Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Dahlia could not help it. Seeing Peter fawned over by scheming mamas and hopeful debuntants during society balls was one thing, but seeing him fawned over by his female elders, members of the nobility whom he could not give the cut direct, was the most amusing thing that she had ever witnessed.
The look on his face as he had caught her eye was an appeal for rescue.
An appeal she decided to ignore, at least for the meantime.
“Dahlia, my dear, I must take you away from the Duke and from your dear aunts, just for a moment,” her mother said. “I shall bring her back very soon, You Grace.”
She followed her mother to Lady Susan’s chambers where her aunt presented her with a pair of earrings given to her on her own wedding day by her mother—Dahlia’s paternal grandmother. Lady Susan had borne no girls and thought it best to gift the pieces to Dahlia, keeping them in the female line.
Touched at the gesture, she hugged her aunt. Dahlia’s spirits were lifted even higher after the encounter. When she returned, she mischievously decided not to join Peter and was at once pulled into her cousins’ group.
“Dahlia, I think the Duke is trying to get your attention,” Anthony, her younger cousin, said.
“Oh, no, he’s just trying to say hello.” She hid a giggle. She knew there would be hell to pay later on, but she also knew that it would be well worth it.
“I really think that he’s calling you, look.”
She looked over and saw Peter motioning to her, his mouth forming her name.
“Oh, no, indeed, I think he is telling our great aunts about his trip to Italy—Italia.” Trying very hard not to laugh, she sounded out the word, “I-ta-lia, you see?”
By now, Peter was shooting her dark looks. She gave him a dazzling smile and waved.
He can handle a few more minutes, I think. The dinner bell will be sounded in a little while anyway.
Dahlia was still watching Peter as he attended to her great aunts again. Wanting more entertainment, she excused herself and joined another circle of relatives who stood beside Peter and the great aunts. With her back to them, she strained to hear their conversation.
“…thought she would never marry! Why, we even thought…”
“…should have chosen one of them, but you know Dahlia…”
“…the only one in the family to have reached that age…”
Dahlia frowned. This was not the conversation she had wanted to hear. She knew sooner or later someone would make similar comments, but she had hoped it would be later. She was considering taking away Peter from her great aunts when the turn in the conversation stopped her.
Better!
“…you must remember that. It is extremely unlucky. Especially if it grows near your house…”
“…makes a ticking noise, especially during a long dark winter, that is a sure omen of…”
“…why, when the countess bore the child, she enlisted a new midwife when instead she should have…”
Dahlia could not help it. She laughed aloud and before her relatives could say anything, excused herself. She turned and collided against a solid wall—Peter’s chest.
“I’m glad to see that you are entertained, Lady Dahlia.”
Discreetly, he clamped his hands around her wrists as he felt her move away from him.
“Oh no, you are staying here, if you please.”
Dahlia bit her lip, ready to burst with laughter.
“I would not dream of going anywhere else, Your Grace.”
“Ah, the newly betrothed couple!”
They both turned to see a jolly, red-faced, middle-aged gentleman approaching them. By the looks of him, he was already inebriated despite the earliness of the night.
“Uncle Edward!” Dahlia said with another amused smile.
“Dahlia, my favorite niece!”
“You call all your nieces your favorite niece!”
“Ah, but tonight it is truly you, my dear!”
He turned to Peter and pointed with his wine glass, his expression comically fierce.
“You listen here, Duke, if you want your limbs to stay attached to your body, you must—”
“Ah, there you are, Edward! Come, Andrew is looking for you; they want you in the card room. You know how much they need you.” The Marchioness smiled apologetically at the Duke as she directed her brother-in-law away from the couple.
Still grinning, Dahlia explained, “Uncle Edward is my father’s younger brother. He is a great favorite among the family. Unfortunately, he is almost always the first to become inebriated during family gatherings.
Despite himself, Peter was curious.
“The first? There will be more?”
“You are in London, my dear duke; of course, there will be more!”
My dear duke. Peter felt a tingle somewhere in his body. He cleared his throat.
“And does he regularly threaten mutilation to dinner guests?”
“Why no, Peter. That is reserved only for dukes.”
Again, despite himself, he smiled. Dahlia was different tonight.
She felt…playful and mischievous. He could readily accept that she planned this with the intention of annoying him.
He had to admire her scheming—but she underestimated him.
