Chapter 12 #2
“There is the church, Dahlia.” Mary pointed. “Our vicar is Mr. Lennox. He has been here about three years now. He gives excellent sermons.”
“Speak for yourself, Mary,” Claire added. “I am barely awake when he starts talking.”
Suddenly remembering that Peter was with them, Claire continued in a serious voice, “But of course his sermons are excellently written.”
Peter looked outside and covered a smile. He cleared his throat and addressed his sisters.
“Shall we head first to the dressmakers?”
“Yes, let’s do, Peter,” Claire replied, enthusiastic again. “Our timing is perfect too as the new seamstress just started in Mrs. Smith’s employ. My friend, Melissa, said that she heard the new seamstress previously worked for a French modiste.”
“Is your London modiste also from Paris, Dahlia?” Mary asked.
“I go to my mother’s, so yes.”
“London shops are always so much more fashionable than our local ones,” complained Claire.
“Fashionable yes,” Peter said suddenly joining the conversation. “But I believe that the technique and craftsmanship of our local hands are better.”
“Surely, you know that to us females, appearance is of the utmost importance, never mind the craftsmanship!” Dahlia said in jest.
“Let us see if you still believe that when the sleeves of your gown start falling off.”
“Peter!”
Mary and Claire laughed.
Peter watched the three ladies. He was pleased to see how well they got along.
And although Dahlia was to stay with them for only a few more weeks, he was happy that Mary and Claire would get to know her better.
He appreciated the effort Dahlia made in befriending his sisters.
Whether she was aware of it or not, she was gradually drawing them out.
Perhaps what she said about wanting sisters was her motivation, but whatever it was, there was no denying the fact that she was good for Mary.
And Claire. Certainly better than he was with them.
He frowned in thought.
What if Mary and Claire have a hard time when the time comes for Dahlia to leave? Perhaps encouraging this friendship might not be the best idea.
But he knew that it was too late; they were already getting along splendidly. He would just have to hope that they would recover fast.
What if she stays?
His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He had not seen Mary and Claire this open, this lively in such a long time.
What if?
His mind refused the idea. He knew what that entailed. He knew what that could cost.
“The heart, it betrays you, Peter. It gives and gives, but it asks so much—too much in return. The price is too dear. Never do as I did. Never give your heart away.”
The words, the darkness and the smell of brandy, and the never-ending bouts of depression were etched in Peter’s mind exactly as he witnessed them.
And so as he had done for many years now—as he was told to do—Peter tempered his feelings.
They arrived in Stilton at half past two in the afternoon. As planned, they went to the dressmaker’s first. They were greeted by Mrs. Smith, the dressmaker herself, upon their entering the establishment.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace, my ladies.” The dressmaker curtsied to them.
Peter introduced Dahlia to her, and he could see from her expression that word of his marriage had already spread in the village if not the county.
“We will need a whole set of winterwear for the Duchess,” Peter continued. “How soon can you complete them?”
Mrs. Smith considered for a moment.
“I will need a fortnight for the whole set, Your Grace.”
“I am afraid that will not do, Mrs. Smith.” Peter chuckled. “Her Grace is already very cold, and it is getting colder by the day.”
Dahlia caught his eye and bit back a laugh, but she kept silent he interacted with the dressmaker.
“Your Grace, the materials, we will have to—”
“What about these?”
Peter gestured to the garments on display, a dark blue cape with fur lining and a cloak made of fine material.
“This is merino cloth, Your Grace.” She gestured for Dahlia to see. “Fine and hardy for our colder winters here. But it is my displeasure to inform you that I was about to present these garments to Lady Trent, Your Grace.”
“Lord and Lady Trent are currently in London for the Little Season; surely you have time enough to make her new ones before she returns?” Peter smiled at the dressmaker.
Mrs. Smith found that she was not immune to the Duke’s smile, nor to his patronage, and she was therefore convinced to grant his request.
“Excellent.” Peter glanced at Dahlia with a wink. “Might you make Lady Trent’s in a different color altogether?”
The dressmaker and her seamstresses proceeded to whisk through the shop, measuring Dahlia with pins, tapes, and ribbons until she laughed and batted them gently away.
Mary and Claire were measured for new capes as well. Beside Dahlia, the twins talked about the latest fashion trends in London. When they finished, they watched as Dahlia was fitted with the cape.
“Claire look, it is Melissa and Antonia,” Mary suddenly said, pointing out the window.
The mentioned young ladies were about to enter the draper’s shop across the street.
“Peter, we would like to go meet our friends for a few minutes; will that be all right?” Claire asked. “It has been a while since we called on them, or they on us.”
“If Dahlia does not mind, I am sure I shall not as well.”
“Of course, I shall not mind.” Dahlia smiled at them. “Go and meet with your friends. I shall be here for quite a while, I think.”
Mary and Claire left excitedly, promising to be back in a few minutes’ time. Peter, who had made himself comfortable by the fireplace, watched Dahlia. The buzzing of activity around her gave her cheeks a rosy hue.
Not for the first time that day did visions of the past night enter his mind. He remembered how the firelight danced across her features.
Fire.
Brightness and warmth.
He began to believe he needed that warmth more than he’d known.