Chapter 37 - William #2
Dahlia gasped. William picked up the lamp and led her into a room that only a handful of people had ever seen.
The fireplace was cold, but the room was small enough to be well-lit by the single gas lamp he held. He closed the bookcase behind them, sealing them in.
"What is this place?" Dahlia's eyes were wide as she took in their surroundings.
The walls of the room were painted black and all the furnishings were dark. The room held a large mahogany table and a single comfortable chair. One entire wall was a pane of glass that—from the other side, in the silk room—had appeared to be a large mirror.
"How is this possible?" Dahlia gasped. She walked toward the huge glass pane and gently touched her fingers to it. "I’ve studied my reflection in that mirror many times. How can I see through this side?"
"It’s a clever trick of painting and light.
If the light was just as bright on this side, customers would be able to see through the glass to this room.
But the lighting is kept very low in here, and the silk room is exceptionally well lit.
That contrast and a thin veneer of silver paint allows whoever sits in here to see who's out there, but not vice versa. "
He waited for fear or disgust to flit across her face, but instead he only found fascination.
William mustered his courage and said, "The woman you know as Madame Aubert is actually named Sally Hansen. She’s a talented actress I found during one of my trips to Paris."
Dahlia turned to him and arched an eyebrow. "Oh, you found her, did you?"
He took her jealousy as encouragement; he grinned. "She and I have never been anything but business acquaintances. I was looking for someone who could pass themselves off as French. Sally, though English-born, fit the bill perfectly. She’d lived in France most of her life."
Dahlia frowned. "But if she's just an actress, who actually designs the dresses?"
"That honor belongs to Mathilde Bumbershoot."
"I've never heard of her."
"That’s by design. I came across her work while I was still in India.
A man brought a sketch of a dress directly to me, asking if I knew anyone who could create it for his wife.
When I asked who’d drawn the gown, he said it was a Romani he met while he was in Prussia.
I hunted her down. The woman was nearly destitute, but she had incredible talent. I made her an offer."
Dahlia listened to his low words carefully; he couldn’t read her expression.
"Sally is the face of the business, tasked with selling, with welcoming and complimenting the ladies. Meanwhile, it is Mathilde who draws the dresses themselves in this very room. We also have a team of seamstresses who cut and sew the gowns, based on the sketches and measurements."
Dahlia blinked, her eyes wide. Again, William could not read her reaction. He shifted uneasily. There was nothing for it; she now knew the worst of his secrets.
"So Mathilde sits here?" Dahlia lowered herself slowly into the seat.
William wasn't quite sure why, but he felt a thrill of deep satisfaction seeing her sitting in that chair.
"Yes." He cleared his throat. "Those shelves contain parchment and pencils, pens, whatever she needs.”
She turned to him suddenly. “But you said there'd been a problem with Madame Aubert, which was why she couldn't help your sisters."
He winced. "Mathilde’s grown daughter is sick in Romania. She had to go visit her. Thankfully, most of the orders for the Season had already been placed. Also, by this point Sally has enough experience that she can help a little. Mostly, though, we've been using old designs."
"I thought that some of the fashions this year had taken a step backwards."
He chuckled, his eyes sparkling. “I’m proud you noticed. Everyone else has proclaimed Madame Aubert’s designs as groundbreaking as ever.”
"So your business is in trouble."
For the first time, he saw a slight bit of fear in her features, and he cursed himself for his idiocy. Dahlia wanted security above nearly everything else, and here he was, telling her that his fortune was at risk.
"Not really. I have several other people in mind who could take her place if need be. However, I’m trying to keep her position open. Mathilde has been with me for years. She's wildly talented, and she's loyal. The next person might betray our secret; I don’t want to take the risk unless I have to."
Dahlia nodded. "When will she be back?"
"Hopefully within a month. I told her to bring her daughter here if she would like. We have excellent doctors in London.”
She sat in silence for long moments, the fingertips of her lace-gloved hand resting on the drawing table.
“You said you own several shops?” she finally said.
He nodded. "Another in England. Two in France. And it was you who gave me the idea to possibly expand to America as well."
Dahlia looked around the space. There was something about the sight of her here, perched as if upon a throne, that made him unreasonably happy. It was right that he share his business with her like this.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, turning to him suddenly. A slight V of perplexity rested between her groomed eyebrows.
"I want you to understand what I do—and not just on the surface the way other people do. Not even my sisters know the truth of this place. That’s how closely I guard the secret."
Dahlia swallowed deeply. He watched her delicate throat with fascination.
He wasn't quite sure that he'd ever noticed a woman's neck before.
It was disorienting for a moment, and he wondered what else he had missed about her because he wasn't paying close enough attention.
He vowed to do better, to notice everything in the future.
"So you mean it, then," she said. "The words you've been telling me."
William reared back a little. "Of course I mean it. Did you think I was playing some sort of game? Or some horrible trick?"
"No." She shook her head. After a moment, a blush dusted her cheeks.
"What are you thinking?" In that precise moment, he would have given his fortune to know.
"I didn't think you were the type to be cruel. I never thought it was a trick. But I thought perhaps you wanted me in the way that other men do, as some sort of trophy—a decoration to place in their front parlor, to show others what they were capable of getting."
His frown deepened. "Dahlia, I have statuaries from Greece. I don't need you to fulfill that function."
She laughed.
"I’m not courting you for your connections, or your wealth, or your beauty." He winced. "Well, not just your beauty."
That comment earned him a smile.
"You are exceedingly talented. Even more importantly, you are kind. You are intelligent. My sisters adore you." He pressed a hand to his chest. "I adore you. And I'm courting you because no other lady has interested me half as much as you. Not even close to half.”
Her smile prodded him onward, and he said, “To my great shame, I only realized it when you withdrew. Then again, perhaps it’s the winter that makes us realize how much we love the sun.
