Chapter 22 - Dahlia
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO- DAHLIA
Though Dahlia wouldn’t admit as much, there was a new lightness to her step these days. She could claim that the happiness was due to her finding such a convenient outlet for her talents, but that was only part of it.
It was not dresses that she lost hours to daydreaming over these days—it was a tall man with ash-brown hair and a winning smile.
Her fascination would not have been so acute, except that Dahlia had more knowledge of him than she had of any other gentlemen of her acquaintance.
They were friends now, as they had spent many hours together.
Though his sisters flitted in and out of the front parlor like veritable dervishes, William was a steady, constant companion, rarely stepping out of the room or away from his desk. His head was often bent over ledgers, but he was always quick with a witty rejoinder or a comment that made her smile.
That smile, as of late, seemed to have a direct line to Dahlia's pulse, though she didn’t like to admit as much, even to herself. If Rachel suspected anything about her feelings, she was kind enough not to say it.
The best part was that Dahlia suspected that William returned her regard, as his gaze rested often upon her. Dahlia had been through four Seasons, and though she had never made any sort of formal attachment, she was well aware of the signs of a man's interest. Lord Cavendish bore all the symptoms.
He certainly found every available excuse to speak with her, to sit next to her, to smile at her, to watch her when she wasn't looking at him.
Though these very same signs and traits had previously been an indicator that Dahlia needed to increase her distance from a specific gentleman, this time, such signals were not unwelcome in the least.
Though she had not bothered to add him to her grid of gentlemen, Dahlia thought that William was an excellent specimen. Indeed, he was the finest man of her acquaintance, and her regard only grew the more time they spent in each other’s company.
He was tall, handsome, with an excellent straight white smile that was often aimed in her direction.
He certainly was intelligent, good with business, and sought to provide well for the ladies under his care.
In fact, on paper, she could not have done any better.
He fulfilled all her requirements, even those that she’d deemed as shallow and secondary, (though she was quite thankful his breath always smelled faintly of mint).
The feelings in her heart were far greater than even a well-filled gridline could produce. Dahlia looked forward to seeing William. There was an anxiousness to her step when she entered the carriage or made the walk across the park to the lovely stone townhome the next square over.
She’d told her Aunt Janie that she and Rachel had befriended the Preston sisters, which was the truth. However, it was not any of the Preston ladies that Dahlia looked forward to seeing every day. Instead, it was their often sarcastic brother that held nearly her full attention.
Dahlia might have been embarrassed by the depth of her own emotions, had she not thought his regard returned. Hadn’t he hinted at it, a hundred different ways? Hadn’t he nearly come out and said it the other night at dinner, before markedly singling her out and offering her his elbow?
Dahlia thought this Season might be the best of them all.
That morning, she dressed in a mauve silk day dress with black pearl buttons down the front. The ensemble was edged in a deep grey lace that might have been oppressive on a lady with darker coloring, but simply set off her flawless cream skin and blonde hair to perfection.
Rachel, in contrast, wore a starkly simple navy day dress. Reginald was perched upon her shoulder, his feathered head even with the top of Rachel's crisp hat.
“Are you bringing him?” Dahlia tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.
“I feel that my friendship with Margaret has progressed to the point where Reginald needs to meet her and bestow his approval.”
“Very well. Be sure to ask Reginald's opinion on the rest of the household as well.”
“Oh, I will,” she said archly. “I'll tell him to pay extra attention to William.”
Dahlia bit back a smile. She didn't dare ask about her meaning. Rachel was blunt enough that she would have demanded the same honesty in return.
“I'm anxious to hear his opinion,” Dahlia said.
They both knew that Reginald's opinion depended squarely upon what Rachel thought.
“I think it'll go well.”
“I'm delighted to hear it.”
Though Dahlia’s tone insinuated she didn’t care in the least, her sister’s opinion of William meant a great deal to her. Rachel was extremely perceptive. Besides, none of their other sisters were about to bestow their blessing or caution in the matter.
Adelaide, their eldest, had recently given birth to a beautiful, red-headed daughter who had her father firmly wrapped around her tiny pale fist. If Dahlia knew Percy like she thought she did, the family would not return to London until Persephone was at least two years old.
That timeline would probably be delayed by Persephone’s siblings, based upon the way her parents looked at each other across the dining table.
Dahlia shook her head, setting her lace to fluttering.
She would have to rely on her own judgment and that of Rachel in this matter, unless she wanted to wait years.
She didn't, she realized. Whatever was between her and William, she wanted to see what it was, and quickly.
She was as eager to unwrap the matter as if it were a particularly enticing Christmas present.
She didn’t think she’d have to wait long—the first ball that marked the official start to the Season was only two weeks away.
Dahlia had already planned her ensemble—a light blue silk dress that draped beautifully.
