Chapter 7 - William
CHAPTER SEVEN- WILLIAM
Two days later, William slouched against a tree in the park across from the brick townhome, waiting. He’d made several discreet inquiries, and it had taken him very little time at all to ascertain the identity of the mystery artist.
She was none other than Miss Dahlia Warrington, sister-by-law to both the Marquess of Salisbury and the future Duke of Bainsworth.
William laughed to himself. He would have preferred she’d been some obscure poor miss than a lady with excellent connections.
It would have made what he’d resolved to do so much easier.
However, regardless of the impediments, he was determined.
Through his many endeavors, William had learned that persistence and hard work were often enough to get what he wanted.
In this instance, what he wanted was for Miss Warrington to help his sisters have the very best Season possible.
Ideally, she’d agree to his request on face value, but he’d already devised a contingency plan in case she refused.
He had it on excellent authority that the lady was not at home at the moment.
That was fine; he could wait. It was a pleasant enough day—the late morning sun shone through the green leaves of the trees, dappling his shoulders with spots of warmth.
Birds twittered in the flowering branches overhead.
Nearby, a squirrel shivered the low bushes.
There was a minor complication, however.
William soon discovered he was not the only gentleman watching the house.
In front of him, in full view of the windows, a short, pudgy young man gripped a bouquet tightly.
Every few minutes, the man rose up on tiptoes as if to see through the glass, though of course that was impossible from this distance.
He couldn't have been more obvious about his endeavor if he’d pressed his nose upon the window pane.
William had never regretted his retreat from society so much until now. If he were more familiar with the players of this game, he might know who this gentleman was.
At half past the hour, William had to commend the fellow for his dogged determination; the man had not so much as budged.
William had stretched many times to ease the lethargy in his limbs from standing still for so long.
The other man stood, legs braced, staring at the front door.
Finally, a quarter hour later, the lady in question strode down the street.
William was relieved to see that this time she had a lady's maid in tow.
That was something—at least she wasn't always gallivanting around London completely unprotected.
William found the idea unnerved him more than he'd like to admit.
Despite the fact that she seemed well capable of taking care of herself, he knew better than most the dangers that lurked within a large city.
He would hate to see Miss Dahlia Warrington face any of them alone.
Today she wore a lovely purple walking ensemble.
Now that he knew to look for it, he could spot how clever the design was.
A single wide ribbon trailed from her expensive bonnet, and the parasol her maid carried set the outfit off to perfection.
Her impeccable ensemble galvanized William, strengthened his belief in his plan.
As soon as the front door snapped closed behind her, the gentleman in front of him made for the front door with lumbering steps.
William had no doubt that any butler worth his salt had spotted the man at least an hour prior.
He was being so very obvious about his attention to the house that certainly the footman had been alerted.
But to William's surprise, the front door opened and the man was welcomed in.
A beau, then. The thought made William frown—not because he had any particular interest in Miss Warrington for himself, but another man's involvement would make it less likely she’d agree to his scheme.
Still, circumstances dictated that he try.
He watched for another half an hour, until the fellow was well clear of the house, then William made for the elegant front door. A stern-looking older gentleman in a pressed suit opened the door. William produced his card and stated who he was there to see.
"Apologies, my lord," the butler said with a straight face. "She is not at home at the moment."
“I understand it's fashionable practice to deny a gentleman entry the first time he arrives. However, I’m well aware that she is at home, and I believe she’ll want to see me."
"Very well, my lord," he said. "I’ll check."
The man slipped through to the hallway and William stood still and silent, waiting for his return. The entryway was smaller than his own, but it was decorated with a level of comfort that spoke of great wealth and little pretension.
He’d found out that it was the Marquess of Salisbury’s home, Miss Warrington’s brother-by-law. William had a new appreciation for how difficult it was to achieve a balance between refined and ostentatious; he respected the man more after seeing part of his home.
“I'm sorry, my lord," the butler said without a hint of a smirk. "As I thought—the lady is not at home."
Just through the hallway, a lady yelled, "Dahlia, help me with Reginald. He's being quite the pest this morning."
