Chapter 27 - William
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN- WILLIAM
“I've made a decision,” William announced over breakfast the next morning.
His sisters had arrived at the table in various states of wakefulness.
Claire's hair was neatly tucked into her customary bun, her blue day dress crisp.
Lily was dressed, though there were dark circles beneath her eyes that spoke of her lack of sleep.
She added three cubes of sugar and a heavy splash of cream to her tea and kept glancing at the footmen for refills.
Beatrice and Margaret still wore their dressing gowns.
Margaret’s blonde hair was untamed. She’d failed to remove all her hair pins from the night before.
One valiantly held a single curl in place; the others had long since fled their duty.
She kept cracking huge yawns every other second.
Claire frowned at her from across the table every time; Margaret didn't seem to notice.
Once William had all of his sisters' attention—whether alert or bleary—he said, "I’m going to marry Miss Dahlia Warrington."
"Why, that's absolutely wonderful," Beatrice gushed. "After the other week, we weren't sure, but that's no matter. You've mended it now."
William frowned, even as Margaret leaned forward, her eyes bright. One of her limp curls hovered just over her syrup-drenched plate. "What did she say when you asked her? Did you buy her a ring? Was it terribly romantic? Oh, William, this is the most wonderful news."
Lily beamed. "I'm so glad she’s to be my sister."
"Why?" Beatrice teased. "Don’t you already have a surplus of those?"
"No one can have too many sisters if they are the wonderful sort," Lily said, frowning.
In stark contrast to her sisters’ enthusiasm, Claire continued tapping her soft-boiled egg with the back of a spoon.
"You poor dears," she finally said. "You’re under the delusion that he's actually asked her."
They blinked at her, then turned to gape at William.
"William?" Beatrice asked, wide-eyed.
"Well, no, I haven’t." He frowned at Claire. "Just because I've decided upon it doesn't mean I've asked her yet."
"So nothing's decided, not in the least."
"I thought the matter fairly simple," he said. "She wishes to be married, and I wish to marry her. What possibly could be the impediment?"
"I'm not sure, William." Beatrice winced. "I think you hurt her feelings."
"Whatever do you mean? When?"
"When you told her you didn't wish to marry until your sisters were settled.”
William frowned. Dahlia had reminded him of that statement only last night. Was that why she hadn't been coming around lately? Because he’d unintentionally wounded her somehow?
“Why would that have been hurtful to her?” he asked slowly.
"Well, it's not our place to say," Lily began.
"And yet you'll tell me," he demanded.
For if his sisters had information about him and Dahlia, he wanted to know it. Especially since so much of their relationship seemed to have occurred without him paying attention.
"Well, it seems that she perhaps might have had feelings for you at one point. Maybe." Lily looked around her sisters as if appealing for their help.
"You were an abominable clod." Margaret jabbed her spoon into her oats. "I doubt she'll ever want to see you again.”
Beatrice nodded. “It was a surprising delight to hear that you were engaged. But you're not engaged at all, which is a terrible disappointment. What a disturbing way to start the morning! I haven't had near enough tea yet." She waved frantically at the footman, who hurried over to refill her cup.
"But that’s wonderful news," William said. “If Dahlia has feelings for me, then courting her will be exceedingly simple.”
For now that he realized he had tender feelings of his own, surely nothing stood in the way of a swift, sweet resolution.
“You’re an idiot,” Margaret said around a large bite of pancakes.
Syrup dripped down the front of her velvet dressing robe; William resisted the petty urge to point it out.
“Why do you say that?”
"I believe what Margaret is trying to say is that this is a case where attention to English grammar is of utmost import,” Lily said, wincing.
He rubbed his temples. Typically, he found his sisters’ conversational digressions interesting, amusing, even. But not when they were speaking of this particular topic.
“Speak plainly.”
“Dahlia did," Margaret snapped, waving her loaded fork emphatically. "She did have feelings for you.”
William looked to his other sisters for translation.
“Did,” Lily repeated gingerly. “Past tense.”
He frowned. “Surely they could not have gone away that quickly. Could they?”
Margaret snorted. “That might be true of any other lady, but not Dahlia Warrington. Do you forget who she is? Do you forget how many suitors she’s entertained and then denied, for one reason or another?”
“I’m well aware,” he said dryly. “Do you all share the opinion that all her special affection for me has fled?”
“I'm not certain that any trace of it is left at all,” Beatrice said, gently. “We've been visiting the Warrington ladies regularly this past week. The gentlemen of London didn’t wait for the Season to begin—especially not since word got out that Dahlia plans to marry.”
A little dart of something like hurt speared William in the chest. Dahlia had said as much last night, but he'd been arrogant enough to think she'd said so for his benefit, as a hint of sorts. He'd no idea that every gentleman knew.
Beatrice continued, “Last night's ball was but the continuation of their attention. And I do believe that Dahlia holds several of them in good regard."
William frowned around at his sisters, disappointed with their lack of encouragement. They’d seemed so enthusiastic at the beginning, but now they didn't seem hopeful at all.
"Very well, I’ve apparently bungled it. What should I do to rectify the situation?"
He wasn't a proud man. Though he believed his capabilities in some areas to be verging on genius, this was obviously not one of them. He was a novice here and was not above asking for his sisters' input.
"Bring her flowers." Lily smiled.
"Absolutely not." Margaret slashed her fork through the air, winging drips of syrup across the tablecloth. "Everyone brings her flowers. Have you seen her front parlor? It looks like a funeral bower."
"Margaret’s right." Beatrice nodded. "You should bring her something more unique, something that shows you know her better than any of the other gentlemen."
"I've already given her a bolt of silk. What more does she want?"
