Chapter Thirteen - William
The following morning, well before visiting hours began, there was a rap upon his front door. Even from the breakfast room, where his sisters had gathered in various degrees of wakefulness and yawning, William could hear a female voice followed by his butler’s sedate male one.
Who on earth had come to visit this early? It was borderline shocking.
He was surprised, then, when his butler came to the door and announced, “Miss Dahlia Warrington and Miss Rachel Warrington, to see yourself and the ladies of the house, my lord.”
William frowned. Had Dahlia finished her sketches already? He hadn’t expected to see her for another week at least.
“Send them in and set two more place settings, please.”
The butler left; the footman rushed to follow William’s directives.
By the time the ladies in question arrived, all of his sisters were sitting up primly under the threat of company. Two more place settings had been added as if they’d expected the visitors to begin with.
Dahlia wore an elegant silk day dress in pale blue, edged in box-pleated grosgrain ribbon.
The deep cut of the jacket exposed a shirt of white lace overlaying matching cotton.
It was a stunning, albeit slightly daring, ensemble.
In contrast, Rachel wore a simple navy dress; its only ornamentation was a row of covered buttons down the back of the bodice.
“Apologies for inviting ourselves to your breakfast,” Dahlia said.
“I’m not sorry. We skipped ours to get here so early,” her sister said.
For it was her sister. There would be no doubting it, even if they hadn’t been announced.
Rachel could claim her status as a Warrington on appearance alone.
She was blonde and blue-eyed, like Dahlia, but the tip of her nose was turned up ever so slightly at the end, giving her an impish expression as if she were forever getting into mischief and delighting in it.
As if to confirm his initial opinion of her, Rachel crossed to one of the empty place settings, picked up a plate, and moved to the sideboard to serve herself. The footmen blinked at each other in alarm, but Rachel paid them no mind.
“We don't mean to be rude,” Dahlia tried again, “interrupting your breakfast like this.”
“Correction,” Rachel said. “She doesn't mean to be rude. You may take my actions however you like.”
Dahlia sighed. “My sister is a bit of a contrarian. If you act shocked, it'll only encourage her.”
“Luckily, I have eight sisters of varying personalities. I don't believe anything could shock me.”
“Your challenge is accepted,” Rachel said. “You’ve given me a mission.”
“Everyone's life needs purpose,” William said dryly.
“Perhaps we should discuss why we're really here. Shocking Lord Cavendish aside,” Dahlia said.
“What lovely bacon.” Rachel used the silver tongs to heap a large helping upon her plate.
Dahlia pressed her lips together, looked heavenwards, then said, “Again, apologies for my sister. She is at home wherever she is.”
“An admirable quality,” William said, laughter coloring his voice.
“I wasn’t aware that we were expecting guests this morning, William,” Claire said pointedly.
“And yet they are our guests,” William said, “and they are very welcome.”
“Are you aware that the poisonous dart frog is exceptionally beautiful? However, anytime a human makes contact with it, it kills them dead.” Rachel snapped her fingers for emphasis.
“Some of them are the precise shade of blue as your dress.” She plunked her full plate directly next to Claire’s. “Fascinating, don’t you think?”
Rachel grinned at her; Claire ignored her grandly.
“Yes, well,” Dahlia said, valiantly trying to recapture the conversation, “as I was working yesterday, I was having the most difficult time. And I realized—”
“Actually, it was Sir O’Connor who realized—” Rachel interrupted, in a terrible Scottish accent.
Dahlia took a deep breath and soldiered on. “I realized that I need to be in the same room with you ladies in order to work.”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “How convenient.”
“For whom?” Dahlia asked. “Believe me, I would much rather do this work in the comfort of my own home without you snarling at me every three seconds as if I’ve somehow wronged you, which I haven’t—not to my knowledge.”
Claire blinked as if momentarily shocked.
Rachel said, “Did you know that female hyenas fight for dominance if one encroaches upon the other’s territory?”
There was a snicker down the table, most likely from Margaret, but William was too busy shooting silent messages to Claire through his eyes to take note of it. Her furious gaze finally landed on his.
“I don’t see how this is necessary, William,” she snapped. “The gowns we got in Paris are quite good enough.”
“Maybe for you,” Margaret said from down the table, “but I much prefer the single sketch I saw from Miss Warrington to anything that the modistes in Paris gave me.”