To the butler's credit, he didn't so much as flinch, even when William stared at him pointedly.
"Apologies," William said, "but it really is quite important that I see her."
With that, he strode past the older gentleman into the hallway, glancing into the door to his right.
"Arthur, Casper," the butler called in surprisingly strong tones.
Instantly, two enormous footmen detached themselves from the walls down the hallway and headed his direction, but William had already spotted Dahlia. She sat on a sofa, her feet propped upon a padded footstool.
Another young lady—her sister, by the looks of it—sat upright in a wingback, a massive stuffed raven perched upon her shoulder. Both ladies were reading. William strode into the parlor, the hulking footmen in hot pursuit. Just as one of them grabbed at his arm, Dahlia rolled her eyes.
"You are Lord Cavendish. I should have suspected as much.” She waved her hand in the air. "Bernard, apologies, but call off the footmen."
"Are you certain, Miss Dahlia?" Bernard looked ready to throttle William himself.
"Yes. I was mistaken. Unfortunately, I do know this fellow. Can't imagine what he wants, though. Please send us a tray of refreshments. I assure you, I'll be fine with Mara."
William glanced to the left to see the lady's maid standing in the corner, her lips pinched at his sudden appearance.
Dahlia added, "I suspect he intends to collect some cab fare."
Of all the cheek. Her dry comment would have been amusing, perhaps, if it weren't for the six-foot-three footmen bristling at his side. However, the men did as she asked, with Bernard, the butler, shooting William one last judgemental look over his shoulder.
“Are you a hansom cab driver?” the young lady with the raven asked, sweeping him from head to toe with a glance. “That’s a surprisingly interesting occupation for a gentleman.”
William didn’t quite know whether she was serious, so he simply frowned.
"Please, ignore her. Why are you here, then?" Dahlia picked up her book once more. "If it truly is cab fare you're after, you could have just asked Bernard. I'm sure he would have reconciled with you.”
"It's something far more important than that. I came to return your drawings."
She froze, her eyes sliding upwards along his frame to finally meet his. But if he’d expected to find fear there, he was sorely mistaken. Her eyes had gone a flinty sort of blue instead.
The other young lady tilted her head. “Did she leave them in your cab, or have you picked the lock on her trunk as well?”
“You haven’t even been here a week,” Dahlia said to her, then shook her head. "Mara, Rachel, you may go.”
The maid hurried for the door, but Rachel clenched her jaw and kept her seat.
Dahlia sighed. “Rachel, I’ll be fine.”
The young lady stood, the feathers of her bird ruffling with the motion. She met William’s gaze with ferocity. “Very well. But if you harm my sister, I shall set Lucien after you.”
Dahlia’s eyes went wide. “Who’s Lucien? Rachel? Who’s Lucien?”
“Don’t fret. You’ll meet him in due time.”
Then Rachel was out of the room, and Dahlia held out her hand. “Very well. Let's have them.”
He walked forward and placed the folded sketches into her palm. She flicked through them, nodded, then tossed them onto the leather sofa beside her.
"What is it you really want?"
So she was intelligent as well as talented—though he’d already known as much from her sharp tongue the first time they’d met.
"That's my sister." He gestured at the pages next to her. "One of them, at least."
"You're related to the Dowager Countess? How charming."
William just stared at her, his head canted to the side.
Finally, she sighed. "Obviously you're speaking of Claire Preston. What is it you want?"
"I want you to design more gowns."
"Why?"
"Because you’re exceptionally good at it."
Her eyebrows raised. He didn't know whether she was surprised that he'd noticed or that he’d admit as much.
"Apologies, I’m not for hire. I recommend Madame Aubert if you're in the market for gowns." She slid her eyes down his form once more. "Though it's doubtful she has enough silk to clothe you."
"Don't be purposefully obtuse. The gowns are for my sisters, not for me. Besides, we've already been to Madame Aubert, and with one glance at your sketch, I can tell you're more talented."
Dahlia smiled and shook her head. She opened her mouth to respond, but whatever she was going to say was cut off by the arrival of tea.