He was out of his element, true, but he also found that he was entertained.
And indeed, despite being threatened with bodily harm and plied with superstitious nonsense and family gossip, he found that he was not inclined to leave the party just yet.
“What a curious dynamic your family has,” he observed. “It seems like everyone is on quite affectionate terms with everyone else.”
His eyes roamed the room. They formed groups, small or big, and they all seemed to be in good spirits.
People of all shapes and sizes socialized with each other.
A baby was passed from one set of arms to another.
One of the great aunts threatened a young gentleman to which he replied with a laugh and a kiss.
And all of them were loud. His mind went suddenly to his own family.
How small in number they were compared to Dahlia’s.
And how…quiet. Especially after his mother…
He gave himself a mental shake. Dahlia’s voice interrupted his reverie.
“Oh no, you mustn’t believe that; why it was just the previous week when two of my younger cousins were fighting over a suitor.” She motioned to a pair of ladies who looked no older than ten and seven.
“They seem to be on good terms now.”
“That is because they discovered that their shared suitor was courting a third lady. No not another cousin as I am sure you will ask. Their brothers,” this time she motioned to a group of gentlemen who all looked to be in their mid twenties, “taught the said suitor a lesson. The shared experience brought Lillian and Jocelyn closer, I think. Oh, but what a scene they caused during that dinner!” Dahlia chuckled.
The dinner bell sounded. Peter was escorting Dahlia into the dining room, when happy voices drew their attention.
“Grandmama!”
The Dowager Marchioness of Bolton, newly arrived, was being escorted by her grandsons. Almost at once, the family flocked to greet her.
“I shall present you to my grandmother when she has escaped from everyone,” Dahlia grinned.
“She is a tiny thing.” Peter observed. “Now I see whom you take after.”
“Her hair used to be red as well.” Her smile grew bigger as they approached her grandmother.
“Dahlia, my love.”
“Grandmama.”
As they embraced each other, Peter could easily imagine what the Dowager Marchioness must have looked like when she was younger. As he could now see what Dahlia must look like when she grew older.
“You have much to tell me, my dear.”
“I know.” Dahliah’s face fell a little. “Are you very angry with me?”
“My love, if all that has secured you your duke, then why should I be angry?” the older woman said with a twinkle in her eye.
Dahlia covered her mouth and looked swiftly at Peter, who stood looking at the ceiling. She felt her face heat.
“Grandmama!”
“Still so easy to rile, Dahlia!” She cupped her granddaughter’s cheeks affectionately. “You must mind your color. Take it from me.”
Another chuckle then she whispered something in her granddaughter’s ear to which Dahlia nodded. Finally looking at Peter, her expression changed. It adapted that of the matriarch. Peter felt himself straighten to his full height.
“Introductions please, Dahlia.”
“Your Grace, may I present my grandmother, Lady Wilhelmina Hill, the Dowager Marchioness of Bolton.” She turned to Peter and continued, “Grandmama, may I present His Grace, Peter Thorsncroft, the Duke of Icedale.”
The Dowager Marchioness inclined her head while the Duke gave a formal bow.
“Your Grace bows properly at least. None of those foppish flutters.”
“Thank you, My Lady.”
“And if the rest of my family and the gossip columns are to be believed, you will soon become my grandson?”
“That is correct, My Lady.”
“Hmm.” She gave him her hand, and he kissed it in return.
Everyone resumed their transfer to the dining room.
Once again, Peter took Dahlia’s hand and led her inside.
He noticed that the host and hostess did not enter first, neither were they followed by the Marquess and the Marchioness, being the highest in rank among the guests.
Apparently, hierarchy was not followed in their entrance to the dining room which, in truth, he preferred to the formality of the usual dinner party etiquette.
When they reached the tables, he started to look for his place card. He was confused by what he saw or rather, by what he did not see. He turned to Dahlia.
“There are no place cards.”
She was already standing by a dining chair, a footman in the act of pulling it out for her.
“Oh, yes, I had quite forgotten to tell you. We always dine informally; anybody can sit anywhere. Well, except at the children’s table, that is.”
Across the large dining room, a set of smaller tables and chairs were set up. Seated on them were children of varying age. The youngest seeming to be three, the eldest twelve. A good number of governesses and nurses sat with them.
“Astonishing.” Peter could not help but stare. “And where do the adolescents sit?”