“Yet, it is what you expect me to ask you now, is it not? Understandable after I…” Stephen trailed off and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Let me guess.” Dorothy smiled, though there was no humor in it, more a sad sort of triumph. “You lost your mind again for a minute? That is the only reason you would consider kissing me?”
“Not exactly.” He considered telling her the truth, that he didn’t want to trap her, but he wasn’t sure how to put it into words. “When I marry, I am searching for a duchess, Dorothy.”
“Ah, I see.” She looked down between them and backed up so fast that he stumbled forward, not wanting her to go so quickly. She tripped on a nearby tree root and turned once more, walking away from him.
“Dorothy?” He couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving, not like this. He followed her, and the two of them tripped on the tree roots further down the path. “Look, when I say I am searching for a duchess—”
“Pray, do not say anymore.” She held up a hand, stopping him from taking her arm again. She averted her eyes. “I do not need to stand here and listen to you spell out every way in which I am not the Duchess you are searching for,” she said firmly.
“Dorothy…”
You’d hate it. You’d hate the position you were in.
Stephen stepped in front of her, desperate to look her in the eye. She nearly lost her balance in the effort to stop herself from colliding with him. She stumbled back, clutching the shawl around her shoulders.
“You have spoken plainly enough,” she hissed.
Lifting her chin high, Dorothy looked him in the eye, and once more, Stephen was reminded of how much she had changed over these last few years. She looked at him quite imperiously, with standing and a certain degree of dignity—even furious dignity, but it was there all the same.
“I am not the lady you are seeking. I already know it. The quiet mouse, the obedient ornament that you want to marry is hardly me, is it? I am wild. I talk. I have a voice!”
“It’s not that.”
“You are a coward,” Dorothy muttered and walked around him.
“A coward?” he spluttered and hurried after her again. This time, he didn’t even look where he was putting his feet and slipped in the damp mud. He barely managed to right himself as he caught up to her once again. “I’m a coward?”
“You are!” she tossed over her shoulder. “You are so obsessed with what people think of you, of performing to the ton’s standards, that the idea of giving me anything more than a kiss horrifies you, does it not?”
“Horrifies? Dorothy, that is strong language.”
“Yet, it is true.” They reached the edge of the garden, and she rounded on him, facing him sharply, her face shining in the moonlight. “Marry me? God forbid!” she said, mimicking his tone. “How could you marry such a woman who would argue with you, use the wrong cutlery at dinner, and prefer the outdoors and adventure to sitting neatly at home with her feet tucked under her as she applies herself to her embroidery?”
“Dorothy, please.”
Stephen felt pain in his chest. She hated him, and rightly so after what he had said, but all he wanted was to make this right again, to turn back the hands of his pocket watch and change the words he’d uttered to her.
“No more.” Dorothy shook her head and stepped out from beyond the tree line. “No more, Stephen.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I will not dance around you anymore. I will not be confused by you, drawn in by you one moment only to be cast aside the next, like a muddy boot you have no care for.”
“I would never describe you as such!”
“No, no, course not,” she drawled. She lifted her chin high, and Stephen felt the words die in his throat as he looked at her, impressed by the power of her glare. “You just described me as a woman who would never be suitable to be a duchess.”
Stephen blinked at her, lost for words. Uncertain what to say, he just stared back at her. Was this not what he wanted? To ensure Dorothy did not expect a proposal? Yet, the anger with which she looked at him made him want to skulk back into the trees and hide for good.
“Goodnight, Your Grace.” She used his title. Not his name, as they had addressed each other for years, but his title! She curtsied as if there had never been anything informal between them at all. “Rest assured, you will not hear me talking of this subject again.”
“Dorothy. Dorothy, please,” Stephen hissed, stepping toward her, but she was marching away fast. She gave no sign of hearing him at all as she walked through the garden. “Let me just explain myself better. When you see it from my perspective, you’ll understand. I know it. Dorotheo!”
Dorothy halted on the doorstep and turned back to face him. Yet, if he hoped that her nickname would capture her attention and make her talk to him, he was wrong. Her eyes flashed silver in the moonlight, her jaw set firmly.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she said with finality. “You and I have behaved inappropriately enough for one night. I am sure your strong sense of propriety and to do what’s expected of you means that you will not follow me into the house now.” She opened the door and stepped into the house, shutting it hurriedly behind her.
