Chapter 38 - Dahlia
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT- DAHLIA
“Idon’t know if I can do this,” William said.
“Do what?” Dahlia asked, her teacup pausing halfway to her mouth.
Today she was accepting visitors in the drawing room, which offered an expansive view of the back gardens.
Aunt Janie sat at the delicate desk in the corner, the continual scratching of her pen a soothing background to their conversation.
Rachel read a book on the sofa, a stack of spares on the low table next to her.
“It will be difficult to pretend that our courtship is the same as all the many others you're entertaining.”
Dahlia canted her head. “I wouldn't say there are so many others.”
He huffed a sarcastic laugh. “Very well, if that’s the way you’ll have it, I shall do my best to play my part with aplomb.”
Dahlia didn't know why his words set a fizzing excitement cascading through her. For the first time in a very long time, she was excited for visiting hours—and the rest of the Season in general. She could hardly wait to see what William would do next.
“Are your sisters well?”
“Very well, thank you for asking.” He frowned. “Though I would hardly know at the moment. I spend all of visiting hours here.”
“Who is acting as chaperone?”
He waved his hand. “Some married cousin who hardly bears mentioning, as well as a bevy of maids and an army of footmen.”
If Dahlia was anxious to see how William would behave in the company of other gentlemen, she didn't have to wait long.
“Lord Martin to see Miss Dahlia Warrington,” Bernard said from the doorway.
Dahlia waved the gentleman in as William sighed and shifted on the chair next to her.
If she hadn't known him better, she would have thought it an accident when his knee ended up mere inches from her own.
She slid her glance to him and quirked an eyebrow.
He gave a wolfish grin and moved even closer.
“Good morning, Miss Warrington.” Lord Martin bowed until the arrangement he held—inexpensive daisies, which William rolled his eyes at—tickled his nose.
Dahlia smiled and greeted the man, doing her best to refocus her attention so it was equally divided between the two guests. It was impossible—her eyes and attention wanted to slide toward William every chance they got.
“Lord Cavendish.” Lord Martin acknowledged William with a slight cant of his head.
William returned it, somehow managing to make the motion a clear challenge.
Lord Martin blinked and took the available spot on the sofa.
William now sat squarely between Dahlia and the man.
His position guaranteed that he'd be a buffer between her and any gentleman who visited.
As far as human blockades went, William was incredibly effective, and judging by his satisfied smile, he knew it.
Lord Martin said, “I trust your family is in good health.”
William turned to him. “Begging your pardon, but were you speaking to Dahlia or to myself? It was very unclear, you see, as you did not address either one of us specifically.”
“I was speaking to Miss Warrington.”
“Ah,” William said smoothly. “Then in the future, I recommend you saying 'Dahlia.' Oh, forgive me—that won't do, as you’ve not been invited to use her first name. I would say 'Dahlia,' but you would say 'Miss Warrington' or 'Miss Dahlia Warrington' or something of the sort.”
Dahlia smiled, inviting Lord Martin to be a part of the joke instead of the brunt of it. “It's always tiresome to receive a grammar lesson, is it not?”
Lord Martin opened his mouth to reply, his expression grateful, but William was too quick.
“It is fascinating how there’s a hierarchy of appropriateness when it comes to forms of address,” he mused.
“Formality and relational intimacy dictate the moniker one uses.
I may call Dahlia 'Dahlia.' You, Lord Martin, are required to call her 'Miss Warrington.
' And yet, though my use of her first name signifies that she and I are closer than you and she, it’s not the ultimate honorific I'm aiming to eventually apply to her.”
Lord Martin blinked as if not knowing what to say.
Even Dahlia was caught at a loss for words, but for an entirely different reason.
The moment William had said “intimacy,” he had put such weight and depth of tone to the word that Dahlia was pleasantly lost to considering all of the word's possible permutations.
Either she or Lord Martin might have been able to redirect the conversation if they’d been quick enough, but William seemed eager to fill the silence.
“You see, I would much rather call her 'my dear' or 'my darling.' And eventually, of course, 'my dear and darling wife.'”
Across the room, Rachel snickered.
Lord Martin’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared beneath the fop of blond curls at his forehead. “I was unaware there was an understanding between you.”
“It’s rather a one-sided understanding at the moment,” William said, “though I aim to rectify that shortly.”
