Chapter 28 - William
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT- WILLIAM
After breakfast with his sisters, William retreated to his study. He sat at his desk, his fingers steepled, his elbows upon the polished surface. He considered himself an intelligent man, a practical man. He’d succeeded at many things and learned a great deal.
One of the surest ways to accomplish something was to study those who’d already completed the task. It was true in business; it stood to reason that it was true in relationships as well. William pulled out a piece of parchment and made a list of individuals who had happy marriages, current or past.
It was a short list indeed, and there were only two he felt comfortable calling upon for the purpose of asking personal questions.
Thankfully, the Duke of Devonshire was a business acquaintance whom he also considered a friend.
Then there was his Great-Aunt Marie. She was a widow, but she and her husband, the late Duke of Reeves, had enjoyed a remarkably happy union that resulted in four children and forty-plus years of friendship and conviviality.
Though William believed his sisters' advice to be well-meaning and sincere, none of them had accomplished what he was setting out to do. They were all still single; they couldn’t comment upon a successful courtship, as none of them had experienced one.
But Devonshire and his Aunt Marie could possibly shed light on the stratagems that might work.
Early that afternoon, he stood on the Duke of Devonshire's steps. He rapped upon the door, and a stern-looking butler answered. Moments later, William was shown into the Duke's study.
Edward smiled and rose from his desk. "William, always excellent to see you.”
"I hope I'm not disturbing."
"A visit from a friend is never unwelcome. Do you come on business?"
"It's a more personal matter, actually." His eyes slid toward the butler, who stood just inside the doorway.
Edward dismissed him with a careless hand and the door was shut, offering them privacy. He gestured at the seat across from his desk.
"I'm afraid there’s no way to ask this that won’t be considered shocking," William said, taking the chair. "However, rumor has it that you’re happily married."
“I hope it’s more than a rumor.” Edward’s eyebrows rose. "You yourself attended my wedding."
"Not just married. Happily married."
"Ah, yes. Exceedingly so."
"I’m hoping I might ask some questions regarding how you achieved said marital felicity."
"Those are two separate questions. One is the marriage—easily enough done, as long as you have a willing lady. But the other—the happiness—that is the tricky part."
"Which is why I came to you, and not Lord Meyer."
"The man has one, but not the other, unfortunately. A lucky thing he has two houses. I'll answer whatever decorum allows." Edward smiled. "Though, knowing you, you won't edge too close to impropriety."
William winced internally. If this man knew what had transpired between him and Dahlia in the gardens all those years ago, he wouldn't be so quick to champion his honor.
Still, he nodded his gratitude. "I’ll get to the point. I wish to court a young lady. However, word has got back to me that I carelessly injured her before I even began."
"How did you do that?" Edward’s eyes narrowed.
William found he liked the man all the more for the fact that he was ready to defend a nameless young lady against an imaginary slight.
"I told her, in the presence of several other young ladies, that I had not yet met anyone who would tempt me to the marital state."
“So you hurt and embarrassed her, then."
"I'm afraid so. It was completely unintentional. At the time, I was unaware of my own feelings."
"A blunder, to be sure. Have you apologized?"
"I'm afraid that if I do, she'll claim that no offense was taken whatsoever, and keep on ignoring me as she has been."
"But you know for a fact that she was offended?" Edward steepled his fingers and pressed the tips of them to his lips.
"I have it on excellent authority that she was hurt."
“Then a direct apology is in order, regardless of how she might respond. The apology is a matter of doing what is right. You’ve hurt her; you know it. Apologize.”
William nodded. This was why wise counsel was so important—now that Edward had said the words, William was immediately able to see the truth in them.
"After that,” Edward continued, “you must do everything within your power to convince her that your attitude toward her has markedly changed, that you now wish to enter into the married state with her and no one else."
"I'm concerned she’ll take it as mocking if I were to attempt to court her now."
"Young ladies have pride, just as we do. But she’ll have to take you seriously if you declare your intentions.”
He frowned. “You think I should tell her I intend to marry her at the outset?”
“Assuming you’re serious about doing so.”
