Chapter 33 - Dahlia #2
Dahlia sullenly jabbed her fork into the edge of the tart. It did look delicious. "Why would you do that?"
“I should think it obvious, but let’s speak of more interesting things than Lord Campton’s rude departure.”
“It’s not rude to leave if one’s house is on fire,” she said, the sweetness of strawberry still lingering on her tongue.
“But his isn’t. Besides, what’s the man going to do? Wield a bucket? No gentleman who wears that shade of silk could wield a full bucket effectively. His arms would probably snap from their shoulder sockets if he tried.”
Dahlia sighed and closed her eyes momentarily to regain her composure. Perhaps if she kept them closed long enough, William might be gone when she opened them.
When she finally gained the temerity to crack one of them, he was still there. Grinning. As if she would let him win like that.
"It’s a shame." She sipped her tea. "He was very kind."
"He was a twit if he was willing to be run off like that. You could do much better."
She arched a brow. "Do you know someone better?"
"Obviously."
Dahlia smiled sweetly. "Will you please introduce me?"
He smiled and shook his head. "Claire has made me aware of your list.”
It was only because she had just popped another piece of the buttery tart into her mouth that she wasn't able to gasp.
"She did what?"
He nodded as if it were completely reasonable, and not a shocking betrayal on Claire's part.
"In a roundabout way," he admitted. "She was telling me how your list had inspired hers."
Dahlia's eyebrows flicked upwards. Dahlia was more than a little curious to find out what Claire's list looked like. Perhaps they could compare their notes on top candidates.
William shook his head. "It's impossible for me to be home right now—all those gentlemen calling on my sisters all the time."
"You’re welcome. And I still haven't been paid."
Even uttering the words made a flush heat her cheeks. Ladies did not typically talk about funds in such a way.
"Of course." He waved off her concern airily. "Though there is the small matter of you using my seamstresses like your own personal couturier. And using Abeer to choose your silk. Though once I bullied the truth from him, I was quite interested to examine the designs and the notes you’d sent along. I was exceptionally fascinated with the measurements.”
Dahlia ignored his low, borderline inappropriate tone and the resulting traitorous feelings in her form alike. “I felt I was owed something for my efforts.”
“Certainly,” he said easily. “Though I was confused that you chose Abeer to pick the fabrics.”
“Second to myself, he's the most qualified."
"He is not." William smiled at her. "Besides, you shouldn’t assume you’re the most qualified; I’m undoubtedly far superior."
"Perhaps in the sourcing of the silk itself, but not in colors and dresses. Otherwise, why would you need me at all?"
“Very well, we may share the top spot. Though it is very crowded up there, and we will have to sit very closely."
Something in the way he spoke made a thrum of warmth unfurl in her stomach. His green eyes locked with hers and the moment stretched on until Dahlia felt quite stricken, until she couldn't have said what expression she wore.
Thankfully, William chose that moment to sip from the teacup in front of him. He spluttered and jerked as if he wished to spit the tea back out. At the last moment, he appeared to remember they were in public, and swallowed it with a grimace instead.
"What on earth was that?" He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin so forcefully that Dahlia thought he might be wiping his tongue off.
“That’s what you get for inviting yourself to the table. Lord Campton enjoys his sugar with a little bit of tea."
William gestured for a waiter and shoved the offending cup and saucer into the man's hands. "Take this away, and please bring me a fresh cup."
"At once, my lord."
William cut the remaining piece of tart on his plate in half and shoved an enormous bite into his mouth.
"Much better," he said once he’d finished.
Dahlia refrained from rolling her eyes.
"How is your Season going, Dahlia? Have you found what you're looking for yet?"
She gave him a cool smile."The Season is young."
"I have it on excellent authority that you had most of the gentlemen of the nobility crossed off before we even started. Where, pray tell, do I fall on your list?"
She gave a saccharine smile. "You aren't on the list at all, as you previously made it very clear that you were uninterested—"
Dahlia could have slapped herself for admitting the last. She gave a tiny little gulp as if instinctively trying to snatch the words back out of the air. But they were spoken, and his smile was slow and satisfied.
"Yet I’ve made it exceedingly clear that I am interested now," he said lowly. His words were warmer and more comforting than the tea she held. "In fact, nothing has ever interested me more."
She blinked, irritated at the effect his words had on her. "Then I would call you a twisted sort of person."
"Why?"
"Would you even be interested if I were not trying to find a different husband?
If I were still visiting your sisters every day, if you and I still talked over the dining table, if you still smiled and shared your thoughts freely with me, would you have ever become interested?
" She shook her head, answering for him, "No.
The truth is, you're like a little boy who only wants a toy once it's taken away. "
He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a finger. "Like a little boy who didn’t even notice the toy, not until his nursemaid put it away. Then it's the only thing he can think of."
"Dahlia, that's not true." His eyes were soft.
For some reason, she found her own starting to prick with angry tears.
"Is it not?" She held one hand out to the side. "Look at the evidence and tell me it's not. Look at yourself honestly."
Her eyes were wide. She could feel several people staring around them, but she couldn't bring herself to care. William didn't seem to notice anyone else—his eyes were only for her.
"The truth is, when I was available to you, you did not see me. You did not want me. Now that other men are paying attention to me, now that you know I'm serious about finding a husband this Season—you’ve decided that I am of interest after all. That I am noteworthy after all.”
“I am sorry, Dahlia.”
His jaw clenched. His face was drawn in stark lines of something that looked much like grief. She found she hated the sight of it—hated even more that she cared at all.
"I’m not lying when I said I haven't crossed you off my list. Because you've never made it on the list to begin with."
She set down her teacup, stood, and sailed from the café without a backwards glance.