Chapter 24 - Dahlia
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR- DAHLIA
Dahlia would not call herself a fool, she decided, no matter how large the temptation loomed within her.
For she didn’t think that her feelings had run too far ahead of the situation, not by half.
There had been signs of affection on his part.
There had been clear signals that he felt the same way she did.
For many minutes after she and Rachel loaded into the carriage, there was no sound but the clattering of the wheels upon the cobblestones.
Dahlia was grateful. Rachel was the perfect companion for moments such as these, when one needed time and space to sort one's own emotions.
Her elder sister Adelaide would have fluttered about verbally, checking on her incessantly and demanding she express how she felt immediately.
Dahlia pressed her lips together. She'd nearly allowed her emotions to get the best of her.
She could say “nearly” because her emotional carriage had not yet toppled all the way into the ditch of love.
It was only partially in—two wheels' worth—and easily righted with the correct amount of focused effort.
Dahlia took a bolstering breath. Rachel's eyes flew towards her; her mouth was set in a grim line.
"I can brew a tincture of belladonna if you'd like," she said. "It's fairly straightforward."
Dahlia’s eyes widened. "Whatever for?"
"To kill him, of course. And I’m very certain I can slip it into his drink without anyone noticing. I’m very good at sneaking—I put a stuffed badger in Claire’s bed only this afternoon."
Dahlia’s mind whirred with all of the questions she wanted to ask—how had Rachel managed to smuggle the thing through the front door? She hadn’t brought a parcel with her. But she managed to focus on the most important thing.
"No. Of course not. Don’t kill William."
"Are you sure?" Rachel asked suspiciously, her eyes narrowed. "Because I'll do it. Blink if you want me to but are too frightened to say it aloud."
Dahlia slapped a hand over her own eyes. "I cannot help but blink and you know it, but I don't wish Lord Cavendish dead."
"Very well," she said sullenly, leaning back. "Perhaps I want him dead for what he said."
"I'm fine, truly."
"I don't think you are."
"Very well, I’m not fine at the moment," Dahlia admitted. "But I will be, and that is the truth."
She would, she realized. Though there were tender feelings in her heart toward William that extended far past friendship, they were but new green shoots in the soil.
She would search them out and pluck them like she used to do the weeds back in the Bainbridge kitchen gardens all those years ago.
She would uproot them one by one before they truly settled in. Before a hoe was needed.
Dahlia looked out the glass of the carriage window, ignoring the ghost of her own reflection that stared back at her. A beautiful young lady, to be sure, with an elegant hat perched upon her head, feathers nodding their agreement at her plans.
"Are you certain you'll be all right?" Rachel said. "For I truly thought that he—"
Dahlia sliced a hand through the air. She had enough of her own emotions to be dealing with without the addition of Rachel's. "If anything, this little interlude has proven to me what I knew before—that I do wish to be married, to the right man."
As Dahlia said the words, she realized the depth of truth in them.
She was tired of the endless Seasons. She wanted this one to be her last. She wished to be settled in a house that was her own, where she might be the mistress of its occupants and decorate the rooms to her own taste.
That being said, she wouldn’t give up on her strict qualifications. Her eyes narrowed in thought.
"What are you planning?" Rachel said. "If it's anything that involves violence, you know that I am the best cohort possible."
Dahlia grinned at her. "Why would you think my plans had anything to do with violence?"
"Because mine would."
"Not at all. I was just thinking that I’ll redouble my efforts towards my own Season.” She straightened her shoulders. “I believe that this Season, I’ll do my utmost to find a husband."
"Isn't that what you’d been doing already?" Rachel's forehead crinkled.
"Goodness, no. I've been batting them away and only taking a passive interest in those who bothered to come around. However, this Season I intend to be much more proactive."
Rachel's eyes widened, alarmed. "What does that look like? Are you going to go after them with a net?"
Dahlia settled back into her seat, a grim but satisfied smile plucking at her lips. A plan began to take shape in her mind.
"You needn’t worry. I won’t do anything scandalous—there’s no need. Only, you should expect that we’ll have a lot of male visitors in the coming weeks."
"I’ll warn Reginald," Rachel said with a grim nod, "and perhaps buy him a new cravat."