“Ah,” he said nervously. He stood and gave a small bow to each of them. “Very well. Lovely to see you, Miss Warrington.”
The gentleman was through the far doorway before Dahlia had fully recovered from hearing the word “intimacy” in William's low growl.
“That was hardly fair,” she said. “I told you I wanted you to take part in courting, not to drive my suitors off at the earliest convenience.”
“I suppose I did rather stake a claim, didn't I?” He frowned. “Very well, my dearest darling. If I’ve upset you, I apologize. I shall endeavor to do better next time.”
She narrowed her eyes and didn't respond.
“Truly,” he said. “Though you must understand it goes against my nature not to fight for what I want, not to defend what I love.”
His words caused a great swooping in her heart. It was a heady thing to be the recipient of William’s full attention, to be the single object of his romantic desire.
Dahlia had thought it would be for the best if William courted her just like the others did. They had gone too quickly from friendship to love and back again, at least on her part. She told herself she hardly knew what she felt.
Except, that was a lie—she knew exactly what she felt.
The problem wasn't feeling when it came to William, the problem was thinking clearly. Dahlia wanted time to make sure that the biggest decision she’d ever make in her life was the right one.
Her heart screamed at her to accept his proposal with all swiftness.
Even though her emotions and her body were in wholehearted agreement, her mind was a tougher customer. As her mind had not steered her wrongly yet, she would respect it well enough to have its full cooperation on the matter before she agreed.
William seemed to take her silence as condemnation of his antics with Lord Martin.
He sighed. “Truly, Dahlia, I’ll endeavor to take part in the courting the next time. I’ll give it my finest effort to behave as you wish.”
Dahlia shook her head. “I appreciate that, though Lord Martin’s absence is not such a great loss. It’s better for him that he knows it would be a waste of time for him to continue visiting me. I scratched him off my list weeks ago.”
“Perhaps we might devise a signal between the two of us in case there are other gentlemen who can be easily culled from the herd.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Perhaps you might offer me a biscuit after the gentleman speaks so that I know which one you wish me to get rid of.”
Dahlia couldn’t help but grin—there was something inherently delightful about being in cahoots with William.
His countenance softened in response, and warmth unfurled in her stomach as smoothly as silk unspooling from a bolt.
She glanced down at her teacup to break the hold he had on her; it nearly worked.
“Very well.” Dahlia nodded. “I’ll offer you a biscuit if one of the gentlemen is wasting his time.”
“They're all wasting their time,” William muttered. At her reprimanding eyebrow, he held up a hand. “But they need not know that yet. I’ll behave.”
His words were put to the test when two gentlemen arrived nearly back to back.
Lord Shaw was exceedingly handsome with dark brown hair and blue eyes framed in a fringe of lashes that might have made him look feminine were it not for his height and the breadth of his shoulders.
He was the new Earl of Shaw. As the second son, he'd had a career in the navy before his brother passed and he was called home to manage the estate.
Dahlia thought Lord Shaw didn't quite look at home on the silk sofa—that his impressive physique would have looked more comfortable braced on the deck of a ship or climbing the rigging.
The second gentleman, Lord Parr, did not meet any of Dahlia's requirements.
She thought he might be courting her because she was a favorite of the Season.
He claimed the same dubious honor, due to his good looks, pleasing smile, and propensity to wear colorful silk waistcoats.
Dahlia found she much preferred a gentleman who showed sartorial restraint.
The usual greetings were exchanged and the gentlemen settled themselves onto the sofa. Lord Parr was seated at the greatest distance from Dahlia; he leaned forward to see past Lord Shaw.
“Miss Warrington,” he said. “How do you enjoy the weather we're having?”
As far as opening lines went, commenting on the weather was a classic, though it showed a stunning lack of effort.
“It is very nice,” she said. “Would you gentlemen care for biscuits or tea?”
The other gentlemen nodded, but William said, “Pardon, but was that offer of biscuits for the room in general or was it for me specifically?”
The other gentlemen blinked.
Dahlia sighed and looked heavenward. “It was for the room in general.”
“Hmm.” He picked a biscuit from the plate and chewed it with narrowed eyes.
“I say, Cavendish,” Lord Parr said. “Are you fond of biscuits?”
“Indeed.” William gave a smile that was little more than a wincing simper.