Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“Amoment.”
Peter’s commanding voice had the effect that Dahlia’s did not. They all stopped, surprised by the Duke actually contributing.
“I do believe that you are making Lady Dahlia very uncomfortable.” Peter’s serious look deterred anyone from replying.
“As her betrothed, it is incumbent for me to protect her welfare.”
A dreamy sigh was heard, causing Peter more irritation than he would normally feel.
He considered all that he learned about the Hill Family in the few hours that he spent with them.
After his initial astonishment, he saw their biggest flaw: that they relied too heavily on love.
And that would lead them to no place good.
He knew this. To let love conquer you in all aspects, as this family seemed to have, was not only foolish—it was dangerous as well.
He had learned that from his own father, from the wreck he’d turned into upon the death of his wife.
“I shall answer on her behalf.”
Beside him, he felt Dahlia stiffen, but he felt it his duty not to let these falsehoods circulate. His voice was even though his unsmiling mien drastically lowered the others’ excitement. He looked at each person who raised the question as he gave them the answers.
“No, we were not secretly in love; we hardly knew each other in fact. And no, I had most definitely not been following Lady Dahlia; I just happened to be there with my friend on business with one of the solicitors in the area when the hijackers attacked.”
“No, Lady Dahlia’s novels were most definitely not a secret code between us. There was no need for us to communicate with each other in the first place.”
“We have agreed that marriage would be the wisest course of action to assuage the scandal. Children are not relevant in the arrangement.”
“There will no longer be a next novel. Lady Dahlia has agreed to that.”
“The wedding shall happen, and it shall be in four days’ time.
“And finally, yes. She will no longer be the only unmarried female of her age group in this family.”
He looked around the group who had remained silent upon hearing him.
“I hope I have answered all your questions.” He turned to Dahlia, who had stayed quite still since he spoke. “Would you like to add anything else, Lady Dahlia?”
“No, Your Grace, you have answered all questions quite clearly.” She did not look at Peter. “There can be no misinformation and misunderstandings now.” Her voice rose in pitch as the sentence ended. “Excuse me, I must—I must see to something.”
Her hands covered her mouth as she hurried out of the room.
Dahlia’s family looked at each other, but no one could look at him. Peter heard them mumble various excuses and move away to join other groups. The hum of conversation resumed shortly, leaving Peter to himself for the first time that night.
He had glimpsed her face as she left the room.
Dahlia’s eyes were wet. Peter knew he should not feel bad, for indeed, he did nothing but answer her family’s questions with complete honesty.
With answers that Dahlia herself was aware of.
And yet, there he sat, feeling like a brute.
He glanced up to see the Dowager Marchioness watching him.
Those green eyes.
He stood up and quickly left the room, aware that everyone watched his exit.
Why was she crying? From the very first, she knew that Peter meant what he said when stated that theirs would be a marriage of convenience.
Had he not laid down the reasons, discussed the plans, and even on occasion asked for her approval?
He answered all her family’s ridiculous questions with correct answers.
In his own words, he had protected her welfare.
Then why did she feel as if he had betrayed her?
Because Peter has finally given everyone confirmation and proof of what they all say and think about me.
Running deeper into the gardens, Dahlia let herself cry. How unlucky she was to have been born into a family who naturally found love when she could not secure it for herself. She allowed herself another moment before willing the tears and the self-pity to stop.
How shall I ever return inside now? My face will be red and blotched. Perhaps, I can have Benson summoned. I can head home first and have him return for Mama and Papa.
She nodded to herself. With her plans secure, Dahlia turned to leave. So surprised was she to see another person there—let alone Peter—that she nearly jumped.
“What is it? What do you want?”
“I am—I am unsure.”
“If you wish to leave, please go ahead. Consider your duty fulfilled in meeting my family.”
“Dahlia, I am under the impression that I have done something wrong.”
“You? Do something wrong? Why that would be impossible[ you are always right, Your Grace.”
“Dahlia.”
“What?”
“We are to be married.”
She drew out a long breath.
“Yes.”
“I have no wish to hurt you.”
Dahlia looked at the night sky. She felt her conscience prick at her a little. Letting out another breath, she looked at Peter.
“I am being unfair.”
She went closer to him, and for the first time, she saw that he held her cloak. She hadn’t even realized that she was cold. He swung it around her until it covered her shoulders. Warmth that she had not known she needed flooded her body.
She sat down on a garden bench and beckoned him to follow. When he did, Dahlia spoke to him freely like she had never done before.
“I know that I agreed to this whole arrangement. I did not want it, but I agreed to it all the same. But…”
“But?” Peter was still but for his breathing.
“It hurt me, you see.”
“Because you could not marry the one?”
“Yes, but more than that.” She clutched at the sides of her cloak.
“I have always stood out among my family. You have seen them; you have heard the stories. Those stories are all true. In all of the ton, here is a family made from love, literally. All the of them were conceived in love. All of them found their love match. Except for me.”
“Dahlia, life is not a fairy tale.”
“Do not tell me that love stories are fairy tales! I can give you dozens of living examples that they are not!”
Peter was silent.
“I have tried my best to find love, I have; that is why I stayed unmarried for five seasons. But it seems that every family must have its black sheep.”
“You are not a black sheep.”
“Well then perhaps, it is me, physically, that is repellent. My family certainly agrees that I could do better with my appearance. I acknowledge that I shall never be considered a diamond of the first water, never the delicate English Rose. Perhaps this marriage of convenience is the best that I can really get. I know they talk of how lucky I am to have secured a duke. How surprised they all are that I should have managed to be engaged at all!”
Tears fell again, and she used her cape to wipe them away before she felt Peter gently pushing his handkerchief to her.
