Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Dahlia had never in her life wanted to do anyone physical harm, but at that moment she sorely wanted to kick her husband. She was indeed very angry at him, but at the same time, she was also confused. She tried to determine his reasoning but could not.
How do I risk my life by playing in the snow? For a winter day, it isn’t even that cold! And he gives no reason whatsoever—just orders and demands!
She walked along the corridor of the private quarters until she found the door she sought. Dahlia took a deep breath to dissipate her anger. She knocked on the door of Mary’s chambers.
It was Claire who opened the door. She looked at Dahlia with a pensive expression.
“Hello, Dahlia.”
“I came to see if you and Mary are all right. Mrs. Baker said that you were both here.”
“Please do come in.”
Mary, who had been on her bed, stood to greet her.
Dahlia hardly knew where to begin.
Is your brother usually so unreasonable? Is he usually so authoritarian?
They sat near the fireplace. Had the earlier experience not happened, Dahlia imagined it could have been such a homey scene, the three of them huddled by the fire, sharing stories.
After a few moments of silence, Dahlia began to speak.
“Tell me, is Peter—” she stopped. Reorganizing her words, she tried again, “I have never seen Peter so angry before.”
Mary and Claire looked at each other.
“But I cannot, for the life of me, comprehend his anger towards our actions.” Dahlia laid her hands flat on her lap, “I would like to understand if there is anything to understand, for I am extremely bewildered.”
Again, the twins looked at each other.
“You tell her, Mary.”
“I?”
“Yes, you are the older of us; it is your responsibility.”
“You always say that when you wish to avoid a task.”
“Mary?” Dahlia prodded patiently.
“Very well,” Mary sighed.
Mary bit her lip. Dahlia could see her searching for a place to start and waited. The voice that spoke was a soft and sorrowful one.
“Claire and I lost our mother when we were nine. She—she died in a carriage accident during a particularly cold winter.”
Dahlia’s hand went to her heart.
A carriage accident?
Dahlia recalled the wild determination in Peter’s eyes as he chased after her hijacked carriage that not so long-ago night.
When the carriage had been stopped, he had seemed so angry at her.
At the time, of course, Dahlia could not understand where his anger was coming from.
It all made sense now. She reached out and took Mary’s hand.
“The weather was much colder than this. Mother was on her way to one of the tenant’s houses.
There was a newborn, you see. And Peter was home from university for the Christmas Holidays.
When he heard that she was to go calling on the tenant, he planned to accompany her, but she told him not to.
He had always blamed himself. He said that if he had gone with her maybe—maybe he could have saved her. ”
Mary wiped at the wetness in her eyes. She took a moment then continued.
“We were young then, but I remember well when they told us what had happened.”
“I am so sorry. I can only imagine the pain of such a loss.” This time, Dahlia reached for Claire’s hand too.
It was Claire who continued when she saw that Mary could not.
“It was a while before the carriage was found. And the doctor—well, he said he couldn’t be sure if mother passed away because of her injuries or because of the cold.
” Claire paused as if to catch her breath then continued, “We didn’t know all this back then of course; nobody really explained to us how mother died. ”
“How did you find out?”
“From father, a year later. I don’t think he meant to tell us; I don’t think he even knew that Mary and I were there when he started talking about it.”
“He was in his cups,” Mary clarified, seeing the question in Dahlia’s eyes. “He went in the library, a drink in his hand and just started talking to himself. Claire and I were in the alcove reading.”
“And Peter?” Dahlia asked tentatively.
“Poor Peter.” Claire sighed. “He was three and twenty when we lost mother.”
Barely a man.
“Mother’s passing deeply affected us all but in different ways,” Claire continued. “But when father died two years after mother, Peter was never the same.”
“Your parents loved each other then?”
“Oh, yes, very much so; theirs was a love match.” Claire chuckled at the memory that appeared in her mind. “I remember thinking how disgusting it was that they kissed so often—in front of us children even!”
Humor left her face as she continued.
“Peter, he was—well he was left with a mark. He became a different man. He had to take care of father as well as us, I imagine. Before that he was a fun older brother wasn’t he, Claire?”
Her twin nodded.
“Whenever he would come home from university, he always made sure to spend time with us. He was never too old for dolls, or pirate adventures. But after mother passed he became an adult very quickly. And then father passed too. Peter, he became… well, the way he is now.” Mary smiled sadly at her.