William nodded.
Edward continued, “Then you’re past the point of self-preservation where she’s concerned. And self-preservation is the only reason you’d withhold that information.”
“You’re saying I’ve injured her, so I must open myself up to the same possibility. I suppose it’s only right.”
“Not only right, but necessary.” He thoughtfully drummed his fingers on the polished desktop, then asked, “Are you opposed to groveling?"
"Not if it will work."
"Then I think you'll do very well in this endeavor, indeed. You should attempt to be around her as much as possible. Proximity is half the battle in such cases, I’ve found, especially if she already had an inclination towards you."
"There’s some debate amongst my sisters whether the lady will allow me to court her at all."
"Forgive me, but this lady has a sister, does she not?"
William had specifically not mentioned Dahlia's name, but the clever man had sussed it out regardless.
"She does."
"Then visit her at the outset."
He blinked. "You think I ought to court her sister to endear the lady to me? That seems like a high-risk maneuver."
"I don't think you should court her. I think you should visit her. There’s a vast difference between the two, both in the quantity and quality of attention paid. If done correctly, this will intrigue your lady more than irritate her. Especially since she’s currently plagued with a horde of suitors.
It would behoove you to not be one of the masses.
Besides, her sister probably has better insight than anyone on the matter. "
"You may be right."
Edward leaned back in his chair. "I’m well acquainted with a courtship not starting on the best footing. I beg your discretion in this matter—I don't believe I've ever told anyone this. The first time I met my dear wife, she planted me a facer."
William’s eyebrows flew upward. "The duchess struck you?"
He personally knew Eleanor to be a kind and compassionate lady. He couldn't imagine her punching anyone, let alone her husband.
"It was hardly the encouragement a gentleman wishes for when he flirts with his future wife. But if we came back from that, I’m certain you can rectify this situation."
"I appreciate the encouragement, but what other advice would you give me?"
"Show her that you know her. Young ladies have to hold such a mask in public that it’s often the gentleman who truly knows them who wins the race."
"I don't want it to sound like it's some sort of competition."
"You should be more honest about it, at least to yourself. It is a competition. Dahlia Warrington is the most sought-after lady in society. There’s no use acting as if she isn't—it would only do you a disservice.
Nearly a dozen other gentlemen have set the same goal as you.
But if you're not irked by their presence, perhaps you don't care for the lady as much as you think. "
"Don’t mistake me—I’m well beyond irked. My point was that I don't see the other gentlemen as true competition—Dahlia and I were friends before I made my ill-advised comment."
"Then you’re far ahead of the competition in that regard. Vulnerability is an essential part of the courting process."
"The entire endeavor is vulnerable, but explain precisely what you mean." William slid a notebook from his inner jacket pocket, flipped it open to an empty page, and began to jot notes down.
Edward grinned. "You must be willing to be honest with her regarding issues in which you've never been honest with anyone. That is what will set you apart from the others more than anything."
“Apology, proximity, knowledge of her, and vulnerability,” William read. “Anything else I should consider?”
"Dahlia Warrington can smell disingenuousness from a mile away. So whatever aspect of your life that you share with her, however you let her in, do not pretend.”
After taking his leave of Devonshire, William stopped to purchase a stunning arrangement of flowers. It was poor form to show up on a lady's doorstep without a present. Doubly so when the lady was past the age of sixty.
The dowager Duchess Reeves lived in a grand, red-brick house on Willoughby Place.
Wisteria twined up the white marble pillars of the portico and draped across the impressive facade.
It must have been a nightmare to keep the vines as trimmed and orderly as they were, but his great-aunt had always loved the flowers and wouldn't let her gardener take them out at the roots, no matter how invasive they became.
A stunningly handsome young butler opened the door, and William was shown into a grand front parlor that was nearly austere in its decoration, though wealth was apparent nonetheless.
Two large velvet couches faced a marble cocktail table atop a thick Aubusson rug. Four leather wingbacks—two at each end—completed the seating rectangle. Built-in bookcases with twinkling leaded glass fronts dominated one wall; a round card table rested in front of them.