Chapter 36 - Dahlia #2
"That's not true," Rachel said from across the room. "I hate those stupid romances you and Candace are forever passing back and forth."
Warmth suffused Dahlia's cheeks. William cleared his throat but thankfully said no more on the subject. Instead, he glanced around, presumably weighing his seating options. The nearest seat was the sofa, which was nearly three feet from Dahlia.
William crossed the room, lifted a straight-backed chair easily with one hand, positioned it between her and the sofa, and sat himself upon it.
He should have looked ridiculous on the delicate, carved chair.
Instead, like everywhere else he sat, he appeared perfectly at home.
Dahlia couldn't help but admire him for it.
"Thank you for inviting me in," he said.
"You arrived, and I didn't kick you out. There's a difference."
"You haven't kicked me out yet, you mean."
"Precisely."
They were both smiling, and Dahlia broke the moment first, looking down and smoothing her skirts.
This visit was far more difficult than any other she’d received from a gentleman so far.
It was because she actually cared. She wanted it to go well.
Despite her assertions to the contrary, she was hopeful.
William cleared his throat. "I’m well aware we’ll have company at any moment. So I want to ask you now, before the most eager of your beaus arrive, whether you’ll join me for an outing tomorrow morning."
"What kind of outing?"
"That’s a surprise, but I think you'll enjoy yourself."
Dahlia was intrigued and found herself nodding. William grinned at her and something swooped through her stomach once more. Butterflies, she thought, except hers felt more like falcons.
"What time?" Dahlia asked to break the moment, to distract herself from her own feelings.
She could not let him into her heart this easily. It had been a scant five minutes, and he was already slipping through whatever meager defences she’d prepared.
"Seven o'clock." He nodded in acknowledgement of her surprise. "I apologize for the hour, but it’s necessary. Though perhaps you don't care to wake up so early."
"No." She shook her head. "That's fine. After growing up at Bainbridge, I never quite managed the art of sleeping in, anyway."
"Neither have I, on account of all those years as a sailor."
He held her gaze gently as they shared a moment of commonality that very few others in the nobility would understand. They had both had a different life before the one they had now—a harder life, and in some regards, a simpler one. He nodded as if to acknowledge all the unspoken words between them.
He leaned back in his chair. "Tell me, Dahlia, who might we expect today?"
"Pardon?"
"My competition—for your attention, for your hand. Certainly, you must have an idea of who might come courting, unless there are hordes of men who descend on the house and Bernard chooses who to send in on a whim."
Dahlia pressed her lips together to hide her amusement. "There have never been hordes."
"Then you must know who’ll be arriving."
"I couldn't possibly say. It would be absolutely garish of me to guess."
William sighed and rolled his eyes. "You aren't going to make things easier for me. Very well, I should have expected as much. Allow me to use this opportunity to say again how exceedingly sorry I am for what I said, about not having met a woman that would tempt me into matrimony. My sisters knew I was an idiot before I did, but I’ve since caught up and now quite agree with their assessment. "
Dahlia shook her head, her lips pressed together once more.
"In all seriousness, Dahlia." His tone was solemn, his eyes heavy on hers. "I never meant to hurt you. It’s the last thing I would ever want to do, and I’m very sorry."
She blinked. When had anyone, any man, ever said anything quite so vulnerable to her face? And he kept doing it—this was not the first time he’d apologized, nor the second. Dahlia found herself nodding and blinking rapidly.
"Is my apology accepted, then?"
She nodded again and found her voice. "It’s my fault that such an apology is even necessary. I was foolish, perhaps."
"You weren't," he said, his voice clipped. "Don't ever blame it on yourself. The truth was, you didn’t run ahead with your feelings or thoughts, and if I’d been more intelligent, I would have recognized what we were at the outset. But apparently, I am slow in such matters."
Dahlia was flustered by his honesty, by their discussion of the matter at all. However, his words had leeched some of the sting out of the memory, and he was here now.
“Then we will start fresh, as if there’s no history between us,” she said brightly.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, at least where I am concerned,” he said, his voice canted low, his words just for her. “For I remember all of it, and I think of it fondly…and often.”
Dahlia blushed. Thankfully, her discomfiture—and his meaningful gaze—was broken by Mara rushing back in, William’s freshly clipped flowers back in a vase. The jeweled combs were nowhere to be seen, of course—most likely stowed safely in Dahlia's bedroom.
