She turned fully toward him then, meeting his gaze. “Proper?” Her voice caught on the word. “They were only teasing me, Your Grace. As families do. It was harmless, and yet you... you made them feel as though they had overstepped some great boundary.”
“They had,” he said simply, his tone measured, unruffled, as though he were explaining an irrefutable fact. “You are no longer merely Dorothy, their sister or daughter. You are the Duchess of Walford. Did they speak to you as such?”
Her lips parted, stung by the question. “They spoke to me as they always have because I am still their sister, their daughter. That has not changed.”
His eyes searched hers, dark and unyielding. “But it has. Whether you like it or not, whether they like it or not, the world sees you differently now. They must as well.”
Dorothy drew a sharp breath, her heart twisting. “Yet I do not wish them to see me only as that. I cannot bear it if they begin to think of you as some cold stranger who will not let them laugh with me.”
Magnus stepped nearer, his height and presence filling the hall as though the very air bent to him. “Dorothy, it is not a matterof coldness; it is a matter of order. Titles mean something. They command respect, even within a family. If your family cannot understand that, the world certainly will not.”
Her chin lifted, heat rising in her chest. “You speak of titles as if they are armor, but I do not need armor against my own kin.”
“It is not armor,” he countered. “It is protection. You are the Duchess of Walford. That cannot be undone. I will not have anyone, be it stranger or family, diminish what that position demands.”
Dorothy crossed her arms, holding his gaze, the words slipping from her before caution could stop them. “Strange, then,” she observed. “You are so determined to remind my family that I am the Duchess of Walford when you do not even treat me as such.”
For a heartbeat, the silence seemed to crackle between them.
Her eyes did not waver from his. “You were the one who told me I was to be nothing more than Eugenia’s caregiver. Nothing more. No duties, no voice, no presence beyond the Eugenia. So tell me, Your Grace, why insist I am Duchess of Walford to them when to you I am not?”
Magnus exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening before he spoke. “I do not want to argue with you, Dorothy. Heaven help me, it seems that is all we do.”
His tone was weary rather than sharp, and that pierced her more than his severity ever could. Her arms loosened from where she had folded them across her chest. He was right in a way. Far too often, their exchanges ended in sparring.
She drew a breath, her voice gentler now. “I do not wish to quarrel either. I only wish you would not be so cold to my family. It matters to me that you and they should get along. That, too, is part of my plan. This is not the way to re-enter society. Not if every smile turns to stiffness and every jest to ice.”
His eyes darkened with a kind of resolve that unsettled her more. “Then you must begin to act like a duchess,” he argued. “If you will not put people in their place, I will do it for you. I cannot allow anyone to insult you.”
The words struck her like a blow and a caress all at once. Her lips parted, but no reply came. Deep down, she still wanted to argue her point. To let him know that he didn’t need to do that with family, but she could understand where he was coming from. Her pulse quickened, warmth flooding her cheeks until she feared the betraying blush must be plain.
Foolish, she scolded herself, foolish to feel anything more in his words than duty. He said it not out of tenderness, not out of affection, but because she bore his name. Because she was his wife, and her failings would reflect upon him. Still, her chest fluttered treacherously, leaving her silent, flustered, and far too conscious of the man standing before her.
“Eugenia spoke to me,” she said quietly, as though confessing a secret. She had wanted to keep it to herself until Eugenia talked to Magnus, too, but she decided it was best that he knew.
Magnus stiffened immediately, the words catching him off guard. His eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of disbelief crossing his face. “Spoke…?”
“Yes,” Dorothy murmured. “She spoke. She saidthank youto me. She called my brooch pretty, too. It was only on two accounts, but... she spoke to me.”
He took a slow step toward her, still holding himself with that commanding poise, yet there was a hint of something softer in the curve of his mouth, the tilt of his eyes. “Dorothy, do not tease me.” His voice was low, almost incredulous.
Dorothy shook her head, glancing briefly down at her hands before meeting his gaze again. “I do not. I tell only the truth.”
Magnus’s breath caught, and for a moment, the usual rigid control faltered. He looked at her as if seeing her in a new light. “So she is… finding her voice again,” he said slowly, almost to himself.
Dorothy let herself exhale quietly, the weight of the moment settling between them. “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s… remarkable to hear her.”
“You have been a good influence on her, then,” he said, almost in a whisper.
Dorothy struggled to remind herself of her place the moment his words hit her. The truth she clung to like a shield came straight to her mind. She was only a bride of convenience. This was not affection, not love, not yet.
She drew in a steadying breath. “Thank you. It matters to me,” she said, almost to herself more than to him, “that I do right by Eugenia.”
Magnus’s eyes softened for a heartbeat, then hardened again, as though the weight of propriety and habit demanded he reclaim control. Yet even in that shift, there was something intimate lingering, a shared acknowledgment of trust and connection.
Dorothy turned her gaze away for just a moment, collecting herself, reminding herself of the boundaries she was sworn to observe. But the warmth of the moment lingered, settling between them like a flame.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
