Chapter 6 - William
CHAPTER SIX- WILLIAM
She didn't remember him. She didn't remember him. How many times had he thought of her over the years? That blonde hair, that luminous skin, those wide, frightened blue eyes…
But now she was no longer the innocent girl, wandering the gardens at a ball, looking for the wrong kind of trouble. She’d been sharp-tongued, her eyes narrowed in anger, thoroughly unimpressed with his handsome face and his rich clothing…and all the more beautiful for it.
When he’d stepped from the hotel, he'd already been in a foul mood.
Renovations on their family townhome were supposed to have taken three months.
They were now well into the sixth month, and the butler had sent a messenger to the hotel requesting his presence due to an issue.
If there was one more issue with the townhome, William thought he might put a match to the place and forget about it.
He’d dressed quickly and slipped out the front door only to find the skies grey and threatening rain.
Abeer was halfway across the city dealing with a late furniture shipment, there wasn’t a cab to be had, and it would be difficult to find a messenger to send to his townhouse and call for his carriage.
Honestly, it was one of the things William liked least about his title—the expectation that he would only roam the city in an elegant carriage when any hansom cab would do.
There—there was one at the corner. He’d nodded at the driver, who nodded back and headed his direction.
Oof. A young man—a street urchin by the feel of things—smacked into his side.
William instinctively put a hand to his wallet, the one that was chained firmly through his waistcoat to his middle.
He’d spent years in India—if any London pickpocket wanted to yank his billfold, they were going to yank him as well.
He started to reprimand the fellow. It was sloppy work, easily spotted, running into a person on an uncrowded street.
But it wasn't a pickpocket at all, he realized as he began to upbraid the person.
It was a young lady in a ribboned bonnet.
Her parasol clattered to the cobblestones, along with a book she'd been carrying.
The binding broke; the pages slid across the ground.
Perhaps if he’d been paying better attention, they wouldn't have collided at all. And it was his foul mood over the state of the townhome that had him reacting so harshly. But instead of a quivering chin and round eyes filled with tears, he was met with a sharp, acerbic retort.
Of course, such a retort only stirred his anger more, and before he knew quite what was happening, he was engaged in a rather stupid, childish back-and-forth with the young lady about the ownership of the cab. Still, he was a gentleman, so he bent to help her retrieve her belongings.
He wasn't sure why—though perhaps it was the slightly panicked way she gathered her papers—but when he bent to help her with them, he tucked several into his waistcoat. An odd instinct, to be sure, but he did it quickly. He’d learned a thing or two himself on the Indian docks.
Now, alone in the hansom cab, after having watched the woman who’d plagued his dreams for the past four years stride up the steps to her elegant townhome without so much as a backward glance in his direction, William pulled the several sheaves of grimy paper from his coat and examined them.
He froze; his eyes widened. He inhaled sharp surprise through his nostrils.
They were sketches, drawings of elegant gowns. Even more shocking than the pastime was the fact that there were names written on each one. The first one was for a marchioness.
There were two drawings side by side—one he recognized as a Madame Aubert creation.
The one next to it was…better. She’d moved the trim on the bodice to give the illusion of curves that weren't there. It was just a hint, but it made all the difference. She’d also jotted ideas for colors in the margins, noting the lady's skin tone and accessorizing appropriately.
Slowly, he shuffled that drawing to the back and looked at the next one. This one was for a dowager countess, tall and thin. This lady was—in the artist's opinion—wearing completely the wrong colors for her skin tone. Instead of redesigning the gown, she’d sketched an entirely new one.
William had to begrudgingly admit that this artist, whoever she was, possessed a unique talent. She had an excellent understanding of color and form, as well as incredible attention to detail.
He froze at the third and final sketch. This one was of his own dear sister. Again, she’d scrapped the original gown altogether. Though the lady hadn’t sketched Claire's face, her name was at the bottom and he could recognize the likeness of his sister's form.
There were numerous markings in the margin about the undertone of Claire's skin, how she was wearing the wrong color green altogether, how the right fabrics might accentuate her curves, and then about the gown itself. It was not a walking gown this time or even a day dress. Instead, she’d designed a ball gown.
