Chapter 36 - Dahlia
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX- DAHLIA
Dahlia would not admit, even to herself, how many times she glanced in a mirror that day, how many times she fussed with her hair. Mara nearly slapped her hands away the last time and had to redo it all over again.
Dahlia wore a lovely pale pink silk day dress with a froth of expensive white lace at her throat and white pearls down the waistcoat. Rachel narrowed her eyes when she joined Dahlia in the sitting room a quarter hour before visiting hours were supposed to begin.
"What's wrong?" Rachel demanded.
"Nothing." But Dahlia could hear her own lie in the words. She sighed. "Lord Cavendish interrupted my outing with Lord Pearson this morning and informed me he intends to visit me this afternoon."
"When are you going to stop with this ‘Lord Cavendish’ nonsense?" Rachel spread her silk satin skirts on either side as she took her customary spot on the sofa. "He's William and we both know it."
"He may have bought his way back into your good graces with a few thoughtful gifts, but that doesn't mean he has made up for his trespasses against me."
"Fair enough." Rachel nodded. "But you can't blame him too much for not knowing how you felt—for not knowing how he felt. After all, it took you ages to realize that you liked the fellow—I knew well before you did."
"Is that so?"
"You pretended to dislike him much longer than you actually did."
"I never pretended to dislike him.”
"I remember it differently, though you know how empty-headed I am."
Dahlia rolled her eyes.
"Besides," Rachel said. "He's come to visit several times. I don't see why this time would have you in a tizzy."
"I'm not in a—"
Dahlia caught herself. Arguing with Rachel was its own special kind of idiocy.
"He said he's coming to court me," she admitted.
"Ah, so he's finally going to stop bringing me presents." Rachel shrugged. "I'm not disappointed. It's going to be fun to watch him turn that same intelligence upon the true object of his desire."
"And that is the problem. I feel like an object—something that he wants because he can't have it."
"That's not it at all. Besides, if you truly think that, there's one very easy solution."
Though Rachel was insufferable some of the time, she also had a keen understanding of people. Dahlia thought it was why she liked so few of them.
She leaned forward eagerly. "What's that?"
"Let him have you."
"Rachel.”
She rolled her eyes and gave a dramatic sigh.
"Per usual, you have jumped to the worst possible interpretation of what I said. I just mean, let him court you. Stop running. Stop keeping him away with your sharp tongue and barbs. If he’s the type who only enjoys the chase, the instant you stop running, he'll stop chasing you. "
Dahlia frowned. "Perhaps you're right."
"I certainly always think so."
"But what if he drives all my other suitors away?"
"As if you haven't been doing a good enough job of that on your own. I noticed that Lord Pearson didn't walk you up the steps this morning."
"Were you watching out the window for me?"
"You're my sister," Rachel said, as if that were explanation enough.
"He had some unkind things to say about the Preston family. I stated my opinion with firmness."
Rachel chuckled. "He's not a foolish man. He has the measure of it now. I doubt we'll see him again—he doesn't seem the type to throw his hat after lost causes."
"In this scenario, I'm the lost cause?"
"Your affections certainly are. Your affections have been engaged since before the Season even began. Don't you dare lie to me and say that they haven't. We both know the truth."
Dahlia wanted to offer a rebuttal, but Rachel wasn't wrong. A dark pit yawned in her gut. It was filled with all of the ways that this could go wrong, all of the potential catastrophes awaiting her heart.
"Don't do that." Rachel jabbed her finger in Dahlia's direction. "Do not talk yourself out of potential happiness."
"I'm not—"
"You certainly are. It's what you've done since we were children."
"What?"
"There have been a dozen wealthy, suitable men who’ve got down on one knee and asked for your hand.
You've told them all no. You might claim it's because of your list or your gridlines or whatever you want to call it—your parameters. But if you're honest with yourself, you’ve been waiting for something more. Now, here it is.”
Dahlia blinked.
“William may have bumbled at the outset of things, but it certainly seems that he's working hard to set it to rights. Surely you must admit that he didn't mean to hurt you. What he did is far different than willful cruelty, and far easily forgiven, if it weren't for your own pride."
"My pride?" Dahlia blustered.
"Yes. You aren’t used to not having every gentleman look your direction."
"I don't care about that."
