Chapter 32 - Dahlia
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO- DAHLIA
Dahlia sat near the window in the front parlor that morning.
She chose a chair with excellent proximity to the sofa—she’d found that if she sat on the sofa, some men took to sitting too close for her comfort.
While she wanted to encourage their attention, she certainly didn't want to encourage impertinence.
Rachel had no such compunction. She sat squarely in the center of the largest sofa in the room, blatantly challenging any of the gentlemen to sit too close. As of yet, the only one who’d dared sit next to her at all was William.
Dahlia did her best to shake thoughts of him away. It was approximately as effective as trying to wave off a swarm of starving mosquitos—every time she thought she was free of the pestering things, they darted back in once more.
Bernard stood in the doorway. “Lord Pearson to see Miss Dahlia Warrington.”
She nodded her approval, and Lord Pearson appeared in the doorway holding yet another bouquet, this one slightly larger than his others had been. Dahlia took the increased expense to be a signal of his mounting interest.
She gave him a warm smile. "Good morning, Lord Pearson. How are you today?"
"Very well, thank you. It's excellent weather we're having, isn't it?"
Dahlia nodded, both to answer his question and in approval of the topic.
It was all so right; all so genteel. Not a chaperone in the ton could have found fault with their exchange.
This was exactly what she’d been looking for—a kind and polite man who was as perfect in her front parlor as he was on paper.
Lord Pearson settled himself at a discreet distance on the sofa. Dahlia fought a strong urge to yawn.
Bernard stood in the doorway once more. "Lord Cavendish to see Miss Rachel Warrington."
Rachel had been watching Dahlia and Lord Pearson's interaction with narrowed eyes. Now she broke into a grin. "Please show him in. He's simply my favorite."
This last was gushed more than said to Lord Pearson, who blinked, then smiled blandly and nodded.
"I wonder what he's brought for me today,” Rachel said to the room. “He simply has the most diverting taste."
"Oh?" Lord Pearson asked politely.
"Indeed. Yesterday he brought me mice."
Lord Pearson gave a wide-eyed, bewildered blink, and Dahlia hid her smile behind a gloved hand. She recovered quickly enough that he didn't see it.
"Would you like tea, Lord Pearson?" she asked, just as William darkened the parlor door, a large, lumpy parcel held in his arms.
William’s green eyes took them all in at a glance. There was a brief feathering along his jawline that Dahlia wished she hadn't seen. She shouldn't wonder about the minutiae of his expressions. She shouldn’t notice at all.
However, even Dahlia couldn't help but be curious about the package in his arms. It was nearly too big to tuck beneath his chin, even with both arms outstretched. He’d foregone fancy wrapping; it was tied in brown paper and twine. He set it on the low table before Rachel, who clapped her glee.
"What is it?" she said.
Dahlia exhaled a huff of laughter through her nose. It was so like Rachel to demand to know what was in a gift before she even bothered to open the thing.
If William thought it was a silly question, he gave no indication. Instead, he reached into an inner jacket pocket, produced a knife, snicked it open, and gently cut away the larger of the knots so that Rachel might get to the paper underneath.
Lord Pearson unabashedly joined Dahlia in watching as Rachel tore the paper from her present. It was a birdcage—a monstrous, roomy thing with numerous scrolled metal alcoves.
"It's for Reginald," William explained, "for when you must leave him but wish to provide him with some diversion."
"Look, Dahlia," Rachel said. "There are little beads that he might count."
"Don't forget about the bell," William chided. He leaned forward and flicked the brass bauble; it sounded a cheery tinkle.
"Forgive me," Lord Pearson said, "but Reginald is your pet bird?"
Rachel nodded solemnly.
"It’s a very nice cage," Dahlia admitted.
"It's wonderful, William. He’s forever reorganizing my hair bobbles into an arrangement that only he understands. Now he'll have something else to do when I ride through the park."
Lord Pearson looked vaguely alarmed at a bird left to his own devices inside a young lady's bedroom while she was gone. Dahlia smiled to herself. She could have explained, but as with most things where Rachel was concerned, explaining often took too much time and led to more confusion.
"I shall retrieve him and show him his new cage at once." Rachel stood from the sofa and strode for the archway before Dahlia could even make a little frown of protest.
