Chapter 10 #2
Peter spent most of the day inside his study.
His steward, Mr. Phillips, was with him, running over accounts and receipts.
The work that he had left unaccomplished during his stay in London—indeed the extension of his stay due to his unexpected betrothal and subsequent marriage—had piled up.
One day turned into three, until he felt that he had caught up enough in his business affairs.
Dahlia had now been living in the castle for four days. And in those days, he saw her but rarely. Mostly only during breakfast and dinner—where there was safety in numbers, for his sisters where there as well.
Perhaps the amount of work he had to accomplish had been most convenient for he had been intent as well on ignoring his wife. He had not planned for theirs to be a real marriage; indeed, he had promised her quite the opposite.
I have been forthright from the very start!
And why, he thought, did he feel the need to defend himself? Because, he knew that if their marriage would become remotely affectionate, he would not be able to help himself. He was attracted to her in such a way that it proved utterly distracting and inconvenient.
One taste of her lips, and I am afraid I shall not be able to stop myself from wanting more. No, this is the smartest course of action. It must be this way. She is to leave in a month’s time.
Peter almost groaned, but instead, he stood from his desk.
“I shall head out for a short walk. Mr. Phillips, please finish the letter to the new suppliers.”
Putting on his greatcoat, Peter headed towards the park. The brisk wind refreshed him. A traitorous part of himself conjured the image of Dahlia walking beside him, the wind whipping her red curls into a frenzy. He was keenly aware—too aware—that she rarely left his mind.
He knew, for instance, that she was currently in her chambers in the company of his sisters. Before that they had been to visit the hothouse. He could trace her scent in the rooms she lingered in.
Blueberry scones.
Like a besotted fool, he had instructed Mrs. Baker to tell Cook that she needed to serve more of those, for he knew that Dahlia preferred them. That particular serving dish, he’d observed, was always empty after she had left the buffet table.
His mind went to the newly arrived document on his desk. It specified the details of the house he had planned to buy for her. The house where Dahlia would live independently from him.
I give you leave to come and go as you please.
His solicitors said the purchase could be completed in a month’s time. There was no putting it off; Peter must speak to Dahlia about it.
The last night brought with it another bout of snowfall. The ground lay covered in thick white powder. In the distance, he thought he heard laughter. Peter followed the sound.
There was no mistaking the three voices. Moving closer, he saw Dahlia and his sisters frolicking in the snow. For a while he stood watching them as if enchanted.
I shall join them!
With a brisk shake of his head, Peter broke his foolish thoughts.
Belatedly, Peter took notice of their attire.
What can they be thinking! Rolling around in the snow in the wrong clothes!
They were bound to get sick, and if—and if he lost them…
Like I lost her.
Snow was also falling lightly that long ago afternoon, but no one could have thought that in just a few hours things would change.
“It is just snow, my dear Peter. I will be fine. You needn’t worry; I shall manage on my own. Stay and enjoy your holiday.”
Why did I listen to you? Why did I stay?
Guilt, as raw as if it had been merely yesterday, slammed against him. There was a bitter taste in his mouth.
No! I cannot bear to think that!
He wrenched his mind away from such bitter memories; instead he channeled his fear into anger. His legs moved on their own accord.
“What do you think you are doing? Get out of there!”
Dahlia, Mary, and Claire stood up from their position in the snow, alarmed at the anger and urgency in Peter’s voice. They stood still as he rushed to them, a dark scowl on his face.
“Of all the irresponsible things!” He took both his sisters’ hands in his and started in the direction of the castle.
“Dahlia, inside the castle, now!”
His tone and manner brooked no argument.
“Peter, we were just enjoying the snow!” exclaimed Claire.
“Like we used to do when we were young!” added Mary.
The dark look he gave them had them both holding their tongue.
“Peter, what is the matter with you?” Dahlia exclaimed walking faster to keep up with their longer strides. “You are overreacting!”
Indeed, Peter knew that he was, but he could not help himself. Fear held him like a vise.
They were now near the castle, and Mary and Claire, sensing a confrontation, hurried inside leaving Peter and Dahlia to themselves.
“Overreacting?” Peter could hardly control his voice. “Do you have any idea how many people die of hypothermia? How many idiotic people get sick because of their carelessness?”
Dahlia’s face blazed red in her answering anger.
“Careless? Idiotic?” Dahlia’s fairly spat out fire. “Allow me now to name some adjectives for you!”
She moved closer to him and jabbed his chest with her finger.
“Authoritarian!” Another jab. “Harsh! Tyrannical!”
They now stood so close together that Peter could see the fire in her eyes. Without warning, he bent down and wrapped his arms around her legs. Lifting her up and over his shoulder, he carried the Duchess of Icedale in that most undignified manner inside the castle.
Screaming murder, Dahlia struck his back with her fists but to no avail. They did not even seem to affect him.
“You beast!” Dahlia cried. “I demand that you put me down at once!”
They had now entered the sitting room.
“As you wish.”
He put her down on the settee next to the fire.
“Warm yourself.” Peter handed her a woolen blanket.
“Have you gone mad?” Dahlia hissed at him. “What kind of behavior was that?”
“Warm yourself,” he repeated.
When she still ignored the blanket, he took it and wrapped it around her shoulders. “You and the twins are forbidden from doing that again.”
“Forbidden from enjoying in the snow? You have gone mad! Good heavens, I married a madman!”
“I will be taken seriously, Dahlia.”
“I have never met anyone as controlling and mad as you!” She whirled at him, blanket flying.
“You hardly talk to me since we arrived here, you barely see your sisters, and then, all of a sudden you come crashing down on us because we have decided to entertain ourselves in the snow!” She threw up her hands in defeat. “Mad, I say!”
Peter gritted his teeth. He stared her down until she gave him one final disgusted look and left the room.
Peter took off his greatcoat and threw it onto a chair. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Counting his breaths, he forced himself regain his calm.
Alone in the quiet room, he had to agree with her. It seemed, even to him, that he had gone mad. He could understand why she was furious, but he cared not what she called him or thought of him. He would not have her risking her life. He could not lose her.
Lying on the bed, her dark hair cradling her pale face. Unsmiling, unmoving…
Open your eyes; please open your eyes.
Peter shut his eyes tightly, forcing the image from his mind. He took a deep breath, still reaching blindly for relief.
“They are here. They are here with you in the castle.”
He repeated it like a mantra. And if it took all his will to keep them safely there, so be it.
He sighed. Dahlia was right, he had gone mad.