Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Dahlia stood in front of the mirror wearing the cloak. Mrs. Smith circling around her with her measuring device, paused. Calling for the assistant who had left to fetch more pins, Mrs. Smith smiled apologetically at Dahlia.
“Forgive me Your Grace, my seamstress is still new. I shall just go and see what is taking so long.”
With a curtsy, she left Dahlia and Peter in the room.
“Peter,” Dahlia called out, “might I request your assistance?”
Peter stood up and went to her.
“At your service, Your Grace.” Peter bowed. “What may I assist you with?”
“I am afraid to move, for this cloak is covered in pins. Would you please sweep aside my hair?”
She inclined her head slightly as if to show him the offending locks that the repeated fittings had partially undone from her coiffure. They fell over her face. Dahlia, at first, had tried to ignore the itchy and tickly sensations, but it had reached the point where she no longer could.
“They are tickling my nose,” she said.
Peter’s hand carefully reached for the said locks of curly red hair and just as carefully tucked them behind her ear.
Dahlia fought a gasp as his hand brushed her ear. Her skin tingled, and her breath came faster. Is this how Penelope Lovelace’s heroines feel?
“There, shall that do?”
“Actually, if you could just scratch…” She tipped her right cheek toward him.
Peter chuckled and proceeded to do as she asked, gently running his fingernails across her soft skin.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes, immensely better, thank you,” Dahlia replied with relief.
“It is a pleasure to be at your service, Your Grace,” Peter added with mock formality.
They grinned at each other, and Peter resumed his seat by the fire.
“Tell me, Peter, do Mary and Claire play the pianoforte as well?”
“Yes, they do actually”
“Are they as proficient as you?”
“Surely you cannot expect me, a gentleman, to answer that. You must determine for yourself and oblige them to play when we return to the castle.”
“A bit of a diplomat are you?” she teased him.
“Being the guardian to two young ladies, one must be,” he replied with humor.
“The pianoforte you have is a beautiful instrument. Has it been in the castle long?”
“Quite.” Peter paused to consider. “It has been there for as long as I can remember. And I have been playing it for as long as I can remember. Unfortunately, I do not play so much now as I did before. At least not as much as I would want to.”
“You should then.”
“Yes, perhaps I shall.”
“And you, Dahlia? Do you play the instrument? Or any other?”
“Yes, the pianoforte too, to a degree.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means that I was taught to play the pianoforte, but I never became terribly proficient.”
“Then perhaps practice sessions are in order—that is, if you’d like them.”
“And shall you be teacher or audience, Your Grace?”
“Both, I imagine.”
She smiled warmly at him, and he smiled back.
When Mrs. Smith returned, it was with two other seamstresses. They worked efficiently, Mrs. Smith conversing pleasantly with Dahlia.
When the cloak came off, the dressmaker begged for a little more of Dahlia’s patience as she promised to return shortly.
“Have seat while you wait.” Peter gestured to the chair beside him.
“Thank you, I had forgot what a chore getting fitted was.”
“I thought most females enjoy acquiring new clothes?”
“We enjoy wearing them; the measuring, the pin-pricking and the endless turning, we most certainly do not.”
Peter frowned and scanned her from head to foot. Concern was written on his face.
“Have you been pricked? Why did you not say anything? Mrs. Smith should—”
“No, please, Your Grace! I did not mean that Mrs. Smith turned me into a pincushion.”
The conversation made Dahlia recall an incident with Celine and Helena many years ago involving pincushions and apples. She started laughing—to Peter, seemingly out of nowhere.
He watched her as her laughter turned almost uncontrollable, tears streamed down her cheeks.
Not a little amused, Peter took out a handkerchief and presented it to Dahlia, which she accepted gratefully. A few moments found her finally in control of her mirth. She wiped her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
Peter looked at her, a question in his eyes.
“Perhaps you would like to share what had you rolling with laughter?”
“Oh, no, I think I’d rather not.”
“Dahlia, you cannot expect me to accept that answer, not after I just witnessed you almost run out of breath from whatever it was that you found extremely funny.”
Her laughter threatened to return again, and Dahlia covered her mouth and took deep breaths. She considered telling him.
Well, why not? It is not as if Celine and Helena will ever know that I told him the story.
“Very well, but in return, you must tell me a funny story of your own experience.”
