Chapter 40 - Dahlia
CHAPTER FORTY- DAHLIA
The ballroom was luminous. Each lady in attendance added to the ambiance in her own unique way. Jewels glittered at throats and ears; candlelight shimmered across silk and added a warm glow to every smiling face.
Large bouquets rested upon marble plinths around the exterior of the room, adding a true floral decoration that the wallflowers couldn’t achieve on their own. Strings played from the corner and a hundred conversations warred with bouts of cheerful laughter.
It was only through extreme control that Dahlia refrained from craning her neck to see whether William was already in attendance. The ball was well underway, as Rachel refused to arrive early, and previous to tonight, Dahlia had always been a fan of the fashionably late entrance.
Still, she couldn't stop the small flutter in her chest when she glimpsed his large form insouciantly leaning against a pillar at the edge of the space. He studiously ignored the ladies who fluttered about him like so many ruffled flower petals.
The other ladies’ attention had been inevitable. As the male set had descended upon the Cavendish house—lured by the various attractions of William's four sisters, their enormous dowries, or some thrilling combination thereof—word had got out about the new opulence of the house.
Everyone knew that William was the source of the family’s new, unparalleled prosperity. Brothers with single sisters had informed their mothers of this development, and society had responded in a predictable way.
All of a sudden, ladies who wouldn't have deigned to look at William, except to perhaps sneer in his general direction, now stood in a pattern recognizable only to those who were well acquainted with such things.
William could be forgiven for not understanding the subtle hints that the flicker of a fan gave.
However, there was no ignoring the hopeful glances cast his direction by the ladies and their mothers; there was no denying the chorus of titters aimed to snag his ear.
Dahlia was flattered when his eyes latched upon hers as soon as she entered. He pushed himself off the pillar and started to make his way toward the staircase to greet her. Several ladies tracked his progress with sullen eyes.
Dahlia couldn't blame them. William cut a fine figure in his charcoal suit. As always, his sartorial restraint charmed her, especially since she knew how he’d made his fortune and how excellent his tastes truly were.
She was so focused on William's approach that when a voice spoke near her elbow, she jolted, her eyes widening in alarm.
"Apologies, Miss Warrington," Lord Webb said. "I thought you’d noticed me."
"Apologies, Lord Webb," she said.
Across the room, William frowned and hurried his pace.
"I was wondering if I might have the honor of your first dance."
As he said the words, William reached Dahlia's other elbow.
He said smoothly, "Apologies, Lord Webb. She has already promised that dance to me."
Dahlia pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. She doubted very much that William had been near enough to hear which dance Lord Webb had asked for.
“And the next?”
"That one is taken too, I'm afraid." William gave a short, courteous bow.
Lord Webb met Dahlia's eyes. "Is it?"
She nodded apologetically.
"I don't suppose it's any use asking about the one after." To her relief, Lord Webb sounded vaguely amused.
William winced theatrically. "If it were up to me, Lord Webb, she would dance every one with me. But as I believe more than two dances is the customary signal to society, three dances is the minimum. And I shall have all of mine first."
Dahlia flushed. Still, Lord Webb shrugged and went away.
"That was rather forward of you," she said, though she couldn't keep the pleased lilt from her voice. "Look, he's gone to ask Beatrice instead. Do you think he means to vex you?"
"Vex me?" He chuckled. "I would readily give him her hand in marriage tomorrow if they were both amenable to it. Lord Webb isn't a bad sort, and Beatrice isn't spoken for.”
“But I am?" Dahlia teased.
A frown flickered across his lips. "If you do not wish to dance three with me, I’ll understand. If you’re not ready, if you need more time, I’ll not be offended."
"No," she said a blush heating her features. "I should like to dance with you."
"For all three dances?"
"Are you really going to make me say it?"
He smiled at her, waiting.
She’d thought about it extensively. What Rachel had said was right. All this time, Dahlia had been using her lists to try to eliminate the risk from a relationship. Yet even the most boring, steady, wealthy, titled man had not been enough to capture her attention, much less her heart.
Now here was William. Though she knew she was safe with him, love itself didn't feel safe. Maybe it shouldn't—maybe love was always a risk. And if risk was what it took to feel what she felt with William, she was willing to risk nearly everything.
She was grateful that William had been so clear with her, had spoken so plainly. He was not asking her to shuffle out onto the proverbial ledge by herself. He was right there with her, gripping her hand. If love was a leap, she was ready to jump with him.
Some form of elation nearly choked her. "Yes. Three dances."
He grinned. Her eyes were captured in his so completely that she was only vaguely aware of another gentleman approaching. William snapped at him rudely, not breaking her eye contact, shooing the man away. He went.
"This is going to be easier than I imagined," William said.
Dahlia laughed as the strains of the orchestra started once more, signaling that it was time for their first dance together. He swept her easily into her arms, and she was momentarily stunned by it.
She'd danced with at least a hundred gentlemen before, and none of them ever made her feel like William did.
His simple touch warmed her hand and waist. It was appropriate even by society's strict standards, yet she felt suddenly breathless, reckless. Even though they’d danced together many times this Season, her emotions still took her by surprise every time.
"Is that what the three dances are for? To keep the other gentlemen away?"
"Not at all," William said easily as he guided her into the bustle of the dance floor. "The three dances are for me, not them."
"Do I not enter into the equation?"
"Dahlia, if you haven't figured it out by now, to me you are the entire equation."
She blushed and looked away. "You shouldn't say such things when others could hear you."
"Don't be silly. Saying such things in public loudly enough for others to hear is the only recourse a man has before the woman he loves is wearing his ring or his last name."
She swallowed her vulnerability and looked up at him. "You truly love me?"
