Chapter 13 #2
“Well, they never asked me to.” Dahlia looked away at this. “And besides, I was out in society by then, so I had to establish my own social life. I had my friends too.”
“I see,” Peter said. But he did not see. He understood that her parents had been very much in love, but it seemed to him that in their devotion to each other, they neglected their only daughter.
“Who were you left with when they went on their trips?”
“My governess, when I still had one. Then Biddy kept me company when I was already of age. John and Benson would accompany me when I needed to go out.” She smiled then. “When my parents came back from their travels, they always had interesting gifts for me.”
Peter imagined her as a girl bidding her parents goodbye, knowing they were off to see the world, and she was left behind to wait their return.
Perhaps losing a parent was worse, but having absent parents did not seem so far behind.
Again, that feeling of wanting to protect her made him clench his hands closed.
“I was very busy, you see. I had Celine and Helena; I had my own hobbies and my—” She hesitated. “—projects.”
Peter barely prevented himself from rolling his eyes.
Your Penelope Lovelace books you mean.
“I have led quite a busy life really.”
Perhaps it was true in recent years. But before that? When she did not yet have the freedom of adulthood, how did she cope with being alone? A tenderness for the young girl that Dahlia had been grew in Peter’s heart.
“I was also busy looking for the one, do not forget,” Dahlia said jokingly.
“Ah yes, the quintessential man.”
“Are you still laughing at him?”
“Certainly not, Your Grace,” Peter said laughing. “But I do wonder how it was that your idea of the one was formed.”
“Oh, that is quite easy to answer.”
Peter urged her to continue with a look.
“I had four suitors in my first season,” Dahlia said proudly. “My family was quite surprised, I tell you.”
“Shall I offer my congratulations?”
She elbowed him.
“But I did not accept any of them, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“I started to see from getting to know each of them what I wanted and what I did not want in a husband. They all had one or two things that I liked but more that I did not.”
“And so your list of requirements was born?”
She laughed.
“Yes, my list of requirements.”
“And you think that the one will bring you happiness?”
“Why of, course, Your Grace. Imagine this: another person who completely understands you, whose emotional and intellectual capacity are so close to your own that you finish each other’s sentences, that your feelings are perceived without you even expressing them.
Now imagine a life with that person; you travel together, have a family together, solve problems together, grow old together, maybe even die together. ”
Peter could see no face but Dahlia’s in his mind’s eye. Of course, she was his wife.
“That is love. Does not that thought bring you bliss?”
And if one loses the other? What then? What would be left?
Peter pushed the unhappy thought aside and instead focused on the picture that Dahlia painted. Though to him, the image was very surreal.
“I cannot fathom why anyone would not want to fall in love. It seems to me such a wonderous, glorious feeling!”
Their party had reached the milliners, the twins and their friends headed inside, but Peter and Dahlia stood where they were.
Dahlia’s face had glowed in her passionate explanation of love, her green eyes shone. Peter realized that he did not want to look away. Somehow, he could see the picture she painted very clearly in his mind. He had traced her cheek with his finger and smiled at her.
Now, as the carriage moved along the snowy road, he looked at Dahlia, who had fallen asleep beside him. Reaching out, he gently tipped her head, resting it on his shoulder.
Dahlia had closed her eyes just to rest them. She felt Peter lean her head on his shoulder.
He thinks me asleep.
She debated whether to declare that indeed, she was not asleep but soon decided that the time to do it had passed.
And so, she pretended that she was. Dahlia was surprised to realize that resting against his shoulder seemed the most natural thing to her.
The position was a good fit; his shoulder, sturdy and strong, was comfortable.
She saw them standing outside the milliners.
Dahlia had felt a shift inside her, as if her heart had made room for something new, something she had long sought.
For the past five years, she had crafted, built the image and character of the one, her one true love.
How was it that now, when she had no need of him—indeed could not pursue him—his face suddenly came into fruition. And it was Peter’s.
No. It cannot be. Not him, not this beast of a man, not this cold, dictatorial man.
But no sooner had those thoughts entered her mind then they had been replaced by others.
She remembered how concerned and caring he had been towards her and his sisters—his perceived fear for their health.
She remembered how Biddy had relayed his servants’ opinions of him, his sisters’ narrative of their family’s loss and what he had done to cope.
And just now, small a gesture as it might have been, she remembered how he had instructed Mrs. Smith to make Lady Trent’s new cape and cloak in a different color.
No lady wants to be seen in the same clothes as another lady of course. A small thing really, but he had thought of it. Even I had not.
She acknowledged that she had been wrong about him. Indeed, he was not the cold, heartless man who needed to be taught how to love, for he already knew how. She saw it in the way he loved his family, even those that he had already lost.
He cared deeply, and by fate, he had been hurt deeply. Because of that, he knew the price of love. Because of that, he had guarded his heart.
And yet, there were times when Dahlia felt that he looked at her differently. Was it just fanciful thinking on her part, or did he seem to have feelings for her as well? Was she the only one affected?
He did care for her, that she was sure of, but could he love her?
Dahlia felt a lump form in her throat.
So, this is what it feels like.
The carriage wound to a stop. They had arrived at Icedale Castle.
“Dahlia.” She felt a gentle nudge.
She did not move, still feigning sleep, for she found that she was not yet ready to face him. Not after such realizations.
“We are home; wake up, Dahlia.”
We are home. Yes. It is starting to feel like home.
And yet… and yet, she must leave it in a just over a fortnight’s time. Away from here and on to the freedom and independence that he promised as a replacement for the love that she had told him she sought. A freedom and independence that she now knew she did not want any longer.