Chapter 11 #2
“Oh, Biddy, it is just that I am so confused, and I feel so guilty!”
“Can it be fixed?”
“What?”
“My ma, rest her soul, would always ask me if a problem can be fixed. If it can, then who can fix it? Simple as that, she would always say.”
Simple as that.
“You are truly a treasure, dear Biddy.”
“That I know, Your Grace!” Biddy said with a satisfied grin.
“Biddy, I must ask you to do one more thing for me before you retire for the night.”
“No one in the castle knows where the Duke is.”
Dahlia replayed Biddy’s information in her head as she sat beside the fire.
“He hasn’t returned since he left with Mr. Phillips, Your Grace.”
But Biddy’s information was more than an hour old. He must be back by now. She looked at the clock on her mantle, a quarter after the hour of one.
“Maybe it is best if I wait until the morning.”
She went to bed and slipped under the bed covers. She closed her eyes then she opened them again.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Dahlia!”
She climbed off the bed and put on her dressing robes and slippers. At the last moment, she added a wrapper. Not for her sake but for Peter’s.
If Peter was back, Dahlia had a feeling she knew where she would find him.
She went to the tray of food that Mrs. Baker now always had sent up to her chambers after her evening toilette. The plate contained four slices of bread, cheese, grapes, and a handful of nuts. She took it.
Plate in one hand, a candle in the other, Dahlia walked quietly along the corridor.
Since she started writing again, various places in the castle inspired her to create scenes upon scenes.
This particular corridor was the setting in the second chapter where the young detectives followed the Countess and her lover.
“Will they get caught?” Beside the rose pots of the hothouse, Claire had excitedly asked and in the process knocked down her cup and spilled her tea on their picnic blanket.
“Get a hold of yourself, Claire, or Joshua shall hear us!” Mary hissed. Then turning to Dahlia, she had continued, “Well, will they?”
They shall not.
She now rarely lost her way in the castle. The twins had taken her from room to room, wing to wing, so that she now had a working knowledge of the castle’s layout. The living areas, she had most certainly mastered already.
She blew out her candle and slowed her steps as she neared the sitting room. The music from the pianoforte, still beautiful and haunting, drifted from behind the closed door.
He is home.
Balancing the things she carried in one arm, she quietly opened the door with the other. Again, there sat Peter, absorbed in his music.
What emotions are you feeling to create this tune?
As before, Dahlia stood by the door. And as before, he did not look up from the pianoforte. Suddenly feeling like a trespasser, Dahlia commanded herself to move. Quietly, she walked towards him.
Only when she stood behind him did he speak.
“Lost again, You Grace?” he asked in a cold voice as his fingers stopped playing.
Dahlia gasped softly, surprised that he had been aware of her presence all along.
“No, I was—I was looking for you.”
“You have found me,” he replied without turning to look at her.
“Peter, where were you? You were not present at dinner. I thought…”
“My apologies, I should have sent word.”
“Mary and Claire were looking for you.”
“Were they?”
“Yes.”
She bit her lip.
Oh, for pity’s sake, get a hold of yourself, Dahlia!
She put the plate of food she brought on the small table beside the pianoforte.
“I brought you some food. I wasn’t sure if you had already eaten.”
His eyebrows rose at the sight of the plate.
“Do not worry, I did not need to forage in the kitchens this time; Mrs. Baker has Cook sending me a plate every night. I wonder if she thinks me always hungry.”
And now I am rambling.
“Is there anything you need, Dahlia?”
“Your Grace. Peter…” She waited for him to face her.
When he finally did, she blew out a breath.
“I want to apologize for worrying you.” She rubbed her palms against her sides. “And I am sorry as well for the things that I said earlier today.”
“You—”
“Please let me finish.”
When he kept silent, she continued, “Mary and Claire told me about your mother. About how she died. I’m so sorry.
Had I known I would have… I would have understood your reaction to us in the snow—and to me after you rescued my carriage.
I want you to know that I regret the things I said. I’m sorry.”
The silence lasted for a long moment. Dahlia felt that she had said all that she needed to say about what happened. She hoped it was enough for him to understand her as well. For indeed, she did not think she could bear to have things remain as there were.
Peter studied Dahlia’s face. The vulnerability in her eyes, the soft line of her lips spoke of her sincerity, and this melted his aloof mien. Taking a deep breath, he let his shoulders relax and then moved sideways on the pianoforte bench. He gestured with his hand for her to sit beside to him.
