Chapter 2 - Dahlia #2
"Mother has said much the same."
He said the words with a staunchness that was as clear as a stamp upon a page. It was as if since both his mother and Dahlia had repeated a sentiment, that was all he needed to know on the matter.
Dahlia frowned, resolving to keep her word where Calvin was concerned. She would keep an eye out for a good match for him. Once a person had his trust, they could use it to nearly any ends. Dahlia didn't want anyone to misuse it.
"Well, I am prepared—as prepared as I can be, I suppose."
"How so?"
"I have gone round to the tailor's at mother's suggestion and purchased several new suits."
"Is this one of them?" Dahlia said, eyeing his tan breeches and matching coat.
"Indeed. Do you like it?"
"It's very nice."
It was. Whatever tailor the countess had sent her son to had done an admirable job with his figure—not an easy task, considering he was a bit portly around the middle. He had confessed to her once that he favoured sweetcakes and jam.
"You remember what we talked about if you do meet a young lady that you like?"
"I'm not to propose immediately. I'm to inform Mother at once."
Dahlia's lips trembled under her amusement. His mother was wise to put such a caveat on the situation, and he must have followed her instructions the Season before last when he started to court Dahlia.
They were very nearly through the park now, and Dahlia spied the bricks of the Salisbury townhouse just ahead.
"Very well, Calvin," she said. "Give my regards to your mother."
"Indeed, I will. Thank you for walking with me.”
Dahlia smiled, a small hint of pride thrilling through her at his words. When they’d first met, he was liable to follow her right to the doorstep, completely ignoring all the subtle cues that she was finished with their conversation. Perhaps he was ready to court someone, after all.
He handed off the bouquet and they parted ways.
Dahlia crossed the street. At this time of day, Aunt Janie would be at bridge or at luncheon with her friends.
The house would be quiet, not that Dahlia minded.
Sometimes a bit of solitude was just the thing, and lately she had been craving it more often than not.
She frowned at her thoughts—perhaps they should concern her.
When Bernard, the butler, let her in the front door, he said, "Miss Rachel is in the library, Miss Dahlia."
Dahlia's eyes flew upward. "When did she arrive?"
"A couple of hours ago, miss."
"Very well, thank you, Bernard."
He nodded.
The library of the Salisbury townhome was a lovely room.
Large, floor-to-ceiling windows flanked a fireplace on the far wall.
Light drifted in past the heavy green velvet curtains that were thrown open to the sunshine.
Two comfortable leather Chesterfield sofas faced off in front of the hearth with a table between them.
The rest of the walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling bookcases full of leather-bound tomes. The entire room smelled just like the books themselves, full of history, as if the stories were seeping from the pages to scent the air.
The only part of her sister Dahlia could see were the bottoms of two boots propped upon the arm of the sofa.
"Rachel?"
Rachel didn't lift her head; she raised a hand as if she were in a schoolroom. "Here," she said redundantly.
"What are you doing here? Not that it's not lovely to see you."
Rachel sat up with a frown. "Didn't Aunt Janie tell you?"
Dahlia shook her head. “I’m certain I would have remembered.”
"One wonders if our aunt doesn’t have a gambling or drinking problem."
"She's unique, to be sure, but always perfectly sober when we speak."
"Perhaps it comes and goes."
Dahlia smirked and took the chair across from her younger sister.
Rachel possessed the same blonde hair, blue eyes, and thick dark eyelashes that were the hallmark of the Warrington blood.
However, unlike the rest of their sisters, who loved frills and ribbons, Rachel had an almost austere way of dressing.
At the moment, she wore a trim day dress in so dark a navy that it might have been black at first glance.
Where Dahlia's signature color was purple, Rachel tended to dress in shades of blue or grey.
When Dahlia had asked her about it once, Rachel claimed that the only reason she wore navy and grey was because black was seen as a mourning color.
"Are you here to visit?"
"I'm here to have a Season." Rachel sighed with her disgust of it. "Apparently, it's my turn."
It was true—it was probably well past time, come to think of it.
As if echoing her thoughts, Rachel said, "I weaseled my way out of it as long as I could. Might as well get it over with."
"Might as well.” Dahlia pressed her lips together to conceal her amusement.
“Still, I'm very surprised Aunt Janie didn't tell you."
"It is strange."
Rachel shrugged and turned back to her book. "Adelaide said that I'll only have to do one, and then I can go back to the countryside."
“How are our sisters? How’s little Persephone?”
Adelaide and Percy’s first child had been the first to arrive in their family—she was exceedingly precious to all of them.
“Gorgeous—Persephone, not our sisters, though they’re well enough, too.”
Dahlia studied her for a moment. "Is returning to the countryside after one Season truly what you want?"
Rachel nodded and turned the page. "I don't see myself fitting well in society, do you?"
Dahlia wasn’t so sure. She examined her sister’s plain hairstyle—a simple bun pulled low at the neck, along with her stark navy dress. Regardless of how Rachel tried to hide it, she was still a stunning beauty.
But it was as if Dahlia's interest in clothes and fashion had somehow made her younger sister allergic to it.
Books were Rachel's passion; they always had been. She’d systematically devoured all the books in the Duke of Devonshire's library, gulping them down one after another with all the urgency of a fat child who’d stolen a platter of eclairs.
Dahlia glanced at the far table where Rachel had already made her customary three stacks.