"You don't, and yet you do. It was just pure bad luck that the one man who caught your eye wasn't looking at you in that way at first. You can hardly hold that against him forever. He sees you now. He's looking at you now. And I don't think he's going to look the other direction ever again.”
Dahlia swallowed deeply. Something that felt a lot like crystalline hope swooped in her stomach, effervescent and shimmering.
Rachel frowned. “So you had better prepare yourself for what comes next. Because if you stand in your own way of happiness, Dahlia, I swear I will drug you, steal the carriage, drive you back to Bainbridge, and hold you down in the pig pen like I used to when we were little."
Dahlia laughed. "You wouldn't."
"That sounds like a challenge, and you know how I feel about those."
She laughed again. Somewhere during her sister's speech, a lightness had snuck into her heart. Rachel, per usual, made some excellent points.
"Fine. I will give him a chance, just like I have every other man. But it will be difficult for me to open my heart to him again after he hurt me the first time."
"I know." She nodded solemnly. "If you let him catch you, I think you'll both be pleasantly surprised."
"But if he hurts me again—"
"If he hurts you again, then it's him I'll hold down in the pig puddle," Rachel vowed. "Facedown until the bubbles stop. You just see if I won't. And Margaret will help me."
"Margaret? What does Margaret have to do with any of this?"
"Very little as of late. She has her own problems to be dealing with."
Dahlia frowned, concerned. "Whatever do you mean? Is she in any trouble? Is there anything I can do?"
Bernard stood in the doorway. "Lord Cavendish to see Miss Dahlia Warrington."
Then he was there, and Dahlia's attention was completely engrossed.
William wore a crisp navy three-piece suit with a matching shirt beneath.
The suit was very fine, with clean lines and excellent draping.
Dahlia couldn't help but notice how well it fit his wide shoulders and tapered ever so slightly to offset the thickness of his muscular thighs.
He clutched a riot of blooms in one hand, all of her most favorite flowers—roses, delphiniums, snapdragons. It must have cost a fortune, as many of those flowers were out of season and must have been grown in a hothouse.
Still, Dahlia felt a strange sense of disappointment, much like riding in a carriage too quickly downhill. William had brought Rachel extraordinarily thoughtful gifts. But Dahlia was just to receive flowers.
They were very nice flowers, she hastened to add mentally.
She was determined to take Rachel's advice and let William court her.
Dahlia wasn't going to run any longer. She was going to give him a chance to make up for her own hurt feelings, which she begrudgingly admitted might have been mostly her fault anyway.
"Rachel." William nodded. "Dahlia. You two look radiant this morning, as always."
"I look like a rain cloud," Rachel announced, propping her feet upon the sofa and already slipping her gaze to her book. "I'd have it no other way."
William chuckled, and the low sound produced that inexplicable warmth in Dahlia's midsection. She liked that he enjoyed Rachel, that he seemed to understand her sister in a way so few people did. William crossed the room and gave a lower bow than was strictly necessary.
"Dahlia," he murmured, "these are for you."
He slipped the arrangement into her hands. She glanced at the flowers; her eyes snagged on something in the center of the arrangement.
"William, what is this?”
“How strange." He tilted his head, examining the jeweled hair combs in the center of the arrangement. "The florist must have dropped those."
A smile plucked at her mouth, despite her best efforts. "Is that so? How very careless of her.”
“Would you like me to return them?" His question was nakedly honest; there was vulnerability in his eyes.
Dahlia reached into the bouquet and plucked out one of the combs. Lapis lazuli flowers winked back at her, interspersed with tiny diamond vines that she desperately hoped were paste. Based on the depth of the sparkle, she suspected they were very real.
"You know I cannot accept these."
Regret was plain in her voice, for they were very beautiful. They’d go perfectly with her blue ball gown that she’d been planning to wear to the next ball.
"I completely understand." He turned. "Rachel, would you like some new hair combs?"
"Of course. You know me," Rachel said, flipping a page and not raising her head. "I dearly love shiny baubles."
He grinned. "May your sister borrow them whenever she wishes?"
"Naturally." Rachel waved her hand.
"It's settled, then."
"Wonderful,” she mumbled. “Now do be quiet. They're on to the squirrels."
William turned back to Dahlia, a slight grimace on his face. "I confess I bought that book on taxidermy techniques as much out of an attempt to shock her as anything. It's my mistake. I should have known that she would read the thing cover to cover."
Dahlia laughed. "She's never met a book she didn't like."