In the end, it was easy enough to spread the word that Miss Dahlia Warrington was ready to choose a husband. It was simple as saying such at breakfast the next morning to Aunt Janie.
“Is that so, my dear?” Aunt Janie smiled. “Are you truly ready?”
“I am.” Dahlia nodded. “I wish to be married, but only to the right man. It’s my goal to be married by the end of the year. Not that I’ll settle for just anyone, of course.”
Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and even to Dahlia, her smile spoke of mischief. “Of course not. What, pray tell, are you looking for?”
“He must be wealthy, intelligent, and exceedingly kind.” Dahlia nodded to punctuate her list. It was a good list, she thought—concise, yet complete.
“What of his looks?”
Dahlia shrugged. “I confess I used to think looks an important part of the equation—nearly as equal as the other characteristics I mentioned. It was probably an opinion born from vanity. But now I’m of a very different opinion.
I think that wealth, the intelligence and prudence to keep said wealth, and kindness are the most important factors. Everything else is secondary.”
“This is going to be fun, my dear. I predict you’ll have a very eventful Season, indeed.”
Dahlia had always suspected that Aunt Janie was one of the largest gossips in the ton.
Her idea was proved correct the next day, when Calvin showed up fifteen minutes before the appropriate visiting hour, a massive bouquet in hand and an accusing glint in his eye.
"My mother says you intend to marry," he said. "Does that mean you're finally ready to hear my proposal?"
"Apologies, Calvin, but I don’t think we would suit. I’m very happy to still call you my friend, however."
He nodded. "I thought as much, but Mother insisted I should suggest it once more, just to be sure."
Dahlia laughed at his serious expression, grateful that—per usual—his feelings had not been tied up in the thing.
"I sincerely hope that you’ll keep visiting."
"Of course." He blinked in surprise, as if it had never occurred to him otherwise. His tone was slightly accusatory when he continued. "You said you would help me find a wife. I intend to hold you to that promise."
"Indeed you should."
Dahlia was glad that her intention to marry someone else wouldn’t affect their relationship, for she did care deeply for Calvin in her own way.
She’d considered whether it might be the best thing for her to accept his offer of marriage, but she thought he deserved to try to find someone who might genuinely care for him in a romantic sense.
His mannerisms were different from the norm, that was true, but she thought there was probably some young lady out there who would enjoy his personality and quirks.
She hoped the same for Rachel someday—that a gentleman might enjoy all of the little idiosyncrasies that set her apart from the other young ladies.
However, her concern for Calvin was far more protective in nature than her concern for Rachel.
Rachel could absolutely take care of herself, if her mention of a belladonna tincture were any indication.
“Are you attending the Bedfords’ ball?”
Calvin nodded. "Mother says it’s the official start of the Season. I wouldn't miss it for the world. It's another opportunity, you see, to meet the right young lady."
Dahlia nodded. "If I meet someone I think is an excellent match, I’ll be sure to introduce you."
"Will you really?" He brightened. "You truly are an excellent friend."
After Calvin had left, Dahlia resumed her latest endeavor: sketching a new wardrobe for herself.
Though she and William had discussed payment at the outset, she’d never brought it up again.
However, Dahlia thought William owed her something, both for the dresses, and because of the fact that—even unknowingly—he’d injured her.
It was but a grazing wound—a scratch against her heart and a dent to her pride.
She would recover, but it would certainly help if she felt his carelessness with her heart was somehow repaid.
It would be especially fitting if that repayment helped in her endeavor to secure a husband.
William had told her that the seamstresses were available anytime his sisters needed another gown, and that Dahlia had only to write to the address with her sketch and instructions.
Since Abeer was the most knowledgeable regarding the silks themselves, she wrote separate instruction to him.
She only hoped he’d keep their communication secret until the matter was completed.
Dahlia wasn’t the type to try to draw a man’s attention through petulant means.
William had stated himself quite clearly; she would respect that.
Still, it gave her a little thrill to send the letters off—a large packet of drawings to the seamstresses, with instructions to wait for the silk, and a much shorter letter to Abeer.
Whether Abeer told William or not, it hardly mattered. Either way, she’d win something from the exchange.