Chapter 29 - Dahlia #2
It would make things so much simpler if she could simply ask honest questions and be assured that the men would answer honestly in return.
But as it was, one had to listen carefully to things both said and unsaid and try and suss out who would make an excellent husband without the benefit of direct questions at all.
It was an idiotic system, she decided, one that could be improved upon with very little effort. But that never would be, for the sake of societal decency. Besides, she thought, some ladies enjoyed the mystique of it all.
"Lord Cavendish to see Miss Rachel Warrington," the butler intoned.
Dahlia's head whipped up. William was here, and he was visiting Rachel instead of her? She couldn't help the deep frown that momentarily marred her features.
Then William stood in the doorway, holding a parcel gently between his large hands.
He nodded and grinned her direction. Her breath caught at the sight of his large frame encased in an impeccable grey suit, at the way his eyes crinkled, transforming his handsome face into something nearly unbearable to look at.
"Good morning, Dahlia," he said, even as he crossed the room to stand before Rachel. "Rachel, I've brought you a gift."
Rachel yanked the parcel from his hands and tore into it. Dahlia lost all interest in the momentarily stunted conversation about horses and riding, and unabashedly watched as her sister peeled wrapping paper from what appeared to be a glass cube.
It was only when Rachel held it up to examine it more closely that Dahlia saw the contents of the glass box.
Three stuffed white mice sat at a tiny table covered with a checkered tablecloth, a miniature china tea set resting on top.
One of the mice wore a feathered hat. Another held a painted teacup up in a sort of cheers motion, and the third held a tiny clay biscuit in its paw.
Rachel's eyes were wide in wonder. "Where on earth did you find such a thing?"
"Good heavens, are those rats?" Lord Holt exclaimed, his lips drawn back in revulsion.
"They're field mice, actually," William said.
This entire time, he’d avoided Dahlia's gaze altogether. She was momentarily flummoxed by the sharp twinge of jealousy she felt in her gut. Here was a very personal gift, after all. But it wasn't for Dahlia; it was for her sister.
Dahlia suddenly wondered if she'd misread the entire situation—had William held a slight candle for Rachel's affections all along? No wonder he and Dahlia hadn't connected in such a way, if that were the case.
"Rachel and I are friends, you see," William said, nodding to the gentlemen. "Aren't we, Rachel?"
She batted her lashes and affected a vacant smile that shared a border with mania. "The best of friends. We send letters back and forth between our houses at least four times a day."
Dahlia pressed her lips into a little moue halfway between amusement and irritation.
Leave it to her sister to turn a simple statement into a possible scandal.
But if either of the gentlemen at her respective elbows cared a whit for what occurred between Lord Cavendish and Miss Rachel Warrington, they certainly didn't show it.
They simply nodded and turned back to their conversation about geldings versus mares. Part of her wondered if they even remembered their point in visiting, as Dahlia hadn't contributed to the conversation in quite some time.
"I found it at an antique shop," William was saying to Rachel. "I instantly thought of you, and I asked the shopkeeper where he’d acquired such a thing. He says there’s a gentleman out in Sussex who creates all sorts of scenes.
If you prefer a different arrangement or different kinds of animals, he might be able to fulfill your request."
Rachel was turning the glass box around in her hands. "It's perfect. They're even wearing little dresses."
Here she held up the glass box for Dahlia's further inspection. Dahlia smiled thinly and nodded. She couldn't manage much more at the moment, not with Lord Holt extolling the features of his spotted chestnut at her elbow.
"Are there any size limitations to the animals the gentleman works with?"
"What animal were you thinking of?"
"Badgers have most of my attention these days. I purchased one just the other day in a shop."
Lord Francis stopped his discourse on the proper care of hooves and blinked. "Pardon me. Did you just say that you bought a badger at a shop the other day?"
Rachel sniffed. “You may be as scandalized as you please, but I’ll not be belittled for enjoying shopping. It’s a harmless pastime.”
Lord Francis blinked at her. “I meant… You have a badger?”
Dahlia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Rachel had been obtuse on purpose; any idiot could have seen it. Across the room, William’s eyes twinkled. He was looking at Dahlia, giving her some soft expression she couldn’t interpret.
"I have several," Rachel said. "Fascinating things—very vicious and intelligent, but also very tidy when it comes to eating. Do you know that they wash their hands before they eat? They're also known to wash their food before eating it as well. Remarkable creatures."
Lord Francis seemed momentarily stunned by the confession. He blinked, then turned to Dahlia. "What of you, Miss Warrington? Do you enjoy badgers?"
"I prefer dogs."
"Live ones, I hope." He shifted in his seat.
"Of course." She gave him one of her most winning smiles. The conversation warranted nothing of the sort, but Dahlia was too aware of William's eyes upon her from across the room. "In fact, we had a lovely retriever growing up. I was very fond of him."
"Excellent dogs for hunting," Lord Holt offered, his cheek stuffed with another of cook's candied walnut scones.
Dahlia surveyed the tray before them. They were going through the baked goods at an alarming rate.
She nodded to the maid near the door, signalling her to refresh the server, and wondered idly if perhaps her popularity wasn't due to cook stealing the Cavendish scone recipe. After all, Dahlia had once visited Lady Barnes’s parlor for largely the same reason.
Perhaps she should print out multiple copies and hand them out at the door to thin the herd. She internally shook the thought from her head. She should be happy that she had so many suitors. Wasn't there a better chance of finding an appropriate man if more of them came through the front door?
"Do you hunt waterfowl, Lord Holt?" Lord Francis asked.
Dahlia glanced over at where William and Rachel now shared the settee.
William looked supremely comfortable and confident.
One ankle was propped on the opposite knee, his large arm outstretched on the back, bridging the distance between him and Rachel.
But he was staring at Dahlia, something like a smirk playing on his lips.
She jerked her attention firmly back to the conversation at hand—tedious as it was—and determined not to look at William again.