Chapter 17 - Dahlia
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN- DAHLIA
After several days of sketching in which Claire avoided Dahlia assiduously, Dahlia stood from the leather sofa in the parlor and sighed.
William looked up from his usual spot at the desk, where he pored over ledgers and letters. "What is it?"
"I have a good start on the other ladies' wardrobes. I need to get started on Claire's; otherwise, she will be completely behind."
William frowned. "Shall I send for her?"
"No," Dahlia said, keenly aware that the other ladies in the room could hear their conversation. "I will seek her out."
"Please let me know if you need any assistance."
Dahlia shook her head. "Thank you, but I think we'll manage quite well on our own."
She took the stairs to the second floor, then turned right at the hallway that led her down to the ladies' parlor. She knocked on Claire's bedroom door.
"Enter."
Dahlia did. Claire sat at a carved mahogany writing table.
She wore a stern-looking day dress of grey with a row of prim brass buttons down the front.
In contrast, her excellent mane of ash-brown hair was piled haphazardly on her head, with pins stuck through the loose bun as if it had been an afterthought.
Her bedroom was much like Claire herself, Dahlia thought, done in elegant furniture and navy tapestries. It was an appropriate bedroom for a more mature lady who wasn't inclined toward the frills or bows that her sisters preferred.
She frowned when she saw Dahlia and opened her mouth.
Dahlia held up a hand. "Let me stop you from making what I can only assume would be an intelligent, witty set-down of my person, as I am getting quite tired of hearing them. I haven’t done anything to my knowledge to earn your ire, and yet I have it all the same."
Claire folded her hands on the desktop. "Very well. Why are you here?"
"I've come to sketch you, of course."
Claire rolled her eyes. "The others may buy that excuse, but you and I both know it's not the truth."
Dahlia's eyebrows winged upward as she settled into a comfortable sofa with an excellent view of the desk. "What, pray tell, do you think is the truth, if you don't believe my words?"
"You're here for my brother, of course."
Dahlia tipped her head back and laughed. Claire blinked as if in surprise.
"If I wanted your brother, I could have him.” She doubted the words as soon as she said them, but she wouldn't show that uncertainty to Claire. "He was the one who blackmailed me. He sought me out. And if you’d spent any amount of time in the parlor, you’d see there's nothing between your brother and me than a modicum of friendship, and some necessity that has me here, which he won't fully explain. Besides, your brother is eight and twenty—a perfectly suitable age to be married. I don’t think you’d treat any other lady as you’ve treated me, even if she was here under false pretenses, trying to finagle an engagement. So try again.”
Claire's lips pinched together.
"You're not going to answer? I'm giving you free rein to vent your vitriol, and we both know how you enjoy it. So by all means, tell me why you don't like me."
Claire remained still, her face as impassive as a statue.
“So you have no difficulty jabbing at me, but retreat into your shell once you actually have the opportunity to state the matter plainly? You disappoint me; I thought you possessed more courage than that.”
That seemed to get through to her; Claire shifted in her seat. She finally hissed, “You had everything, while I had nothing.”
Dahlia nodded but didn’t speak; she suspected there was more to say. Claire stood and stared out the window.
She said, “It’s hard for me to like someone when it appears that they’ve had all of the luck in the world. At times, I felt that if it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have none of it at all.”
Dahlia considered her words, then said, “You only saw the good parts of my story while you were experiencing the worst parts of your own.
In contrast, it perhaps seemed unfair. But I used to sit up at nights, watching over my sisters to make sure that the rats didn't nibble at their toes. Of course, you’d never suspect such a thing while looking at me now.
" Here she extended a hand down her person.
Claire narrowed her eyes as if deciding whether to believe her. Finally she said, “I didn't protect my sisters from rats. But I protected them from those who would have harmed them, from those who would have taken advantage of our situation."
"You did a good job, being their shield. None of them seem to have been as affected as you were."
Claire blinked rapidly and bit out, "Thank you.”
“But isn't it time to let someone else take the mantle?" She smiled gently. "You were never supposed to wear it, not in that way."
"Are you insinuating that because I'm a woman I'm not capable?"
"I'm not insinuating," Dahlia said. "I'm stating it plainly.”
Claire scowled.
Dahlia laughed. “Make no mistake. If society allowed women to have as much control over their destiny as men, I’ve no doubt that you’d be a force of nature.
I can see you as some sort of tycoon of business—you’d even give William a run for his money.
But that’s not the world we live in. I believe you’ve done the best under the circumstances available to you. You should be proud."
Long moments stretched between them—moments where they each pondered the other's words.
Claire turned suddenly from the window. "Why haven't you married yet?"
A slow smile stole over Dahlia's face. Perhaps if she hadn't lived with Rachel for so long, she might have been put off by the bluntness of the question. Then again, she’d always preferred blunt honesty to silken lies herself.
"By all accounts," Claire continued, misreading her silence as a requirement for more explanation, "you've been proposed to numerous times. Why haven't you ever said yes?"
"For the first time in my life, I’m in a position to make choices for myself. My brother-by-law, the Marquess of Salisbury, has settled large dowries upon me and my sisters. Nearly as large as yours is now."
Claire nodded.
