Chapter 30 - William
CHAPTER THIRTY-WILLIAM
“Now that they’re occupied, we might have an honest conversation,” Rachel murmured. She poured a half cup of tea and thrust it into his hands. “I only accepted your gift and your presence because to do otherwise would have caused a scene, and that would have bothered my sister.”
William opened his mouth to reply, but the lady held up a finger and smiled. “I still haven’t decided whether or not I’ll make a scene eventually, however.”
“Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“You have one chance. A very slim one. And I won’t be gracious enough to cover for you again.”
“Thank you.”
“Very happy you’re here, by the by. You see, I have many topics I long to discuss with you.”
William narrowed his eyes at her guileless expression. “You do?”
“For instance, the wonderful thing about arsenic is that it's tasteless and odorless. The victim is typically unaware they've ingested the poison until it's far too late."
The contrast between her vehemence and her false smile was disturbing, indeed. William glanced at the teacup he’d been lifting to his mouth, thought better of it, and rested it gently upon the saucer.
Rachel exhaled a laugh. “I wouldn't be idiotic enough to poison you while we’re in the same room.”
“A small mercy.”
“A huge mercy, considering. On a related note, bodies pulled from the Thames are invariably ruled as drownings with no further inquest, as long as there are no obvious marks upon the corpse. Arsenic, of course, leaves no mark.”
William had an innate sense of when to speak and when to be silent in every business negotiation.
He felt the instinct to be silent now, even though he had many questions about how Rachel would manage to transport his corpse to the Thames if she poisoned him.
Doubtless, she had a plan for that, too.
A pulley system, perhaps, or a trio of trained bears.
Rachel searched his face for long moments, then finally said, “You hurt her feelings, you big dolt.”
His eyes flicked over to Dahlia, who was laughing prettily at something that Lord what's-his-face said. It was all he could do not to bare his teeth in the man's general direction.
"I realize that now, and I’m sorry for it. My only defense is that I wasn't aware how I felt—"
"And how do you feel?"
"I hardly think that’s appropriate to—"
"Don't play games with me," she warned, leaning forward. Her eyes were like two flecks of blue flint. "We have exceedingly large footmen. I’ll have them kick you out, you see if I won't. And that’s the kind option.”
His natural curiosity prodded at him to ask what the unkind option was, but he didn’t think it was central to the point.
Being Rachel, she told him anyway. “The other option is that I claim you made inappropriate advances toward me and force you into marriage. Then I shall use my impressive intellect to make you suffer until I get bored enough to lower you down a well and feed you small rations of disgusting fare until I bore of that and forget you altogether.”
"Fair enough. I wish to court your sister."
Rachel snorted her disgust. "You and a hundred other men."
"I wish to marry her."
"You know that already, do you?"
He nodded gravely. "I’m certain. I miss her. I want her around, always."
Rachel's eyes were squinted in plain distrust; she studied him closely for several long moments. He didn’t know why, but he felt as if his entire future depended upon what she decided. He was exceedingly relieved when she finally nodded.
"Very well. My sister, lovely as she is, has a great amount of pride. She’s never opened her heart to a man before, and then the first time she did—" She waved a hand in his direction.
"I didn't know. I would never have been so careless if I had."
"That's all well and good, but I'm not the one you should be telling that to."
"I’ll tell her. I just needed to make sure I got through the door first."
His eyes slid back to Dahlia. Lord Holt was crooning something at her; she was smiling at him as if hanging on every word. William frowned. The man was probably reciting poetry or some such nonsense.
"Claire told me of Dahlia’s list. Are there any other parameters I should be aware of?"
Rachel shook her head, smirking. "I may invade Dahlia’s privacy at every opportunity, but that’s my right as her younger sister. If you think I’d betray her, you're a bigger dunce than I took you for."
"Can you tell me anything helpful in this endeavor?"
"You don't need to worry about the list. You meet every qualification, but that shouldn't make you feel any better. There've been a hundred men who met the qualifications and they were still scratched out.”
William frowned.
“Though I love my sister dearly, she doesn't realize all of the things on her silly list are the minimum of what she should require.
Of course she's not going to marry someone poor.
Of course she's not going to marry someone with a bad reputation—as if any of the men connected to our family would allow such a thing. "
William tried to tamp down his irritation.