"Have I not told you enough times?" He grinned down at her.
"I love you, Dahlia. I think I loved you back in the Whittakers’ garden, even though I didn't know it yet. I definitely loved you all those days you came to visit my sisters at my house, though I was admittedly slow on the uptake and hadn’t figured it out. "
"I'm sensing a theme," she teased, happiness pricking at her eyes.
"I'm nothing if not consistent. That's something you should know about me. I'm going to consistently love you. I'll do anything in my power to ensure that you are radiantly happy and exceedingly well cared for the rest of your days."
Dahlia blinked as emotion threatened to crest over her bottom lashes. "It's shocking," she said, her voice trembling with happiness, "for you to declare such a thing while other people are about—”
"I intend upon declaring it in front of our relatives and a minister next, if you'll consent to it.”
She nodded shyly. "Is this truly how this happens?"
His eyebrows flew up. "It was that easy?"
"Easy? Do not say such a word in relation to me, sir. That is how vicious rumors are started."
“I've done this all out of order.”
“I’m still confused if anything’s been done at all.”
“Very well.”
He halted them in the center of the dance floor. The murmur of confusion around them turned to gasps when he dropped to one knee.
“William,” she murmured, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.
“You told me I had to wait until the final ball.” His eyebrow arched in challenge. “You cannot expect me to show any more restraint than I already have.”
Dahlia shook her head. When she’d told him he had to wait until the final ball of the Season, she hadn’t intended him to do it at the ball, and certainly not in front of others.
Still, this was William, and she shouldn’t be surprised that he’d do things his own way.
It was one of the things she loved about him—that he didn’t allow society’s opinions to dictate his actions, especially regarding things that mattered most.
“Dahlia Alexandra Warrington, I love you. I want to spend all of my days endeavoring to be worthy of the privilege of calling you mine. Will you make me the happiest man alive and agree to be my wife?”
She nodded, tears heavy in her eyes as she smiled. “Yes.”
There was a raucous whistle from the sidelines.
Dahlia glanced over and saw Rachel pulling her fingers from her mouth.
She was flanked by Margaret and Beatrice, who were both grinning.
Then Dahlia saw nothing else but William as he swept her into a warm embrace to the applause of those in attendance.
“I've made a complete mess of this, and I regret it immensely." He gazed down at her with so much love shining through his eyes that she could barely breathe.
"How so?"
"I cannot kiss you senseless on a ballroom dance floor. That goes against even my loose definition of propriety. Yet that is all I wish to do at the moment. Granted," he added, "that seems to be all I wish to do at any given moment these days."
Her heart thrilled at the words, at the earnest way he spoke them that said they were nothing but the truth. William led her from the midst of the other couples—who were trying to regain a semblance of a waltz—to the grouping of his sisters at the sidelines.
“I shall get to call you sister!” Margaret threw her arms around Dahlia even though William refused to let go of her hand.
Dahlia laughed at her enthusiasm. “I’m so glad you’re happy.”
“I hope you are, too.”
“We’ll not be left alone the entire evening now. I did completely bungle it,” William murmured in her ear, even as the rest of the ladies offered their congratulations.
“Yet somehow we’ve come to the most agreeable conclusion anyway. Perhaps it is true what they’re saying of you."
"What is that?"
"That you have the Midas touch."
Dahlia could not admit to him that she certainly felt more precious when he put his fingers to her skin. That when he was near, she felt as if the entire world shimmered with the cast of gold. Such things were too tender for her to put into words, at least in the moment.
“Yes, yes,” William said, to the fluttering group of sisters. “We’re very excited, too. Please excuse me; I must steal my betrothed away for this waltz.”
He put a hand to her waist and drew her as close as decorum allowed, swirling her back into the dancers so they might have a moment of relative privacy.
"I didn’t even receive official permission to ask you,” he said suddenly, frowning. “I sent the letter but haven’t received the reply yet."
"It hardly matters now. You cannot take your proposal back.”
“I should not wish to. You can't either—not when you’ve said yes in front of a hundred witnesses.”
“Was that your plan, then? To ask me in such a way to prevent me from backing out?” Dahlia laughed.
"I daresay my barristers are the best in the world. If it is only the law that would keep you by my side, then I'm prepared to resort to whatever legal means are necessary."
She very nearly rolled her eyes, but remembered they were being watched and pursed her lips instead. "Isn’t it the lady who most often sues the gentleman for breach of contract?”
“I’m prepared to make legal history, then.”
“In our case, I doubt the barristers will be necessary.”
"Delighted to hear it. With this talk of legality, I am reminded—quite happily, I might add—that soon we will share everything. Therefore, even your dances are soon to be half my possession as well.”
“Do you think so?”
“And since we've come to such an agreeable understanding, I fear it would be exceedingly misleading of you to dance with anyone else this evening. Or any evening in the future, for that matter. I believe I’ll add such language to our marriage contract.”
“You’ll refuse to allow me to dance with any other gentlemen ever again?”
His good-natured jealousy charmed her, as she knew full well he’d allow her to dance with anyone if she truly wanted. But as it was, the only one she wanted to dance with was him.
"I must insist upon it," he said, in mock solemnity. "I cannot have these gentlemen calling me out for pistols at dawn once they fall irrevocably in love with you, as I have. Now that we’re officially betrothed—”
"Are we officially betrothed?" She squeezed his shoulder with her left hand, wiggling her empty finger for emphasis.
"Is that what you require? How mercenary of you. Very well, that shall be rectified in short order. Yet even without a ring, I insist you only dance with me."
"How shocking."
"Society should expect no less," he said. "I am a pirate, after all."