"I mentioned the attic, the rats. I'll not marry a man who might put me back in such a situation. I'll not give children to a gentleman who is flippant with their future."
"Yet there are many wealthy men who have proposed to you." She cocked her head as if trying to understand.
"True, but I already have wealth. If they bring nothing more to the table, what is that to me? I gain nothing if they're just wealthy."
Claire narrowed her eyes. "You have requirements."
“Don’t we all?” At her silence, Dahlia sighed and continued, "They're different now than they were my first Season out. I know that you perhaps view the fact that you've already had a Season as some sort of detriment to your cause."
Claire frowned.
"It isn't," Dahlia said. "It's experience. You should be glad that you didn’t find a match your first Season. Think of all you know now that you didn't know then. Think of how much smarter you are. How much your own requirements for a man have crystallized in your mind.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Dahlia flipped open her portfolio and began to sketch. “I have a written list."
"You do?" Her mouth dropped open, as if the admission were scandalous.
"Of course. Men make lists of requirements before heading to the horse auction, do they not? Why should we be any different?"
"Horse auction, indeed."
Dahlia ignored her and continued, "I have a grid with checkmarks."
"What?"
Dahlia held her hand up and swiped it down, as if to illustrate. "On the left are their names. Across the top are my requirements, listed in order from most to least important. In the center, I fill out whether or not they meet my requirements."
Claire crossed and took a seat at the opposite edge of the sofa, her eyes wide, as if Dahlia was some sort of snake charmer and she was an unwitting cobra locked in her trance.
"What are your requirements?"
She ticked the list off on her fingers. "Wealth, obviously, and the ability to keep it.
Those are two separate things, and I find it very important to distinguish between them.
I won't marry anyone without a track record in managing an estate.
No young men just into their inheritance for me—there's no way to say what kind of man they'll grow into.
No one who's controlled by their mother.
No one unkind. No one with foul breath. No one licentious. "
"Fascinating. You haven't mentioned a title at all.”
“Is a title of such great import to you?" Dahlia asked, curious. "Has a title ever made someone truly happy? Though I was born to a nobleman, I'm untitled. I've never seen it make one bit of difference to my life one way or the other."
"So you truly would marry an untitled, wealthy man?"
"If he met the rest of my requirements, yes."
Claire sat with that statement as if she'd never considered it before.
"What about you, Claire? What’s on your list?"
Her alabaster forehead furrowed for a moment. "I suppose I shall have to make one. But off the top of my head, I won't marry someone like my brother."
Dahlia's eyebrows flew upwards. Her mouth opened to ask a question, but Claire saw her expression and shook her head.
"My late brother. My eldest brother."
“I didn’t know him, but I’ve heard some rumors,” she admitted.
For a moment, Dahlia thought of suggesting Calvin as a potential match.
She dismissed the idea before it fully landed.
Though Claire would make an excellent wife for Calvin in some respects, he needed someone unfailingly kind.
Claire was as sharp as a honed piece of flint.
And though she perhaps wouldn't mean to, given enough time, she would undoubtedly flay Calvin open.
"Someone wealthy, with the ability to keep their wealth." Claire said, nodding in concession to Dahlia's previous point. "I want someone steady. Someone who won't let me down."
She pressed her lips together as if shocked that she had admitted too much.
Dahlia nodded. "That makes sense. Especially considering—"
Though she didn't continue the sentence, it was a blank that both of them could fill in easily.
"I think you should consider your list," Dahlia said. "The Season is only weeks away. It would be best if you went in knowing what you wanted." She tapped the end of her pencil against the pages of her book. "Besides, after I finish dressing you, you’ll have your pick of more than one suitor."
Claire slid her intelligent eyes over to Dahlia. "Do you truly think so?"
"I know it. The ton has already been gossiping about you and your brother."
"Gossip is not always a good thing."
"True, but this is an interested sort of gossip. Lord Bates saw the statuary being loaded into your townhouse. Everyone knows that your fortunes have changed dramatically. Besides, add to the fact that you and your sisters are new to the social gambit, there will be a furor of interest."
"That's what I'm afraid of—the fortune hunters."
"You're smart enough to spot them a mile off. You won't be taken in by any of them."
"You sound so certain."
"Even if you or one of your sisters start to veer in the wrong direction, your brother will set you right. He cares for you greatly, and if he's smart enough to navigate the markets of India and Europe, he's certainly smart enough to see a bad match and to prevent it."
Her eyes flashed. "He'd better not interfere if I want the man."
Dahlia laughed. "I don't believe he'd dare. Not when it comes to you. I was thinking more of Lily. Her kindness and sweetness are all that is admirable, but she perhaps lacks the ability to see the truth about people because she’s so set on seeing the good. You’ll have to watch out for her."
Claire lifted her chin as if taking umbrage at the instruction. "Of course I will. Though most people would have selected Margaret as the one who needs the most protection—she’s the youngest."
"Margaret is a force in her own right.”
“My brother once described her as a summer storm."
“That’s an apt description. Any man who wants to claim her hand will have a merry chase on his hands. Then again, the right man will be delighted by it."
"If you're able to see such things so clearly, it's a wonder you haven't met a match by now."
"It's because I see things so clearly that I've turned them all down."