Peter paused then nodded.
“Very well.”
Dahlia sat straighter on her chair. She leaned towards him.
“I was having tea with friends, we were at—er, friend number one’s house—”
“Celine’s house.”
Dahlia gave him a scolding look. He dipped his head in apology.
“Tea had just been brought in, sandwiches and cakes as well, and a platter of fruits too. I was showing my friends an embroidery project that I was about to complete. My second friend—”
“Helena.”
“Will you stop!”
“Apologies, please do go on.”
She sniffed haughtily, then continued, “They asked me to show them a technique that I had used; it was quite complicated, so I brought out my embroidery things. Before long, we had moved aside the tea things and had almost completely covered the table with them. I think an hour probably passed, we hardly noticed. But Helena was due home, and I had another call to make, so I packed up my embroidery things back into my basket.”
Peter listened intently. With his right hand supporting his chin, he leaned closer to her, genuinely interested.
Gratified, Dahlia continued, “We were already at the door when Celine’s butler hurried to us.
I had forgotten something, he said. When he gave it to me, it was an apple impaled with numerous needles.
I quickly checked my pin cushion and realized that we had used the apple unknowingly in its stead!
I shall never forget Mr. Walter’s face as he handed me that poor apple! ”
Here, Dahlia laughed again. She knew that had she been in a more private setting, she would be howling with laughter.
Peter’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but she could not tell whether he laughed at her or at her story.
Mrs. Smith’s return sobered them both. Dahlia took a deep breath once again and mastered herself.
“One final set of measurements, if you please, Your Grace.”
“Of course, Mrs. Smith. I shall be as still as a statue.”
The minutes went by, and soon, they were finished.
“We are grateful for your patronage, Your Grace.” Mrs. Smith curtsied. “The pieces will be brought to you in two days; if there is anything else at all that I can help you with, please do not hesitate to let me know.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Smith”
In perfect timing, the door to the dressmaker’s shop opened, and in stepped Mary and Claire.
“Melissa and Antonia are headed to the milliners as well. We would like to walk with them if you don’t mind Dalia?” Mary asked.
“You know I shan’t, my dear.”
With their business as the dressmakers completed, the party—with the addition of the two friends—started the walk to the nearby milliners.
The friends walked together, leaving Peter and Dahlia to themselves. Peter presented his arm, and she took it.
“It is your turn, Peter.”
“Ah, yes, a funny story. Let me see.”
“It cannot be a fabricated one, Your Grace!”
“I am appalled that you should think I would even dare to fabricate one.”
“Please, I have too many male cousins to know how your kind works!”
Not really. Certainly not you.
Dahlia was well aware that she was having quite a wonderful time.
To the world, she thought, they probably presented the image of an amiable couple.
But it was true, they were, both of them, being very amiable.
She remembered her promise to herself at the start of their betrothal—she would find joy wherever she could.
And indeed, she was glad to say that there was joy to be found in this new friendship.
“I have it,” Peter said. “It involves, my friend—”
“Matteo.”
See how you like it!
She gave him a sweet smile.
Peter laughed and chucked her gently under the chin.
They purchased velvet bonnets, caps trimmed with fur, scarves, muffs, kid gloves, and a variety of other winter accessories. The apothecary was visited after that. Peter was constantly surprised at how many things were required for a lady’s wardrobe and toilette.
Still, he accompanied Dahlia and his sisters with patience and indulgence.
Mary and Claire looked at him in surprise on more than one occasion.
Was his being amiable that big of a surprise to them?
He felt guilty over this, and as if to make up, he indulged them that day even in the smallest of things.
Now, as they headed back to the castle, he watched as his twin sisters, sitting in front of him, leaned back against the carriage seat and drifted to sleep. Beside him, Dahlia also had her eyes closed.
He recalled their conversation as they walked behind Mary and Claire when he had asked her about her family.
“Papa and Mama are very social. They love going out and being with their peers. They also take trips very frequently.”
“So, you’ve been to see a number of places.”
“Oh, no, not me. I rarely come with them.”
“They leave you?”
“Well, they had to. Especially when I still had my schooling.”
“On the summer holidays then?”
“We usually went to Cosgrove, my family’s country estate. They had a large group of friends there, too.”
“What about when you were of age?”
“I did not go then either.”
“Whyever not?”