Chapter 36 - Dahlia #3
"William, what does one do when they're courting?" Beatrice chewed her lip, a devious light in her eye. "For it looks much like you're sitting on a chair, not doing much of anything."
"Now I must be heckled, too?"
"Isn't she worth it?" Rachel prompted with a lifted eyebrow.
"Of course." He turned back to Dahlia.
His intent gaze had much the same effect on her as slipping into a bath. She felt very warm all over, but it was a comfortable feeling.
"Lord Pearson to see Miss Dahlia Warrington," Bernard said.
"Yes, yes, send him in," William groused.
Dahlia blinked in surprise. After their conversation this morning, she wasn't sure that she’d ever see Lord Pearson again, but apparently the gentleman was more intrepid than she gave him credit for. For here he was, a weighty bouquet of cabbage roses cradled in one arm.
"Lord Cavendish," he said coolly. He bent and bowed in Dahlia's direction. "Miss Warrington.”
“Dahlia and I were just discussing whether or not you might show up, Lord Pearson."
"Indeed?"
William nodded. "She wasn’t convinced, but I knew better. We men are a competitive lot, are we not?"
Lord Pearson blinked as if shocked to hear William state the issue so plainly.
"You yourself are very competitive. Isn't that right, Lord Pearson? Didn't I hear something about a horse race in Bertwith years ago?"
Dahlia frowned curiously up at Lord Pearson. His color was high, splotches of pink at the top of each cheek.
"Indeed, I don't know what you speak of." He turned to Dahlia. "Miss Warrington, my apologies. I only came to see you briefly and to say that I’m sorry I cannot linger, but my mother requires me for an appointment."
"Oh." Dahlia's eyebrows lifted even as she accepted the bouquet from his hands. "I understand. Please give her my regards."
He nodded curtly, turned, and left, a bewildered Dahlia still clutching the perfumed roses.
"What on earth was that about?" she hissed to William.
His expression was all innocence. "It sounded like he had a previous engagement with his mother. Dreadful forgetful of him not to remember it until he got here, though."
From across the room, Margaret bit noisily into a fresh biscuit and hissed, “This is getting good.”
William shrugged, glanced around. "What does a fellow have to do to get some tea? Or have my sisters drank it all?"
"That's cheating, William," Dahlia said, "to scare my other suitors off."
"Is it?" He frowned. "I don't know how I could have scared the fellow, but if you tell me what I did wrong, I’ll endeavor not to do it again."
He was lying and they both knew it.
"I mean it. You cannot win me by eliminating the competition."
"I don’t intend to court you in such a degrading fashion. Besides, you are not a prize to be won. I intend to woo you. I intend to marry you."
A collective gasp—half scandalized, half delighted—sounded from across the room. Dahlia did her best to ignore their invested audience. William blinked but did the same.
"You cannot say such things."
"Why not? I've already told you I intend to marry you. I already told you I'm sorry for hurting you. The truth of the matter is, Dahlia, I consider you already mine, just as I am yours."
"You can't just—" she spluttered.
He gave her a heartbreaking smile. "Why not tell the truth?”
“How dreadfully romantic,” Lily sighed.
Dahlia sat up straight. “You cannot say that I am yours when I haven't agreed to such a thing."
“She’s got a point there,” Beatrice said. “Margaret, did you eat all the biscuits?”
“I’ll politely call for some more.” Rachel waved both arms furiously at the maid standing at attendance.
"Fair enough," William said, trying to focus. "I realize that I was careless with your heart before."
"My heart?"
He nodded. "I didn't realize I had part of it, you see. I assure you that I will take the greatest care of it in the future. Your heart is safe with me, Dahlia, as are you."
The ladies in attendance sighed their delight.
Dahlia blinked rapidly. She should be infuriated.
She should throw him out for his impertinence, perhaps.
Such things weren't said. Such things weren't done.
Not in this fashion. And yet, here he was, his face open and honest, his words earnest, and despite all that had happened before, she believed him.
"I don't know what to say to that," she said, honestly.
"That's fine. I realize that I’ve had longer to consider this than you, but I'm asking you to consider it now. I know that it’s far too early for me to ask you the question outright, and I know that I can hardly be assured of your answer, but I feel I should be clear about the direction in which we’re heading. ”
Dahlia didn’t have any articulate reply for that—she just stared.
He continued. “I’m not here to see who can win this game of courting. I didn’t frighten off Lord Pearson because I’m afraid of competition. I did it because any man who beats his horse into injury in order to win a race cannot be trusted with someone as precious as you."
Rachel and Margaret broke into scattered applause and were quickly shushed by Lily. Dahlia reared back, her mouth agape. She snapped it shut as soon as she realized, and swallowed deeply.
"I hadn't heard that.”
"It's unlikely you ever would. Though he might be forgiven of such a mistake because of his age at the time, I've noticed he holds his reins a little too tightly, a trait I wouldn't expect in someone who’d realized the error of his ways in such an area.”
“Oh.”
“That’s beside the point. I’m not here to talk other men down to you so that I’ll win by default.
I’m here to show you why we are the only rational conclusion.
I've never been good at playing games. I'm good at business, where I state things plainly, where the seller sets a price and I pay it or don't, depending on whether or not I feel it's too dear.
But I'm telling you now, Dahlia, that whatever price you set, I will pay it.
I will find a way. So you tell me, what do you need? "
The entire room waited for her answer in tense silence only broken by the ticking of the mantel clock. Dahlia’s mouth gaped again, but this time she couldn't make herself care. For several moments, she sat stunned, just staring at him, her eyes wide.
His voice was gentle but urgent when he said, "I mean it, Dahlia. What do you need? What do you want?"
"Love," she blurted, then she slapped her gloved hand over her mouth, as if she’d uttered the foulest curse instead of the accidental truth.
His answering smile was soft and warm. "That's a price I will happily pay."