Chapter 10 - Dahlia #2
The upstairs sitting parlor, while just as luxurious as the rooms on the first floor, was done in gentle green and ivory tones.
It was unabashedly feminine but showed an elegant taste that Dahlia admired very much.
She perched upon an embroidered chair with a delicate table next to it that she propped her sketchbook on.
"Shall I ring for tea?" William said, already heading toward the bell pull.
"Please. This will take a while."
"If you don't mind me asking, what’s the purpose of this? Or is it just to keep Claire mostly busy?"
Dahlia laughed. “Not at all. Despite what your sister may think, I’m not prone to waste—even when it’s your money, not mine.
If there are some good dresses amongst the ones your sisters already have, then you should keep them.
If there are some that could be slightly altered to achieve a more pleasing effect, then that would be considerably less expensive than designing from scratch. "
His eyebrows flicked upward. "Isn't that cheating yourself out of some of the commission?"
"Perhaps, but time is of the essence. The start of the Season is only weeks away, and you have four sisters.
This is an incredible undertaking; I still don't know how you're going to have all of this sewing done in time. It would take a team of seamstresses working around the clock to accomplish such a feat. I’m not going to be any help in that area—all I can offer you are my sketches. "
"The sketches will suffice.”
Beatrice was the first one through the door. Though a bit plainer in face than Lily, she had a pleasant expression and a great quantity of lustrous brown hair that some poor lady’s maid had tamed into an elegant arrangement.
Her figure landed somewhere between Lily’s and Claire’s. She was thinner than Lily, but not possessing the elegant angularness that Claire did. Still, she had lovely skin with an olive undertone that wasn't suited at all by the bright blue gown she wore.
Dahlia flipped open her sketchbook and immediately started jotting notes. "Turn, please.”
Beatrice complied.
"You're approximately the same height as Claire, correct?" Dahlia flicked through to check her notes, but Beatrice was nodding. "Wonderful. Set that gown aside for Claire, please. I'll see the next whenever you're ready."
Beatrice departed, even as Dahlia began to sketch an idea that had come to her mind for the lady. She had barely gotten the rough outline onto the page when Margaret stepped into the room.
"Dear heavens, no," Dahlia couldn't help but exclaim upon glancing up.
Margaret wore a green dress that, instead of contrasting with her lovely skin, somehow washed her out altogether. If that weren't bad enough, the wide neckline and the angle of the sleeves made her torso look like a barrel that had been shoved into a great quantity of fabric.
"This cannot be one of Madame Aubert's creations."
"It isn't," Margaret admitted. "I bought this one in Paris."
"You may put that in the discard pile."
Margaret nodded, eyes wide, and departed.
On a separate page, Dahlia sketched furiously, trying to capture the image she'd had of Margaret in an emerald-green ballgown with a sweetheart neckline and a gentle slope to the sleeves that wouldn’t add any bulk to her shoulders, while accentuating her abundance of feminine curves.
Instead of a long torso like the gown she'd just worn, Dahlia shortened it to the woman's natural waistline and added a drape of chiffon from the front to soften the overall effect.
Dahlia wasn't aware of William looking over her shoulder until he leaned too close and a gust of warm air hit the shell of her ear. She froze. She didn’t dare turn to look at him; he was close enough that the move might serve to recreate the moment that had put this entire mess into motion in the first place.
"What are you doing?"
"Watching what I paid for, of course."
She jabbed her pencil toward a chair across the room. "Sit there. I cannot work with you hovering."
His answering chuckle sent another warm gust of air across her cheek and neck. It smelled of mint with a trace of whiskey, but he complied with her instructions and went to sit at the chair across the room. However, after a few moments’ silence, he stood and took a seat on the sofa closer to her.
She narrowed her eyes at him even as she finished adding trim to Margaret's ballgown.
"I won't look." William held up his hands as if to show they were empty. "But it feels strange to sit all the way across the room when you're over here."
"The distance was by design," she muttered.
He laughed once more. "Am I bothering you from here?"
"You won't be once you become silent."
He grinned as if her impertinence was a delight and not the reprimand she meant it to be. It would have been easier for her to concentrate if he’d been a room over—or ideally, in a different country altogether.
But perhaps that wasn't true either, for now that she’d met him and knew he was the one who’d given her that scorching kiss, she felt that she would always be aware of him, no matter the distance.
It was a disconcerting notion, considering that Dahlia had never before had difficulty in writing off men. As soon as she scratched one from her gridline, he was scratched just as easily from her mind.
Claire entered wearing a ballgown instead of the instructed day dress. Dahlia flicked to a clean page and sighed, even as Claire came to stand before her.