“Rumor has it that Madame Aubert is unwell.” William said. “I truly believe Miss Warrington is your best chance to make an excellent impression on the ton this Season.”
“Well,” Claire said, pushing back from her seat so quickly that the chair barked against the stone floor, “you’re the head of household. It’s your prerogative. But you cannot ask me to be happy about it.”
She strode from the room before any of them could think of what to say next. An awkward silence descended on the table, broken only by the scrape of Rachel’s fork against the plate.
“Excellent scrambled eggs.” Rachel saluted one of the footman, who gave an alarmed blink in reply.
“Forgive my sister,” William began.
“I will as soon as she asks for it,” Dahlia said, “but I’ll no longer accept your apologies on her behalf. She doesn’t like me for some reason. That’s fine. I’ve never needed a subject to like me in order to draw. But for the moment, I’ll start with the other ladies.”
“For the moment, we’re having breakfast.” William gestured to the lone empty plate that rested at his elbow across from Rachel. “Please join us and we can discuss how best to proceed.”
The footmen stiffened, watching to see whether she would be a difficulty like Rachel and serve herself. Instead, Dahlia sat, removed her lace gloves, and nodded at the nearest footman, who gave a silent sigh of relief and began to serve her.
“So how did Sir O’Connor become involved in this?” William directed his question at Rachel.
“Sir O’Connor is an excellent detective,” Rachel began.
“I know who Sir O’Connor is.”
“A fan of literature, are you?”
“I wouldn’t call Sir O’Connor literature,” Beatrice said, her nose wrinkling.
“Then I wouldn’t say you had much taste for literature at all,” Rachel said in a Scottish brogue.
Dahlia sighed and murmured to William, “She wouldn’t let me come on my own.”
He grinned. “You both are more than welcome at any time.”
“Don’t tell her that, or she will quite literally haunt your halls.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” William spoke lowly so that the other ladies, who had begun a spirited discussion about which was the best Sir O’Connor novel, wouldn’t hear.
“I had to convince her not to bring her ghost sheet this morning.”
He chuckled. “I don’t know what that is, but I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t encourage her, please.”
“Can you truly not draw when you’re not in front of someone?”
She frowned. “Why on earth would I lie about such a thing? Or are all you Prestons just naturally suspicious?”
“My sister is a special case.”
She smirked. “On that, you and I agree.”
William frowned. Considering Claire’s treatment of the lady, he couldn’t blame her for thinking the worst of her.
Perhaps he and Dahlia needed to have a private conversation.
If Claire was going to be this difficult during the entire process, the least he could do was try to shed gentle light upon why she was the way she was.
"You and I shall speak later," he said.
She nodded, though she gave him a quizzical glance.
"And what of you?" he said. "Have you read Sir O'Connor?"
“I have, though I confess it isn’t to my taste.”
He grinned. “A shocking statement, considering the serial’s popularity. Why don’t you enjoy it?”
She pressed her full lips together and looked heavenward—a little show of reticence that he was surprised he found adorable.
“If I tell you, I fear you’ll only mock me for it, as my sisters do.”
“Now I must know.”
“Sir O’Connor is well enough, I suppose. It’s his assistant I don’t care for.”
“Arthur Podwickle?”
She nodded and added cream to her tea. He catalogued her motions carefully—they were elegant, precise, down to the way she stirred the tiny silver spoon without knocking it against the sides of the delicate china cup.
“What did he do to earn your ire?” he finally asked, when it was clear she wasn’t going to offer more on the subject without his prodding.
“He’s completely inept. He bungles everything.”
He smiled. “Isn’t that the point of his character—that he’s helpful through his ineptitude? Isn't that part of the charm of the stories?”
Those blue eyes slid his direction. “Some may find ineptitude charming. I do not. He should have been fired long ago. I certainly would have done so.”
“One could argue that Sir O’Connor would’ve had difficulty solving all those cases without Podwickle’s help.”
“Heaven save me from help like that,” she muttered.
William laughed.
“Besides,” she continued, “if O’Connor couldn’t solve those cases without leveraging the incompetence of his assistant, perhaps he’s not a very good detective.”
“Not good enough to have a serial named in his honor, certainly.”
“Precisely. Instead of Sir O’Connor’s Mysteries, it should be called Two Bunglers Accidentally Solve Mysteries. That would be far more accurate.”