“I may have overreacted when I saw the three of you buried in snow—”
“We were not buried in snow.”
He looked at her, silently asking for her to listen.
“I am not quite sure what happened, but at that moment, I could not think clearly. Just like in the carriage, after the hijacking. It felt as if things were happening all over again, and I had to stop them from happening.”
“What happened to your mother was not your doing. No one could have known, Peter. Blaming yourself will only prolong the pain.”
She surprised him when she laid her hand on top of his. Her warm palm reassuring him that all was well. Looking at her hand, Peter thought she might just be the kindest person he knew.
“I saw her in you, during the carriage hijacking—that is why I was so angry at you after.”
“Peter, you saved me. You and Matteo.” She waited for him to look at her, when he did, she continued, “That will not erase the pain of losing your mother, but please know that I am here now because of your actions. Please take some consolation in that, no matter how small.”
Her words felt like a benediction to his bruised heart.
“And you must learn to forgive yourself. Your love for her must be greater than your guilt or sorrow.”
Peter rested his elbows on his knees and gave a shuddering breath. How could Dahlia know so quickly the contents of his heart? In one afternoon, she was able to make him see that he was worthy of redemption. It would take a while, but Peter believed that he was ready to forgive himself.
Mother would have loved you.
He suddenly chuckled.
“I think I scared my sisters.”
He looked at her inquiringly, and she shook her head.
“I assure you that you did not. In fact, they were mostly worried about you. They—we—all looked for you during dinner.”
“Again, I apologize for not sending word. We had a few problems with a tenant’s roof, and it took quite a while to sort it out. I should have sent word,” he added again.
Looking once again at the hand that still rested atop his, he wondered if it would it be too much to hope for peace between them?
Is it peace that I want?
He had a sudden urge to hold her hand. As if of its own accord, his hand turned over, his fingers laced with hers. He watched her. Dahlia drew in a small, sharp breath but remained still.
“Dahlia,” he said after a moment. “Do you think we can move forward? Our arrangement, I know, is quite unorthodox, but the holidays are not so far away, and I would very much like to have some peace and quiet.”
He gently squeezed her hand.
“When I said that this marriage will allow for you to come and go as you please, they were not merely words. I mean to keep that promise.”
“Hmm,” was Dahlia’s only reply.
“But now that you are here—”
Now that I have you.
—can we perhaps make the most of it?”
“You mean will I be an obedient wife?”
The twinkle in her eye told Peter that she was teasing him.
“I hardly think that is possible.” He grinned in reply.
“Let us be friends,” Peter continued. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand that still joined with his. Her skin smelled of lavender.
Was it his imagination, or did he feel her shiver.
“You are cold,” he observed.
Standing up, he led her near the fire and, settled them both on the settee. He was very aware that they still held hands.
If she does not want to let go, I certainly shall not.
What did it say that his thoughts did not surprise him? But the day had been tiring, both physically and emotionally, for him, so he preferred not to dwell too much on his confusing feelings.
“Yes.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Let us be friends.”
Dahliah smiled at him. A full, sweet smile that turned her face radiant. For a moment, Peter stared. Against the glow of the firelight, her hair was a reddish gold. Reaching out he smoothed it away from her cheek.
Dahlia, transfixed by his gesture, did not move until the silence stretched out uncomfortably. Disconcerted, she finally looked down.
Peter cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat.
“Perhaps you can play the pianoforte again?” Dahlia suggested, her cheeks red. “You played so beautifully that other night; I was surprised.”
Standing up, Peter reluctantly let go of her hand.
“You are surprised that I can play beautifully?”
“No,” she said laughing. “I am surprised that you play at all. I would not have supposed you to be the musical type.”
“Then what type would you have supposed me to be?”
He reached the pianoforte again and started playing the same tune.
“That is a trap, Your Grace. I refuse to answer it.”
Peter chuckled.
“Ask me,” he said. “About you.”
“What type would you have supposed me to be, Peter?”
“Trouble,” he said with laughter in his eyes.
“Peter!”
Laughing, he paused his playing and walked to her again.
“You are fire.”
Against the dark, against the cold. Cleansing.
“Be stirring as the time, be fire with fire.” Peter held her gaze.
“Shakespeare.”
“King John, yes.”
“Well,” Dahlia said smiling at him. “I shall add ‘literary lion’ to your list as well.”
Peter’s smile widened into a grin.
Be careful, Peter. Remember the consequences. Remember the cost.
It might be too late.