Though it was uncouth to leave one's guest behind during visiting hours, except for the strictest necessity, William didn't seem to mind in the least. He swung his intelligent eyes towards Dahlia and Lord Pearson.
Dahlia felt the full brunt of his attention as if it were a physical thing. Lord Pearson didn't seem to notice. He turned toward Dahlia with a polite smile.
"Your sister is a diverting creature. I have a sister of my own. She's charming. I think that you would get along with her very well."
Dahlia nodded, though she and Miss Pearson had been previously introduced and had little in common.
Miss Pearson reminded her of plain white stoneware.
There was nothing wrong with her, and she seemed very functional, but there was nothing interesting about her, either.
Granted, Dahlia was used to Rachel, so perhaps it wasn’t a fair comparison.
"Do you like birds, Lord Pearson?" William asked from across the room.
He had stretched both arms on either side of him along the back of the sofa and crossed one leg, ankle to knee. He looked exceedingly comfortable there, as if this were one of his homes and it were Dahlia and Lord Pearson who just happened to be visiting.
"Birds?" Lord Pearson repeated.
William gave a nod that communicated—to Dahlia, at least—that he thought Lord Pearson the finest of idiots. She should have been offended on his behalf, perhaps, but once again she found herself hiding a smile behind her teacup.
Lord Pearson recovered quickly. "Are you talking about falconry? I've never taken a specific interest in the sport, but my cousin, Lord Cole, excels at it."
"Ah," William said.
The word was steeped in judgment, and Lord Pearson blinked once more, this time frowning a little.
Dahlia came to his rescue. "What an odd question, Lord Cavendish—whether one likes birds or not."
"What’s wrong with the question?”
William’s eyes were fully focused on her now. He gave her the impression of a great jungle cat who’d spotted some prey.
“It was very unspecific, to begin with. When asking whether one likes birds, one should delineate between songbirds, falcons, or pigeons, as there are many different classes and each one deserves its own treatment."
"Is that so?"
"Indeed. For example, pigeons are a nuisance on the street, but delicious upon a plate when prepared correctly. I would say much the same of chickens."
"And you have a vast experience with chickens, do you?" Lord Pearson teased.
"Indeed she does," William answered. "She and her sisters were raised on a farm. Isn't that right, Dahlia?"
The use of her Christian name had her sitting up straighter and flushing, though she hoped both men would ignore it. Lord Pearson narrowed his eyes and glanced between William and Dahlia as if regaining a lay of the land.
"It’s true." She addressed Lord Pearson specifically and smiled at him. "You might recall that my father was the late Viscount Hartgate. After he and his wife passed, we girls were installed on a farm abutting the property."
"Whatever happened to…what was his name?" William tapped his chin. "Marbert? Mayberry?" He snapped his fingers. "Marbory. Marbory Clements."
Lord Pearson seemed relieved that there was something he could add to the conversation. "No one quite knows. He’s presumed dead—his title and assets, scant as they were, have been assigned to the next male family member in line."
"And who was that?"
"A man named Peter Throgood, I believe, though I suppose it’s now Viscount Hartgate. Thankfully, he was raised with nobility, though until he came into this title, he could not claim an honorific."
William nodded. "I thought perhaps this new Lord Hartgate was raised on a farm like you, Dahlia. By the by, are you fond of chickens?"
It was a polite question, but Dahlia frowned nonetheless. She didn't quite care for the fact that William had inserted himself into Lord Pearson's courtship.
Though William had stated his interest in courting Dahlia, he still shouldn't take delight in making it more difficult for others to do so.
Yet, by the small smile that played at the corners of his eyes and along his mouth, she didn't believe him to be quite as innocent as he appeared on the surface.
There was a vaguely mocking lilt to his address that she could read only because she knew him so well.
Dahlia turned to Lord Pearson and gave him a dazzling smile. "I confess that I like chicken when it's on my plate far better than I do when it's scratching in a farmyard."
He chuckled, seemingly relieved by her answer. "I can only imagine. I wouldn't know what to do with a live chicken."
His tone seemed to imply that it was a bizarre thing that anyone of their status would know to do with one. Dahlia frowned and sipped her tea.
William offered, "I have much experience with live chickens myself."
"Indeed?" Lord Pearson raised an eyebrow.
"Every ship must bring its own provisions. Did you know that certain species of chickens do better in the heat than others?"
“I didn't know that, no,” Lord Pearson stammered.