CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Can I join you?” Dorothy asked softly, peeking into the library.
Magnus looked up from the book before him and smiled. “By all means,” he said, gesturing to the large table where he sat.
The day had ended, and the household had quieted. Her siblings and her father had departed after their two-day, brief but joyful visit. Dorothy missed her family even as she appreciated the calm. She had found herself wandering toward the study, hoping to find Magnus before retiring for the evening.
With a small laugh, Dorothy stepped onto the polished surface and settled herself beside him. The table creaked slightly under her weight, and Magnus chuckled, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “You are quite bold,” he said lightly. “Climbing upon the table as though it were meant for you alone.”
Dorothy tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes twinkling. “Perhaps I am. But I find it more comfortable than the chair, and besides, it allows me to sit close to you.”
Magnus shook his head with a faint smile, closing his book. “Comfort and proximity both, then. I cannot deny the appeal.”
Dorothy’s gaze softened, and she leaned slightly toward him, the quiet of the room wrapping around them like a warm cloak. The day had been full, delightful, and exhausting, and now, in the gentle hush of evening, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
Dorothy perched on the edge of the table, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “So… how was the walk? Or the conversation with Papa today?” she asked, trying to sound casual though a flicker of nervousness tugged at her voice.
Magnus leaned back slightly, his hands resting on the table, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Most agreeable,” he said. “Your father has an abundance of stories about your childhood. It seems he has kept quite the record of your… exploits.”
Dorothy froze for a moment, panic rising in her chest. “Exploits? You mean—he didn’t tell you anything embarrassing, did you?” Her voice was pitched with both worry and a hint of pleading.
Magnus’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “Nothing cruel, I assure you. But he did recount, in some detail, the antics you and your brother—Phillip, I believe—were fond of.” He paused, letting the words linger, then chuckled. “Constant mischief,running about, causing trouble whenever possible. I can see now why you have always been so… resolute. So defiant, even now.”
Dorothy’s cheeks flamed. She shifted slightly, attempting to hide the blush that had betrayed her. “Defiant? Me?” she asked, a laugh trembling at the edge of her voice. “Surely he exaggerated.”
Magnus shook his head, eyes bright with amusement and a trace of admiration. “I assure you, he did not. Your spirited nature was evident even then. It explains much about the woman you are today and why you are so difficult to sway.”
Dorothy pressed her lips together to suppress another laugh, leaning a little closer, letting her shoulder brush his. “So, you’re saying my defiance is… hereditary?”
Magnus’s chuckle deepened, warm and low. “Entirely. It would seem mischief runs in the family, Dorothy. I saw your sisters running around with Eugenia. Playing hide and seek. It was... wonderful. She could not stop smiling. I am so sure she is worn out by now. You must have had a nice childhood.”
Dorothy nodded. “I did.”
Letting out a small sigh, she looked down at her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “I was thinking,” she began, “I would like to send Papa some money from my allowance. I want to help in every way I can.” She glanced at him, seeking his reaction. “Would that be all right?”
Magnus’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his eyes warm yet teasing in that way she had come to notice. “Dorothy,” he said, leaning back slightly, “you do realize you need not ask my permission for such things. You may do as you wish with the money. Send it, use it, allocate it as you see fit. There is no need to come to me for approval. It is yours to manage.”
Dorothy faintly smiled. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Magnus’s gaze lingered on her, penetrating, as though he could read the thoughts she tried to veil. Slowly, he let the book in his hand fall open on the table, forgotten for the moment. “Dorothy,” he said gently, “I can tell… this is not truly why you came to speak with me tonight.”
Her hands stilled mid-fidget, and she felt a flicker of unease under the intensity of his eyes. He continued, his hand reaching out to brush a soft curl away from her cheek. “Even in these past two days, I have noticed your mind wandering. If something weighs upon you… something that troubles you, I would have you tell me. You need not keep it hidden, not from me. You need not protect secrets as if I were some stranger.”
Dorothy’s throat tightened at the earnestness of his words, the sincerity in the touch of his hand. She wanted desperately to say something, anything, to ease the tension coiling inside her, yet the right words seemed to elude her. All she could do was meet his gaze, feeling the pull of his presence, the careful patience in his tone, and the warmth that wrapped around her like a protective cloak.
She knew he was right. Ever since her conversation with her father the day they had arrived, her mind had been consumed with thoughts she had not dared to speak aloud. The notion of giving Eugenia a sibling so the child could have a companion in the house mingled with the unfamiliar stirrings within herself, a nascent readiness to become a mother, a part of a family of her own.
All these thoughts collided in her mind, and she found herself troubled with an unspoken heaviness. Yet she had said nothing to Magnus, fearful of breaking the delicate rhythm of their days together or of speaking truths that might complicate what they shared. Now, as he waited patiently, as the evening quiet wrapped around them, she realized how desperately she needed to confide in him, to let him know the stirrings of her heart.
Her hands twined together in her lap, her fingers twisting nervously. Finally, she exhaled softly, the tension loosening ever so slightly. “Magnus,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “I suppose there is something I should tell you.”
She swallowed, her hands clasping nervously in her lap. “Magnus… may we sleep in the same room tonight?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He blinked, caught slightly off guard, and then his eyes narrowed with a spark of understanding. “You want to sleep in my chambers?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with curiosity.
She inched closer to him on the table, her fingers brushing against the sleeve of his arm. “Yes,” she murmured. “I would likeus to spend a night together… as husband and wife.” Her words were careful, measured in the way she had always known to express such things, yet bold in their intent.
Magnus’s gaze sharpened, and for a heartbeat, the space between them seemed charged. He understood immediately what she meant, the hope in her request. Slowly, he shifted back, creating a deliberate distance, and rose from the table with a controlled grace. He stepped down to the floor, leaving a tangible gap between them, the tension thick in the quiet study.