"There, see?" Margaret jabbed her fork in his direction. A syrup-drenched piece of pancake flopped onto the table, but she didn’t seem to notice. "No wonder she’s angry with you after saying you didn’t plan to marry."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"You gave her an extravagantly expensive gift. What’s a lady supposed to think when a single gentleman does such a thing? And you considered her your friend, too."
"Friends give each other gifts all the time."
"Not like that." Lily shook her head. "Not romantic gifts."
"A bolt of silk is a romantic gift?"
Beatrice threw her hands in the air. "If you're Dahlia Warrington, it's practically a proposal."
"Then maybe I should just go propose and be done with it."
He tossed back the rest of his tea in frustration. One moment, his sisters said he had made a complete misstep; the next, they said he was close to an engagement. Which was it?
“See?” Margaret said, her mouth full once more. “An idiot.”
"Silk’s no good." Lily shook her head. "If you've already given her a bolt of silk, giving her another one will just remind her of the first time. As that helped lead to the misunderstanding between you, doubtless, she wants to forget it.”
"On the contrary," William said, "she wore a dress made of the silk I gave her last night."
"And then she danced with other gentlemen and made you watch." Beatrice grinned. "She's a genius."
"I don't think it was as pointed as all that." He frowned.
"If I know Dahlia at all, of course it was! She was sending a message as surely as writing a little perfumed note."
"Very well. A gift." He rubbed his temples once more. "Not silk, but something just as personal and extravagant. What else?"
"I think this is all a hopeless endeavor." Beatrice shook her head. "I don't know that I'd ever be able to get over a gentleman hurting my feelings as you did hers. And in front of all of us, too."
"What does that have to do with anything?" William said. "I didn't know that I was hurting her feelings at the time. I had no idea that there was anything between us at all."
Margaret crossed her arms as if personally offended.
"Which just proves my point. You may be smart with business, but you're a dunce when it comes to people. I’ve changed my mind about you being an idiot, for any other idiot could have looked at the situation and read it for what it was. I’ve downgraded you to moron. "
"I refuse to believe that all is lost now. Not when I've just realized what could be," he said. "I'll simply start courting her, as I should have done some time ago."
"I'm not sure that will work," Beatrice said. "How do you know she'll even let you into her parlor? Besides, you’ll barely be able to get a word in edgewise with all those other gentlemen already crowding the place. It’s standing room only over there.”
"You should all visit her more often, then. It will distract the gentlemen from her, and maybe one of you can pick up a husband along the way."
Beatrice rolled her eyes. "As if any of them would look at us when she's in the room. They’re there for her.”
“Indeed,” Margaret said. “It's not like one goes into a shop hoping to buy a specific silk hat, finds out it’s gone, and decides to buy a plain brown wool one instead."
"You truly didn't know?" Lily tilted her head.
"How she felt?" William replied.
She nodded.
"Of course not. Otherwise, I would have examined my own feelings and quickly surmised the truth of the matter. In all honesty, I was so focused on you ladies that I missed the crux of it entirely."
Beatrice winced. "If you don't feel too strongly for her, perhaps it might be better if you just let her go at this point."
He scowled—the idea was repulsive to him.
"Or not," she said, lifting her hand, her eyes wide. "It was only a thought. After all, if all you had was a passing fancy, then it would be best to let matters lie as they are. She seems to be getting on well enough without you."
Margaret nodded. "It's true. I visited Rachel only yesterday, and there were three gentlemen stacked up against the far wall. For a moment, I thought they were footmen."
"Doubtless, one of them is that Calvin fellow," he said, trying to sooth himself with the idea.
Margaret shook her head. "He’d already come and gone. Besides, he was only there to visit her aunt."
"Calvin is courting Dahlia’s aunt?"
When Margaret shrugged, William blinked the extraneous information away and refocused on the matter at hand. "I'll go and explain myself."
"This isn’t an instance where a simple explanation will do. You’ll have to tread lightly."
He’d noted that Claire had been markedly silent the entire conversation.
Later, after all the other ladies had abandoned the table for baths, books, or, in Lily’s case, tea in bed, Claire pinned William with a steely glare. "I certainly hope that this is something you’ve considered at length.”
“I know that you don't care for her."
Claire shook her head. "No. I've actually come to have great respect for her. I only mean that, in terms of securing a lady's hand, you couldn’t have chosen a more difficult option."
"In what way?"
"She has a list. A list of characteristics and requirements for her future spouse. She’s fully willing to cross a gentleman off without a second thought. In fact, it was she who encouraged me to make a list of my own."
"Have you seen her list?"
“No, but she told me what’s on it. She wants a wealthy man with a proven track record of managing a fortune.
He must be independent of outside influences—a man with his own mind.
She wants someone kind, with good breath.
Oh.” Claire gave a smug smile. “And no one licentious. She’d probably never marry one who’d take advantage of a young, inexperienced miss in the gardens at a ball. ”
William’s nose scrunched. Drat. Even though the interlude with Dahlia was his only experience of the sort, she didn’t know that.
"Why are you helping me with this?"
"Because despite your belief that I’m cold and unfeeling, I like Dahlia, and you, William, have grown on me these past weeks. Besides, if anyone could send you on a merry chase, it's her. I quite like the idea of you starting your courtship in such a bumbling way. It makes you seem more human."
"You and I both know I’m not perfect. I've made several mistakes, both as of late and in the past.”
Claire lifted a sharp shoulder. "I'm beginning to think things have worked out exactly as they were meant to.
Something Dahlia said resonated with me—that my experience would have been different if all had gone according to plan my first Season out.
Instead, I have four years more experience, four years more wisdom.
I intend to wield it like a blade in order to get what I want. "
"And what is it you want, Claire?"
"A home, a family, a husband who meets my parameters." Her smile was slow and feline. "After all, now I have a list as well."