She sorted books according to interest level, and then according to completion.
Rachel removed one shelf at a time, interspersing low-interest books with high-interest books, as if in order to keep herself going.
She replaced the entire shelf once she'd completed it.
At a glance, Dahlia could see that she had started with the encyclopaedias, her least favorite.
Dahlia smiled. "I think you are in danger of making all of the noblemen mad."
Rachel peered over the edge of her book with narrowed eyes. "In what way, precisely?"
"You aren't interested in them, are you? Not even a little bit."
"I'm already considering the best tactics to avoid their attention altogether."
Dahlia laughed and shook her head. "That's just going to make them like you more."
"You haven't heard my tactics yet."
"We should go to the modiste tomorrow." Dahlia leaned forward, her eyes bright.
"Should we?"
"Indeed we should."
"I could do that, I suppose, but I won't. I perhaps should, but I shan't. Am able, but completely unwilling. I'd rather stay here with my books."
"Adelaide wouldn’t have sent you to have a Season without obtaining some sort of agreement that you’d actually try."
Rachel narrowed her eyes, and Dahlia knew she'd struck the truth.
"Fine." She slammed the book shut. "I will try. At least, I’ll go through the motions. That’s all I promised."
"Very well, but the motions include going to the modiste."
"If we must, we must, but I'll not wear pink. I never agreed to that."
"I don't think pink would suit you best anyway. Blue is an excellent choice for you. Although you claim not to care for fashion, you certainly have an inherent knowledge of what looks best with your skin tone."
Rachel narrowed her eyes further, as if Dahlia had just insulted her on a deeply personal level.
Dahlia ignored her expression; having grown up with Rachel, she was immune to all forms of her glowering. "So, what tactics are these that you're going to use?"
"If I tell you, you'll probably try to dissuade me."
"Please don't forget that you're speaking to me. I've been out for four Seasons and have yet to accept a proposal. I'm not going to try to ram a bad match down your throat just for the sake of you getting married."
Rachel seemed to consider her words for long moments. Then she nodded. "Right. I’m going to step on their feet if they ask me to dance.”
Dahlia laughed. “Adelaide made you promise to accept some of them, didn’t she?”
“Precisely. But I’ll do my utmost to prevent them from asking again. I’m going to invest in steel-toed dancing slippers.”
“What else?”
“I’m going to invite Reginald to sit on my shoulder during visiting hours.”
Dahlia was almost frightened to ask. “Who’s Reginald?”
“My pet raven, of course.”
“That’s only going to make you fascinating.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Rachel, but you’re going to have attention. I assure you.”
“We shall see.”
"I hope you have more fun than you think you will."
"Me too, although it's doubtful." She plucked at her skirts. "What time would you like to go to the modiste tomorrow?"
"Let's aim for mid-morning.”
"Very well. Where were you, anyway? I’ve almost made it through ‘A.’” She gestured down at the encyclopaedia.
“Tea at Lady Barnes’s house.”
“What other ladies were present?"
When Dahlia named them, Rachel smirked. "Some species, such as sheep, group together tightly because they aren't intelligent enough to survive on their own."
Dahlia huffed a laugh. "I’ll confess I mainly went there for the scones and because I hadn’t had a proper conversation in nearly a week. But with you here, I can get that at home."
"If I’m saving you from company such as theirs, perhaps me being in London isn't such a waste of time after all."
"Of course not. Besides, I know full well that you haven't had an opportunity to read these books."
Rachel caressed the spine. "Both you and Adelaide mentioned it. Have I become so transparent that you know how to bribe me?"
"We all have our vices."
"Indeed. But some are more socially acceptable than others."
"True," Dahlia said, thinking of her secret penchant for drawing dresses. "My love for fashion is easy to leverage where society is concerned."
“Perhaps I’ll find a man as fascinated by taxidermy as I am.”
Dahlia rolled her eyes. It would take a special man indeed to appreciate her sister's quirks.
"What of you?" Rachel said. "Do you have high aspirations for the Season?"
Dahlia lifted her shoulder. "The same as any others, I suppose."
"I confess I’d wondered if you'd decided not to marry at all."
It was only because Dahlia knew that her sister's words weren't designed to sting that they didn't.
"I have very strict parameters of what I'm looking for." She wrinkled her nose and admitted, "After so many years of looking, it's hard to imagine finding the right match now. But that doesn't mean I'm unwilling."
“I’m glad you have high standards. I’ve noticed that’s actually more common in the animal kingdom than it is among humans.”
“How so?”
“Certain birds require the male to perform an elaborate dance or to bring shiny rocks, for example. Females of the larger, carnivorous set will only accept a male if he’s the largest and the strongest, to prove he’s worthy.
In fact, it seems a uniquely human trait for the females to dress themselves and act in desperation to achieve a mate.
It’s unnatural—it should be the other way ’round. ”
Dahlia laughed. "What about you? What would you want your husband to be like?"
Rachel frowned. "To be honest, I haven't given it much thought. Perhaps because I believe there's no one out there that I’d find interesting enough to marry. It seems like reading the same book over and over for the rest of my life—I just don't see the point of it."
Dahlia smiled gently but didn't bother arguing. She knew her sister well enough to know that Rachel had given it a lot of thought, no matter how casual her words. Rachel gave everything a great deal of thought.
"I think it has to be the right book," Dahlia said. "Otherwise, he's not worth picking up at all."