“It hurts, you see, to be the considered the failure. I was already the black sheep of the family because I was a spinster, but now, I shall stand out more for being married yet not having love.” She gave Peter back his handkerchief.
“Don’t worry, I do not blame you at all.
You have been nothing but straightforward with me.
Please do not feel that you are responsible for these feelings, I am afraid that they have been here even before your arrival. ”
It was strange that she found some comfort in his presence. He, the Duke of Ice, who neither consoled nor sympathized with her, made her burdened heart feel lighter.
“Dahlia.”
When she turned to him, he lifted her chin gently with his fingers.
“Whoever said that you are not beautiful knows not of what they speak,” Peter said quietly. He held her gaze for a long time. She saw his throat work, as if he struggled for words, but after a silent moment he said only, “The Marchioness is here.”
He gestured towards the path leading back to the house where, indeed, her mother stood, worried.
“I shall call again in the morning.”
Dahlia nodded. He stood and bid her a good night.
If he stayed a minute longer, Peter felt that he would lose his mind.
Indeed, he felt that he had lost some of it already.
As he sat in the garden bench listening to Dahlia speak about herself in those ways, he felt a great inclination to call out every person in her family who had passed some form of judgement on her.
Indeed, he felt a great inclination to hit something—or someone.
“Not beautiful enough? A black sheep?” he muttered darkly as he walked back towards the front door.
Could they actually see? Did they not have eyes? Dahlia was stunning. He remembered the first time he opened the carriage door, and there she sat, Pandora waiting to unleash trouble on him. He still could not fully explain her reaction—more precisely, he did not want to explain his reaction to her.
He stood by the front door, waiting for the arrival of his carriage, when the conversation of two ladies caught his attention. Dahlia’s aunts.
“Poor Dahlia, I feel so sorry for her.”
“I know, dear, but it can’t be helped. Perhaps if she had inherited her mother’s looks instead of Mama’s? Maybe she would have a better chance of attracting more men? Sadly, a fortune sometimes cannot convince men, you know.”
“Did you hear of their marriage arrangement? I would not be surprised if she stopped coming to our events. The poor dear. Can we not help her in some way? Perhaps bring her to a new modiste? Or replace her lady’s maid?
Peter knew not what came over him; he only knew that he had had enough of her family thinking that Dahlia was somehow less than they were. His hands fisted. Where was this strong urge to protect her coming from?
He stalked towards her aunts and fully faced them, commanding his whole height.
“Ladies, you can help Lady Dahlia by stopping this nonsense about her appearance. She is not lacking in that regard. In fact, I consider her a most appealing woman. I am a proud man and will venture to say that I have chosen a beautiful wife!”
And before they could respond, he had gone off, not bothering to wait for his carriage any longer.
The ladies, speechless from the Duke’s outburst, stared at each other for a long while before they were able to consider the event they witnessed.
“That, my dear, is not the reaction of a man without feelings for his future wife.”
“In that, I agree.”
“Well, then, it seems that there is hope after all for our dear Dahlia.”
The two ladies smiled at each other.
Lady Teresa wrapped her arms around her daughter. She could feel the sobs that came from Dahlia.
“Oh, my daughter.”
“Mama.”
Dahlia took a deep breath and reined in her feelings. She wiped at her eyes and sniffed until she felt normal enough to speak again.
“How are you, my darling?”
“I am better now, mother. Don’t think about me, I just, for a while there, felt sorry for myself. But I am better now as you can see.”
She smiled her most winning smile at her mother.
“I know your impending marriage is not really what you had wanted—”
“Oh, really Mama, I am marrying a duke! A handsome, honorable, and rich one at that; what more can I ask for? Really, I have done better than my wildest dreams!”
“But what about love? Companionship? The other things you said?”
“I shall still have those; there are so many people in my life that I love, that I love spending time with, and they with me. Truly, mother, I shall be fine. Worry not.”
Teresa looked at her daughter; she cupped her face with her hands and kissed both cheeks.
“You have always been so resilient. Able to take care of yourself, able to find joy in the little things.” Her mother took her hand.
“I am sure that you will be the same in your marriage. I am sure that you will make the most of it.” She led her daughter to the same bench that she and the Duke had sat when Teresa first saw them.
“You know, when your father and I were first married, we were so overwhelmed with feelings that every little thing was blown out of proportion. We would be jealous of this person and that, not knowing how silly it all was! That is youth for you, my dear. I remember when your father brought me to Bath, and we…”
It was a story that Dahlia had heard many times before, indeed her mother loved telling it so often that she could see it all in her mind.
The story, however, was not giving her what the teller hoped it would.
No, Dahlia could not feel warmth or the hope of a true love just then.
Her mother meant well, but Dahlia knew that any person, secure and deep in her love, would not be able to understand a person who had to settle for less, much less.
After the story, Teresa inquired if Dahlia could manage to go back inside. Feeling that she must, Dahlia agreed. When they entered the sitting room, Dahlia was surprised at the energy that greeted her.
“Oh, Dahlia, my dear, I can see it. Your turn is coming. Hold fast, my dear, your love story is unfolding!” Her aunt held her hands while she recited this prediction.
“Ah, thank you, aunt, that is most kind of you to say.”
Her aunt beamed at her before another took her place.
“My dear, the Duke needs your patience. He is as of yet, unwilling to show you his feelings, but I daresay that they are strong! And they are all for you!”
Dahlia nodded along, a smile on her face. She could see her cousins and the others smiling too, encouraging her. She felt disoriented. Her family had gone delusional. Shaking her head, Dahlia tried to breath normally, tried to still her racing mind.
They mean well. They do, but mine will never be a love story.