Two additional gentlemen had joined the ranks as he’d engaged in this fruitless tête-à-tête with Rachel.
Dahlia was all fluttering eyelashes and delighted smiles.
She couldn’t have made it clearer she held no interest for William if she’d written it upon a slate hung around her neck.
Rachel rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers. "Focus. Dahlia is looking for someone who takes her wants and needs into account. She's looking for someone who treats her like an equal. It’s a rare thing to find these days."
"What about you, Rachel?" he said, after long moments considering her words. "What are you looking for?"
"A large library and a comfortable chair. That's all I truly need. Luckily for me, I only have to suffer this malarkey for one Season." She waved her hand in the air as if shooing away a pesky fly.
He stared at the gentleman with the long nose who was leaning far too close to Dahlia for William’s liking.
His eyes still on the felicitous grouping across the room, William said, "If any gentlemen start to bother you with unwanted attention, you could always invent an engagement to keep them away. One man’s claim is the surest way to derail another’s attachment."
Rachel’s silence caught his attention after several moments. Her mouth was pinched shut, her head tilted ever-so-slightly. Her expression alarmed him.
"Of course I didn't mean to imply you use me for such a tactic," he hurried to say.
She scowled. "The worst kind of idiots are those who think everyone is stupider than they are."
Her insult barely grazed William, as it occurred to him that he could do what he’d just suggested to Rachel—he could spread false news of his attachment to Dahlia in order to scare off other gentlemen.
A tempting notion, but he wouldn’t deprive Dahlia of choice.
He didn’t want to win her affection by default.
That being said, he did have a few ideas of how to thin the herd…
“Lord Reed, Lord Barlow,” he called conversationally.
The group on the other side of the room lifted their heads in unison. William thought they looked much like an alarmed group of rabbits.
“Lord Cavendish.” Barlow nodded in acknowledgement. “How are you this fine morning?”
“I find myself a bit puzzled, actually.” He drummed his fingers along the carved wood on the back of the settee.
“Oh?” Lord Barlow looked to Dahlia as if for guidance or support.
William’s estimation of the man dropped sharply—a gentleman should never seek to hide behind a lady, not even in conversation.
At least Reed had the temerity to address him. “What is your conundrum, Lord Cavendish?”
“It’s only that I’m surprised to see you and Lord Barlow here, attending the fair Miss Warrington. Are there not matters of work you might attend to instead?”
Reed was the far more intelligent of the two. He caught on to William’s meaning immediately. He stood, murmured a polite goodbye to Dahlia, bowed and took his leave. Dahlia’s eyes narrowed in William’s direction, but his focus was now on Lord Barlow, who wore a look of pure befuddlement.
“Are there no horse races today, Lord Barlow?” William drawled.
The man’s eyes widened. Alarm had descended upon him, but he appeared uncertain as to the source. He was like a deaf and blind man standing in the path of a runaway carriage—he could feel the hoofbeats, but couldn’t tell which way to run.
“Horse races? No, Lord Cavendish, not that I’m aware of.”
“Ah, my mistake.” William’s smile was a thinly veiled threat. “You must no longer enjoy horse races.”
“I…I do, my lord.” He glanced around, completely bewildered.
“But if you’re courting Miss Warrington, how will you have the opportunity to attend any races in the future?”
He watched as the rusted gears of Lord Barlow’s mind whined and ground together. William saw the moment they finally clunked into place. The man shot from his seat, offered a stiff bow to Dahlia and a single nervous look at William, and quit the room without saying another word.
William turned back to Rachel. Across the room, a stilted conversation started up again.
Rachel finally looked up from redressing her taxidermied mouse. "You're very odd."
It was more than a half hour later when Dahlia stood and excused herself from the parlor.
William turned to Rachel. “I think I’ll take you up on your offer to see the rest of the house.”
She rolled her eyes—she’d made him no such offer—but stood and marched wordlessly from the room. William followed. He was gratified to have Rachel on his side. She wouldn’t have allowed him to sit and speak with her if she didn’t approve of his endeavors where Dahlia was concerned.
“Parlor. Dining room. Other parlor.” Rachel jabbed her pointed finger in vague directions as she strode down the hall before coming to a stop in front of a glass-fronted cabinet. “And this is a collection of old books that you can pretend to stare at while waiting for my sister.”