Dahlia was at a loss for words. Knowing what she now knew, she understood better now.
“That must have been a miserable time for you as well. You lost both parents and in some ways, a brother as well.”
The twins both nodded.
“At least we still had each other during those times.” Claire took her sister’s hand. “We were never alone.”
“But you withdrew from your brother too, didn’t you?”
Again, they nodded.
“It was easier when we did not have to show our grief to anyone else, Peter already had so much to worry about. So, we hid ours from him.”
Dahlia swallowed at the thickness in her throat. She could see them as young girls, grieving the gradual loss of their family.
Alone but together, such brave girls. And now, on the brink of adulthood, still feeling quite alone but nevertheless together.
Somehow, she could relate to their feeling of being alone.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in.”
A footman and a housemaid came in bearing trays of tea and sandwiches. They set the tea things down then bowed and curtsied to leave.
“Who rang for tea, Perkins?” Claire asked, for they had not.
“The Duke instructed for tea to be brought up, M’Lady.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Dahlia saw that the serving was for three.
How does he know that I am here? I had barely planned it.
Suddenly feeling ashamed, Dahlia saw in her mind’s eye his fear—now she knew that it was not anger but fear—as he demanded they go back to the castle. She saw him wrapping the blanket around her and making sure that warm tea and food was sent to them after their time in the snow.
He is taking care of us. In his own way, he is taking care of me.
When the servants left Dahlia groaned.
“I was very angry at him.” She covered her face. “I accused him of being an authoritarian; I called him names.”
“Oh, Dahlia, you mustn’t be hard on yourself! You did not know!” Mary defended her.
“But we should have thought about Peter’s reaction to us being in the snow. We should have considered it,” Claire added. “The blame is ours.”
Gathering herself, Dahlia gave them a small smile.
“No, my dears, there is no blame. There should not be any blame. Please do not worry yourselves over this.”
I must talk to Peter. I must make him see that I finally understand.
It did not take Dahlia by surprise that Peter had not joined them for dinner that night. Mary and Claire assured her that it was not so unusual an occurrence for their brother to be unable to attend dinner.
“He and Mr. Phillips are probably still buried in work.”
“Mr. Cooper said that they had to leave earlier in the afternoon to attend to some estate matters, so he is probably still not back.”
And so, the meal had progressed as other meals shared between the three of them had before.
Dahlia very much appreciated the constant company of other females now.
She had been so used to finding and creating her own amusement whenever her parents were on a trip or whenever her friends were engaged elsewhere.
Indeed, that was how Penelope Lovelace was born.
But now, she hardly had time for her embroidery and hardly opened the new book her father gifted her before she left. Surrounded by constant feminine chatter and by affectionate gestures, Dahlia saw what she had been missing.
Sisters are precious things.
They lingered over dinner and stayed even longer in the sitting room after that. Dahlia kept looking at the door in hopes of seeing Peter walk through it. It was the hour of eleven when they all decided to retire for the night.
It seems that I am to be disappointed.
“Good night, Dahlia.” Mary gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“I look forward to the next chapter of The Duke and The Aspiring Detectives,” whispered Claire as she embraced her.
Dahlia was still chuckling as she left the sitting room and headed to her chambers.
“You seem thoughtful tonight, Your Grace,” Biddy observed as she brushed her mistress’ hair.
Looking away from the snow falling outside the window, Dahlia saw her reflection in the mirror. Fresh from a bath and clad in her sleeping attire and dressing gown, she was stripped of all embellishment. How many times had she looked at her face in the mirror? A thousand perhaps?
I thought I knew myself. But being here in this castle with these people—
She sighed.
“Perhaps a cup of tea, Your Grace? Or some warm milk? That was always the thing when you found yourself restless.”
“I am not restless.” Dahlia frowned at Biddy.
“Of course not, Your Grace.”
“There are merely some things on my mind.”
“Like a tall and handsome gentleman?”
Dahlia slapped at Biddy’s arm but caught only air as her lady’s maid stepped laughingly away.
“No, you cannot be more wrong, Biddy!”
“Your Grace, I have been in your service as a lady’s maid since you came of age. Before that, I tended to you when you were too old for a governess. I know all your moods and your expressions.”