"Turn, please."
Claire's lips pinched, but she did as Dahlia asked.
"It's actually not bad," Dahlia admitted, "though I think the addition of some ribbon—"
"I don't like ribbons," Claire interjected.
"You're opposed to ribbons?" Dahlia raised her eyebrows. "Are these ribbons in general or just ribbons that I suggest?"
"Ribbons in general. I’m not as young as the others. I don't want to be dressed like some young miss barely out of the playroom."
Dahlia considered the woman's words and nodded. "Very well. How do you feel about just a hint of seed pearls or silk-threaded embroidery?"
Claire blinked as if surprised that Dahlia would acquiesce to her aversion to ribbons. "I have nothing against either of those."
"Wonderful. Please put that in the pile to be altered, then."
Claire frowned and went.
On it went, one after another. For some reason, Lily was in possession of several faded high-necked brocade gowns. Whenever she entered a room wearing one, William tensed.
"What on earth is the matter?" Dahlia whispered, turning to him after she’d instructed Lily—yet again—to put the dress in the discard pile. "I cannot focus with you grinding your teeth over there every time she walks into the room."
"That concerns my sister, and therefore is not something I'm willing to share with you.
" His expression was bland; Dahlia couldn't garner a scrap of information from it.
"You may ask me anything about myself, and I will tell you. When it comes to my sisters, I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect them. "
"Fair enough," Dahlia said. "But she notices, you know."
William frowned at her. "What?"
"Lily—she's very sensitive. She wilts every time you look as if you're judging her."
"I'm not judging her, not in the least. I just regret the necessity of…" Here he broke off.
"The necessity of what?"
"Never mind."
"Fine," Dahlia said. "But your 'never mind' is affecting her. She thinks you're angry with her."
His forehead wrinkled. "How on earth can you tell?"
"I'm perceptive." Dahlia wielded the word as if it was a blunt hammer. "What do you think dressmaking is? Just colors?"
He frowned. "Sort of."
Dahlia laughed as her pencil flew across the page.
She added a trim riding jacket over elegant skirts with a slit at either side for movement.
At the edges of the jacket, she sketched a close-up of braided leather trim.
It was a bit daring, but if she kept it to a tone-on-tone, it would be just a hint of daring and not too much for the ton to handle.
"Fashion is more than colors," she said derisively once she’d finished. "It’s seeing a person as a whole. Their figure is the easy part—anyone can take measurements. Design is looking at a person—how they see themselves, how they see the world, and also their hopes, what they want for themselves. It’s like Claire said about the ribbons.
She doesn’t wish to be viewed as some young miss on her first Season.
She wants to wear her experience where everyone can see it.
Mark my words, she’ll not settle for an idiot for a husband, that one. "
"I certainly hope none of my sisters will settle for an idiot."
"As long as he’s a kind idiot, there are far worse things.”
“Would you settle for an idiot?"
"Of course not. I’m not going to settle at all.”
“No?”
Her eyes slid to his. “Don't pretend you haven't looked into me. You wouldn't have invited me around your sisters unless you knew my presence wouldn’t besmirch their names."
He shrugged and nodded.
"Then you know I’m not lying about refusing to settle."
"Indeed." He picked up a teacup from the tray. "How many proposals have you accumulated now?"
She scowled at him. "That’s perhaps the most offensive thing you’ve said to me. I’m not collecting them as if it’s a sordid kind of sport. I’m waiting for the right man."
"Rumor is you have certain qualifications in mind."
"That should hardly come as a shock. Every woman has qualifications in mind when she thinks of her future husband."
"Yes," William said, "but most women know at a glance whether a man fits those qualifications."
Dahlia smiled and added gold threading to the edge of Claire's ballgown. "That's because most women only have qualifications when it comes to title or wealth. My list of qualifications are much more stringent than simply being born into the right family and breathing."
"So what are you looking for?"
"That’s the twenty-thousand pound riddle that many men in the ton have been trying to figure out. Shockingly, no one has ever had the courage to ask me directly."
"Twenty thousand pounds." William whistled. "No wonder you've had more than a dozen proposals."
"I don't think it's been quite a dozen yet."
"So you are keeping count."
Dahlia rolled her eyes and turned the page.
Margaret bustled in, wearing a dress that landed somewhere between teal and cyan blue. "I think this one's quite nice."
"Absolutely not," Dahlia barked. "Discard pile."
Margaret froze, then nodded wide-eyed and turned to hustle back the way she came.
William laughed. "What was wrong with that one?"
"If I have to tell you that, I should be charging seventy-five percent more than Madame Aubert."