Mara was wonderful at keeping secrets, and Dahlia fervently hoped that she would keep this one. Because Dahlia wished to keep the combs, not only because they were among the most beautiful in her collection, but also because William was the one who had given them to her.
“Miss Margaret Preston, Miss Beatrice Preston, and Miss Lily Preston, to see the ladies of the house,” Bernard said.
“What the deuce?" William grumbled.
“Have we missed anything?” Margaret bustled in, her sisters just behind. “Has it started yet?”
“Has what started?” Dahlia asked.
Margaret came to a sudden standstill just past the doorway, nearly causing a pile-up of her sisters, who’d walked in on her heels. “Oh, he’s here already.”
“Are you speaking of me?” William said.
“You don’t get any points for figuring that out, William,” Beatrice said. “You’re the only male in the room.”
"For the moment, at least," Lily teased.
Margaret swatted at Rachel's feet until she removed them from the sofa; she sank into their spot. "Well? What have we missed? You must catch us up. I hate coming into a play when it's already begun."
"This isn't the theater," he grumbled.
"Isn't it?" Beatrice winged an eyebrow. "Comfortable seating, ample refreshments, and rumor has it, there's going to be quite a show."
Margaret nodded. "Yes, only I need to know what's occurred already."
Rachel poured each of the Preston sisters a cup of tea. "Well, so far, there's only been a little light flirting. Very subtle. And another apology, which was finally accepted."
"Then we haven't missed anything truly important."
“I’m not sure.” Beatrice’s shoulders slumped. “I would have liked to hear William grovel.”
“There was some of that, and it was quite well done on his part. Lots of feeling behind it, as if he’d perhaps recited his part in the mirror beforehand.”
“Drat,” Margaret hissed. She leaned forward to see past Rachel and frowned at Lily. “I told you to hurry up.”
William turned to Dahlia, who’d rolled her lips in a poor attempt to conceal her smile. “I certainly hope it goes without saying that this isn’t of my doing.”
“Shush!” Margaret pointed her lace-gloved hand at him. “No talking during the Prologue!”
Rachel nodded her agreement. "William also gave her a lovely—and very expensive—set of hair combs."
"He did?" Lily smiled brightly and turned to William. "That was nice of you."
William shook his head, dumbfounded. Dahlia stopped trying to hide her wide smile.
"How did he do it, though?" Margaret demanded. "Did he get down on one knee?"
William spluttered; every lady in the room ignored it.
"He tucked them into the flower arrangement."
"Oh, well done," Beatrice said. "That was very clever."
"It wasn't your approval I was looking for, though I'm gratified to have it all the same," he said sarcastically. "Can't a fellow visit his lady without all of his sisters trailing after him like a line of ducklings?"
"It's not all your sisters," Lily said.
"Not by half. Claire's not even here." Margaret dunked a biscuit into her cup enthusiastically; tea sloshed onto the saucer.
"Where is she today?" Rachel asked.
"Off with Lord Rutheridge, most likely," Beatrice said.
Margaret wiggled her eyebrows. "I have many theories as to what they get up to when they're alone."
"Margaret!" William said, scowling.
"Relax, William." Beatrice smirked. "She thinks they're conspiring to bilk people out of their fortunes or that they're running a gambling den or some such nonsense."
"Why else would they be spending so much time in each other’s company?"
"Perhaps they're courting," Lily said, a dreamy smile upon her face.
"Isn't that what you lot are supposed to be doing?" William said. "How are any gentlemen supposed to visit you if you're never at home?"
Beatrice exhaled a laugh into her teacup. "Just goes to show how distracted you've been. These two cannot escape male attention—" Here, Margaret jabbed her in the stomach with an elbow, halting her speech.
William frowned. It looked as though he were formulating a question, but his sister beat him to words.
"We've got completely off track," Margaret said around the bite of biscuit in her mouth. "You're the one supposed to be courting. That's what we came to see. So go on, then. Court." She made a shooing motion with her free hand.
"I must apologize, Dahlia." He shook his head. "I certainly didn't intend for them to be here."
"It's quite all right."
Truth be told, Dahlia didn't mind the little comments continually sliding over from the other side of the room. If he was going to earn her trust, it wasn't her problem if he did it under duress. She wasn't going to let him off the hook easily, and it seemed his sisters were of the same mind.