I would give up all I’ve achieved to have you by my side every day, to have you smile at me like you are now, over dinner every night.
I know that I hurt you at the beginning—"
Here, she cut him off by shaking her head. "In retrospect, it was my pride that was injured more than anything else."
Her fingers tangled together on the surface of the desk, and she made a study of them for several moments before finally lifting her blue eyes to his. They were luminous with tears in the low light.
She continued, "You see, I’d never been interested in a man before. As specimens or journal entries, yes. But never enough to begin to involve my heart."
It was as if that word, spoken in her low, cautious tone, held a direct line to the organ in his own chest—it began to thump erratically at her confession.
He wanted to go to her, to sweep her into his arms, to press kisses along her forehead and jaw, and not let her go until she promised to become his wife.
But this thing between them was as new and fragile as a blown-glass flower, and he didn’t want to crush it with his brute enthusiasm. So he nodded instead.
"Are you…" he began, then fumbled, trying to think of a better way to ask.
He realized there wasn't any path but honesty before them.
Yet honesty was the most treacherous, the most vulnerable path of all.
"Are you saying that you do feel something for me, then?
That there is a chance for us? Past friendship? "
She gave a smile and a single nod, and his heart leapt at her soft expression. It was as if all of his hopes were wound into that small smile. As if his entire future was wrapped into it. He couldn't help himself then—he walked toward her slowly.
She looked up at him, her large blue eyes so full of something.
He wished he could name it as easily as the emotions he felt.
He reached out slowly, giving her time to move away if she desired.
Instead, she leaned her cheek into his hand.
He cradled it, feeling the softness of her skin, the strength of her jaw just underneath.
He wondered if he had ever held anything as precious as this.
The Maharaja of Jaipur had once allowed him to hold a jeweled dagger from the Rajasthan province—a priceless treasure embedded with diamonds as large as William's own knuckles.
Even that was nothing compared to the warmth that gusted along his wrist with her soft sigh.
He shifted his fingers and he felt the beating of her heart—an erratic tempo that matched the staccato, resounding beat of his own.
"I wanted to give you something that I haven't given anyone else, so that you would know how serious I am and how much I care for and respect you."
She blinked up at him, and it was as it always was with Dahlia.
He wanted more—he wanted to bend down and press his lips to hers.
But though he hadn’t meant to, and though she said she forgave him, he knew he’d caused her injury in the past. He needed to give her time to trust him.
That was what this trip was about—trust.
“I’m not sure I can give you an answer, as of yet,” she whispered. “I need more time to consider how I truly feel, what I truly think. This is all happening so quickly.”
Hadn’t he just thought the same?
He ruefully slipped his hand from her cheek and shoved it into his pocket. “I understand.”
“I’m not saying no. I simply want…I want…”
William waited. He wondered if he’d ever been more anxious to hear the end of a sentence than he was to hear the end of this one. Whatever it was that she wanted, he’d find a way to get it for her.
“I want you to court me,” she finally said.
He grinned. “That is all?”
“And I want you to give me time to consider things.”
He smiled. “How much time?”
It hardly mattered what she answered. Now that she’d told him there was hope for them, he would wait a lifetime if that’s what she needed.
“The last ball of the Season.” She gave a decisive nod. “That should be enough time for me to know my mind.”
“Very well.”
It was much sooner than he’d anticipated, based on how long it took for her to utter the words.
“I hope you’re not sorry you brought me here.”
“Not at all. As I’ve said, I want you to know me. Besides, if anyone can devise a solution to my current predicament, it’s you."
"Ah, then it was a business decision to bring me here."
But the arch way she said it and the smile crinkling the corners of her beautiful eyes reassured him that she was joking.
"I am a businessman, though my motives here were far more personal." He glanced toward the mirror. "We had better get back. There’s Mara with the tray."
Dahlia's eyes widened as Mara appeared on the other side of the one-way glass. The girl's footsteps stammered as she came into the silk room and didn’t find her mistress or William. She looked around with wide, uncertain eyes, then retreated back into the hallway, still carrying the tray.
"Quickly now." William led them back out into the silk room, closing the hidden door swiftly behind them.
"It seems like a cruel joke," Dahlia whispered. "Where will we say that we were?"
"Across the hall, perhaps."
"It’s so strange that we could see her, but she couldn’t see us," Dahlia admitted, staring at the mirror. “I’ve been in this room a thousand times and I never once suspected it."
"I’m glad to hear it."
Just then, Mara reentered the room and did a comical double-take. "Pardon me, miss, but have you been here the whole time?"
"Most of it. We stepped across the hall for a moment."
William was relieved to hear how convincing Dahlia sounded.
"Ah," the maid said. She set the tea tray on the cutting table. "Here you are."
"Thank you, Mara." Dahlia nodded pointedly toward the hallway, and the girl retreated.
"She trusts you," William noted.
"Why wouldn't she? I’ve been nothing but trustworthy."
William thought again of the kiss they had once shared. Two spots of color appeared on Dahlia's cheeks, and he was pleased to know that he was not the only one who was remembering their interlude. He only hoped she didn't think of it with shame.
"I hope you’ll give this some thought," he said, nodding toward the silk. "You have an excellent mind. If you have any thoughts on my current predicament, I would love to hear them."
I want to hear your thoughts for the rest of our lives, he thought.
But he didn't add that.
William reminded himself that monsoons were dangerous because they dropped too much water too quickly. He didn’t want to do the same to their relationship—to wash it away with the force of his own longing before it had time to truly take root.
He’d already been extremely forward with their courtship. He’d repeatedly stated his intention to marry her. Now he thought that he ought to slow down, to give her time to think it over.
"I will think of it," she said.
He smiled and admitted what was only the truth. "And I will think of you."