William found himself thoroughly charmed by her dry criticism. “And yet you’ve read enough of them to develop a thorough knowledge of the subject.”
“I used to read them to my younger sisters, back at Bainbridge Farm. The books belonged to Adelaide, our eldest sister, and I was the only one she could trust to take care of them.”
“Were your other sisters destructive?”
“Not intentionally so. Hannah was too young to handle such valuables, and Rachel reads so quickly that sometimes she tears the pages in her haste to find out what happens next.”
“So the task was left to you, even though you didn’t care for it.”
She ruefully shook her head. “I even did the voices.”
Contrary to Claire’s opinion, he didn’t think that Dahlia Warrington was spoiled at all. Though she thoroughly enjoyed all the trappings of wealth, the affectionate tone she used when speaking of her sisters belied the love she held for them.
“What I wouldn’t give to hear you attempt Sir O’Connor’s accent.”
“The price would be too high, even for one such as you. Though perhaps I can relieve some of your curiosity by informing you that my imitation is much better than Rachel’s.”
“I won’t believe you until I hear it for myself.”
“I am not so easily baited. Believe what you will; I remain content in my knowledge of the truth.”
He chuckled lowly, drawing Lily’s attention. He was surprised to find himself mildly irritated at her for intruding upon their conversation when she asked, “What are you speaking of, William?”
“Sir O’Connor, just as you are.”
“We’ve moved well past that now. I believe Rachel is better read than even you are.”
His eyebrows raised. “Have you dropped the honorifics already?”
Rachel shrugged. “I’ve never understood the nobility’s shock over a first name. Some act as if it’s the linguistic equivalent of dancing around in one’s drawers.”
Dahlia slapped a hand over her mouth; William barked a laugh. Down the table, Margaret’s eyes were wide in scandalized delight.
“Rachel,” Dahlia said. “Have you forgotten our rules already?”
“Forgive me. I suppose I thought such a glancing impropriety paled against the much larger one of us showing up at the crack of dawn and demanding breakfast.”
“We didn’t demand—” Dahlia began, then she pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“So in some circumstances, you are easily baited,” William murmured, low enough for only Dahlia to hear.
She shot him a scathing glance that thrilled him for some reason.
“I assure you, we aren't offended in the least,” Beatrice said. “We’ve said far more scandalous things at the table than that.”
“What’s permissible in front of family members is different than what’s permissible in public,” Dahlia said.
“We aren’t in public,” Margaret pointed out helpfully. “We’re in the breakfast room.”
“Which you dragged me to nearly at dawn,” Rachel added.
Dahlia pursed her lips and said, “Though I’m outnumbered, I must insist you don’t mention lady’s undergarments at the dinner table again.”
“It’s not the dinner—” Rachel began, but the challenging tilt of her sister’s head and the warning arch of her brow had her snapping her mouth closed. “Very well.”
William catalogued the expression—if it was enough to chasten Rachel, it was something he should heed if he ever saw it levied at himself.
Considering that the breakfast had begun with Claire’s rude departure, it was a surprisingly enjoyable affair.
Rachel was a different sort of person, and highly intelligent.
She relished shocking people without being too inappropriate.
It was a rare trait amongst young ladies, and she managed it with a degree of aplomb that he’d not witnessed among many gentlemen.
If she’d been a man, he would have hired her on the spot.
Dahlia was no less intelligent, though she wielded her wit in a much more subtle way, slipping in little comments that had William chuckling almost before he realized it.
Both of the Warrington ladies were a welcome addition to the group.
Margaret cackled in private conversation with Rachel across Claire’s empty place setting, and Beatrice and Lily engaged Dahlia in an animated discussion about fashion and fabrics.
The Warringtons were his sisters’ first visitors. It occurred to him that though they’d been at home nearly all week, no one else had darkened their doorway. The Season had not yet started, but the socializing had begun.
Fear tightened his stomach—what if all he’d done wasn’t enough? What if the ton still snubbed his sisters? If his brother Richard had appeared before him in that moment, William would have knocked him into the following week.
He listened to Margaret’s boisterous laughter and Lily’s gentle questions about organza versus chiffon, and it occurred to him that perhaps his sisters had been lonely with only each other for company. He resolved to invite the Warrington Misses back to dine with them as soon as possible.