His fingers tightened on the page. He bent closer to inspect it. This gown…Claire had to have it. She needed to have an entire wardrobe designed by this person.
William had promised himself when he returned to England that his sisters, who had experienced so much difficulty, would only have the best moving forward. He had thought Madame Aubert was the best. But upon looking at these sketches, he knew he’d been wrong.
Only one question remained—who was she?
Questions about the lady flew from his mind once he reached his destination.
“I'm sorry, my lord." His butler blinked up at him. "I don't know why the messenger told you to come urgently. I only wanted to let you know that the house was ready. There was a minor problem in the kitchens, but the chimney sweep and the tradesmen are addressing it now."
William frowned, although it was excellent news indeed after so much time waiting for the project to be complete. If he’d known there was no problem with the house, perhaps he would have been in a better mood when he ran into the lady outside the hotel.
Perhaps that interaction would have gone differently, and he might have received her name. Instead, he was left with yet another memory of her large blue eyes and blonde hair, and still no name at all.
"So the house is finished?"
"Indeed, my lord. The housekeeper had the beds made up just this morning. The household is ready to welcome you and your sisters back at your earliest convenience, with Mr. Abeer’s approval."
William let out a gust of breath. "Excellent news."
He was tired of the hotel. Something about the confined, albeit luxurious, accommodations made him feel as if he were back on a ship. Or perhaps it was just the company. Confined to the hotel rooms, Claire and Beatrice had taken to bickering as if they were little children all over again.
"Tell Mrs. Dunn we will dine here tonight," he said, turning back toward the street. The hansom cab was long gone. "I'll need the carriage."
"Don't you wish to see the house?" the butler asked.
William was already tugging his fine leather gloves back on. "If you say it's ready, I trust you. I shall view it when my sisters do."
Besides, Abeer was the one in charge of the project. If he’d approved it, they probably could have moved back in a week ago. Abeer was fastidious—it was part of what made William trust him so implicitly.
William hardly could be bothered to walk through alone.
The house was for his sisters. Even though it was technically now his, William had a difficult time thinking of it as such, though he knew Abeer would have followed his instructions to the letter.
There was not a trace of his brother left in this house.
But still, when he stepped onto the front steps, the open doorway seemed to exhale on his neck, all the same.
Back at the hotel, it took far longer than he would have liked for his sisters to make themselves ready. William was tapping the toe of his boot long before the task was completed.
"Can't you tell us anything?" Beatrice said as she accepted his help into the carriage, her eyes bright. "You wouldn't let us in at all, and now you won't even give us a hint."
"Why would I keep a secret for six months only to ruin it in the last possible moment?"
"He's not like Margaret," Lily said gently, her eyes twinkling. "He'll not blurt out what's in the package just as you're tearing into the paper."
"I do not," Margaret said.
"You most certainly do," Claire said from the corner.
Claire had been remarkably silent during the return trip. While the other three ladies prattled on about their hopes and wishes and what their bedrooms might look like, Claire simply looked out the window.
She had been taciturn ever since he returned. William suspected she blamed him for those long months of waiting for his reply. Or perhaps even earlier than that—perhaps she blamed him for their brother's actions as well.
"How many seats are at the dining table?" Margaret pressed, leaning forward. "Can you at least tell us that?"
"I don't know. I suppose there are as many seats as there are chairs that Abeer bought."
"You didn't even look?"
He shook his head. "I didn't want to ruin the surprise."
"I didn't realize it was a surprise for you as well as us," Beatrice said. "You've been over there so often, how did you avoid seeing anything?"
He chuffed a laugh. "I only saw it during the sawdust and plaster stage."
"But I thought you chose the furnishings for your office yourself."
"I did, but Abeer chose nearly everything else."
"Which means our house will most likely look fresh from India," Claire mumbled.
William arched an eyebrow. "If something isn’t to your liking, we can change it, I assure you."
Claire lifted an insouciant shoulder and stared out the window once more. "It makes no difference to me."