She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined William swirling her around the dance floor in that very gown.
When they arrived at the Cavendish home, the butler led them into the parlor.
William glanced up from his desk with that same smile that occupied many of Dahlia's thoughts as of late. “Good morning, ladies. I hope it’s not too forward to say you both look ravishing. Is this the Reginald I've heard so much about?”
“It is indeed.” Rachel extended a hand gracefully towards her stuffed raven. “Reginald, this is Lord Cavendish. Lord Cavendish, this is Reginald.”
William stood from his desk and gave a courtly bow, his face all that was solemn. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Reginald. Please make yourself at home.”
Rachel dipped forward until the raven executed a bow in return.
“Please do tell the cook if there is are refreshments that Reginald prefers, or if he would like to take part of the tea tray.”
A maid was entering through the far archway.
Dahlia’s heart warmed at the sight of her favorite scones at the top of the tiered server.
She’d idly remarked upon them once, and they’d been served every day since.
Dahlia was doubly grateful William was an attentive host—it showed he cared for her preferences, and she no longer had to go to Lady Barnes’s parlor to enjoy the most delicious scones in all of London.
“Reginald is fasting for his health, but he thanks you kindly.”
William smiled and aimed his attention fully at Dahlia. “Good morning, Dahlia. I trust you slept well?”
She couldn't help the slight flush that dusted her cheeks at the thought of him wondering after her sleep. It felt intimate, that.
“I did, thank you.”
“Wonderful to hear it.” He sat back at his desk.
Dahlia let her eyes momentarily linger on his bared strong forearms. It was a habit of his—as he dealt with so many letters and ledgers—to roll his sleeves to keep them out of the drying ink.
Dahlia couldn't help but be grateful for the hours he'd spent tanning those arms in the sun, for the history of seafaring that had hardened them and made them worth staring at to begin with.
She tore her eyes away and went to sit on the far sofa. “Where are your dear sisters this morning?”
He waved a hand carelessly in the air without lifting his head. “They're somewhere about. Perhaps Rachel and Reginald might hunt them down. After all, ravens have a better sense of smell than nearly any mammal.”
Rachel's eyebrows raised appreciatively. “I find it a mark of an intelligent person, to have an interest in ravens.”
William chuckled lowly, a rich sound that sent a warm swirling through Dahlia’s limbs. “I’m glad I’ve met with your approval, as I don’t believe it’s hastily given.”
Rachel didn't respond. She just turned for the door and strode through it, Reginald bobbing his head with her every step as if agreeing with her thoughts.
“What are you working on?” Dahlia asked.
“I’m directing the plantation as to their next crop of silk.” He frowned, and she tilted her head in response, waiting. “I'm wondering whether we should convert part of the land that is too hilly for silkworm production to coffee beans, but I’m not sure such a thing will ever catch on here.”
“We’re partial to our tea, it's true. I believe it's something of a patriotic notion, and it's steeped in our history, of course.”
“Steeped.” He waggled his finger. “Leave it to you to add a clever pun.”
She smiled. It was another thing she loved about William—that he caught on to the small amusements she designed only for herself.
“Do you ship at all to the Americas?”
He shrugged. “It's something I've considered, but I’ve not yet pursued in earnest. There’s enough market in England to satisfy me at the moment. Why do you ask?”
“Only that Lord and Lady Ira recently sent their daughters to New York to marry. They've been sending letters back with descriptions of the lavish parties they've attended. America is a market hungry for luxuries. If you struggled to sell your coffee here, they might take it.”
He tapped his chin. “Perhaps I’ve been overlooking them for the low-hanging fruit of Europe.”
“The problem with low-hanging fruit is that so many people can reach it.”
“You're right. It might be the time to expand my shipping fleet.”
Pleased contentment wound through her limbs. She typically felt she had little to add when men discussed business. However, William's business was closely aligned with the desires of ladies, and as a prime consumer, Dahlia felt she had much to add, indeed.
“Perhaps you should let the market there dictate what you do with that land if you're looking to diversify,” she suggested.
William was scratching furiously at a piece of parchment. “We had an overproduction of silk this year. I’ve been considering an alternate supply route but hadn’t yet decided upon my destination. Thank you, Dahlia—you’ve tipped the scales in favor of America.”
He glanced up just long enough to shoot her another of those heart-stopping smiles. Dahlia gave a small nod in response, hoping he didn't see evidence of her thumping heart.
Abeer suddenly appeared in the doorway. He glanced between Dahlia and William and his smile grew. “Forgive the intrusion, my lord.”
“No need for an apology. What is it?”
“The last of the dresses have arrived.”
Dahlia set down her teacup with wide eyes and William smiled. “Finally. Round up my sisters and we’ll see how they turned out.”