice softening. “I have word my sisters are coming to town for the ball. Usually, my family takes a stroll in Hyde Park during this time of day. If we are fortunate, we may see them.”
His mouth tightened, the instinctive refusal clear in the set of his jaw. He had already begun to shake his head, and she knew what he meant to say.
Before he could, Dorothy slipped her arm through his, nestling it firmly against his side as though it had always belonged there. The gesture was bold, perhaps reckless, yet carried such an air of natural ease that Magnus faltered. She tipped her face up to him with a coaxing smile.
“Please, Your Grace,” she murmured sweetly. “I am certain we will run into my family. They are usually by the pond at this time. We can say hello before we go to the estate.”
Magnus stilled, then gently withdrew his arm from hers. The movement was neither brusque nor unkind, yet it was enough to make Dorothy’s breath catch, as though she had pressed farther than she ought. He opened his mouth and said slowly, “Dorothy?—”
But she cut across him. “What are you afraid of, Your Grace? That something dreadful will happen if you so much as appear comfortable with me?” Her eyes searched his. “It is only a walk. Nothing more. You do not have to be so cautious, not with me. If it troubles you that I take your arm, I will not do it again.”
For a moment, he only looked at her, his expression unreadable, as though weighing her words. Dorothy’s breath snagged in her throat. She could not tell if he would turn from her entirely or relent. The silence stretched, tightening around her nerves untilshe was forced to grip her own hands together to keep them from trembling.
At last, he exhaled slowly, the resistance loosening from his frame. “Very well,” he said, quieter than he intended. “We can take a short walk until we see your family.” Then, almost formally, he offered her his arm. “You can take my arm. It is only proper.”
Her fingers slipped into place once more, but this time at his invitation, and she smiled to herself. They began their walk, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Dorothy said nothing at first, her attention too divided. The park stretched before them in all its lively chaos, nurses wheeling prams, gentlemen guiding their mounts along the paths, ladies with parasols gliding in clusters of chatter. Yet she noticed none of it. Her gaze darted left and right, searching every corner, every familiar figure, heart thudding with an eagerness she dared not confess aloud.
Minutes passed, and the crunch of gravel beneath their steps was her only companion. Then, by the pond, a cluster of silhouettes caught her eye. Dorothy slowed, squinting. A tall, stooped figure, she knew at once. Beside him, a young lady with hair gleaming like sunlight, her bonnet tilting back at a careless angle.
“Lucy!” she exclaimed.
Her breath lodged in her chest. Then she saw Cecilia, her serene grace intact even as she turned her head, eyes sweeping over the water.
The sight struck Dorothy with such force that she nearly cried out. “Cecilia!” The word left her lips in a gasp, her voice breaking as she let go of Magnus’s arm.
Lucy saw her first. With a delighted shriek, the girl bolted forward, her skirts flying, and Dorothy did not care how many curious heads turned their way. She ran, the park spinning around her, until Lucy collided into her arms. Dorothy wrapped her close, clutching her sister as if to never let go, laughter spilling.
Lucy pulled back just enough to stare up at her, wide-eyed and breathless. “Dorothy? Truly, Dorothy? In Hyde Park?” Her voice was incredulous, as though she half-believed her cousin an apparition sprung from her own longing. “I thought I would never see you here so soon. Oh, how strange, how wonderful!” She clung again, her laughter bubbling over.
Dorothy’s own smile wavered under the tide of emotion. “I knew I would find you here. You’re so predictable.” She smoothed a curl from Lucy’s flushed cheek, hardly believing the moment herself.
