Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
“Peter.”
Peter looked up from his newspaper. He and Dahlia were the only ones left in the breakfast room. Mary and Claire, having started earlier than them, had finished and excused themselves.
“Yes?”
“Would it be all right with you if I invite my friend, Helena, for a short visit?” She raised the piece of parchment she had been reading. “I have just received a letter from her, and I find that I am quite missing my friends.”
Peter studied Dahlia.
Is she sad here? Has she got tired of our company so soon?
He felt somewhat hurt. He had thought she was enjoying living in the castle and becoming friends with Mary and Claire, with him. It was illogical, he knew, considering their arrangement and plans. But there it was; he felt it, nonetheless.
“Of course, she is more than welcome for a visit,” he replied, masking his hurt. “Afterall, I only met Lady Helena very briefly after the…”
The wedding.
He wasn’t sure if they should be talking about it.
It certainly never came up in their discussions.
To be sure, they did not talk about the future either.
After he had told Dahlia about the purchase of the house in London, they had never had a discussion involving it again.
So, it seemed that they were suspended in the moment. The past and the future were taboo.
He cleared his throat.
“It would be my pleasure to host your friend,” he continued.
He folded his newspaper and laid it beside his empty plate. Having finished some minutes ago, he had stayed to accompany her while she ate.
“Country society is, indeed, not as varied as that of Town—at least it is not like what you are used to, I presume.”
“Oh, please do not think that I am weary of the present company; that is far from it!” She laid a hand on his arm, worry on her face. “I assure you I am not—quite the opposite really.”
Then she continued with a smile, “I was just thinking how lovely it would be to see my friend before the holidays. Celine cannot travel of course; she will soon be in confinement.”
Peter felt relief wash through him. He smiled.
“Well, since we shall be having a visitor, I think I shall invite Matteo for a stay as well. That is, if you would not mind?”
“Of course not. It would be lovely to see His Grace again.”
Her hand still rested on his arm. Peter kept still.
“Might Helena bring a sister with her? So that she will not be alone in the journey.”
“By all means.”
It was fortuitous, this proposed visit from her friend, for he had in fact been pondering how to meet with Matteo as they had some business matters to discuss regarding a joint venture.
He had considered riding to London for a short stay but was not really leaning towards that.
In truth, he had no wish to leave Icedale Castle.
But now, since they were having visitors, he might as well invite his friend over to stay as well.
In the back of his mind, he thought the distractions might be a good idea as well. Dahlia was a constant figure on his mind. It alarmed him how often he wanted to be in her company. Many times, he had stopped himself from joining her and his sisters.
He knew that the hothouse was a favorite of theirs. Yesterday, he had debated with himself whether he should join them, but at the last minute, he decided it was not the wisest thing to do. What would his excuse be for joining them?
Everyone in the castle knows I do not frequent the hothouse, not since mother…
Grunting, he berated himself.
And why must I need an excuse? It is, after all, my hothouse! It is my castle, my land!
Peter felt like a petulant child, but in the end, he had followed his earlier decision. And so, he had watched from a distance as they left the hothouse, Dahlia with a book tucked under her arm, Mary carrying a picnic basket, and Claire clutching freshly cut blooms.
What a scene they had presented in the fading light of that winter day. Peter felt his heart soften as he watched them walk towards the castle.
Like a real family. Where one found kindness and trust.
Perhaps that scene was his undoing, for he could not hold himself back. He walked to them to join their trek back. The welcoming smile on Dahlia’s face was something to behold.
Am I fighting a losing battle?
“Thank you, Peter.” She turned back to her breakfast. “I shall write to Helena and tell her that they are expected.”
“A pleasure Dahlia.”
Then with a mischievous smile, he reached for the last blueberry scone on her plate.
Dahlia absolutely loved the hothouse. When she was younger, she had been desperately jealous of her cousins for their hothouse. The idea of enjoying summer blooms and summer fruits in the middle of winter had astonished her young mind.
Spending time in the hothouse with Mary and Claire for their secret reading club was a completely different experience from spending time by herself picking fruits and choosing flowers for the castle’s various rooms—hers included.
Joshua had produced new gloves and pruning shears for her. Perhaps, she flattered herself, it was Peter who had instructed him to do so. She had a feeling it was he, for somehow, he seemed to know everyone’s every move in the castle.
Which means that he knows the twins and I are spending time in the hothouse. Perhaps it is time for us to find a new location for our secret reading club.
She made a mental note to ask the twins for recommendations.
Her favorite among all the hothouse blooms was the rose. Perhaps that was predictable, perhaps that was common and boring even, but the rose, to Dahlia, was a classic.
Look at the curve of its petals, its full blooms and satin texture. Is there anything that can display femininity more than the rose? I think not.
Indeed, they made her feel very feminine. Inspired, she snipped off a bloom and tucked it behind her ear.
Continuing with her task, she did a quick inventory of stems.
Let me see: the pink ones for Mary’s room, yellow for Claire’s room, white for the sitting room, and the red for mine.
She had cut enough for each arrangement. Laying them neatly on the worktable she paused.
Shall I cut some for Peter’s room? I think I shall!
Mischievously, she chose the pink ones for him. She started giggling at the image of Peter discovering the pink roses on his bedside table.
“I hope you are not considering turning those poor roses into pincushions, Dahlia.”
Dahlia jumped, and in her surprise, she threw a stem of pink rose at Peter. He caught it in his hand and grinned.
“Why, thank you, Your Grace,” he said with a wide grin.
“Peter, you are very lucky that it was not these pruning shears that I threw at you!”
“I apologize for startling you. Indeed, I should have walked louder.”
Dahlia gave him a look.
“I hope you have been enjoying the hot house?”
Forgetting her annoyance at him, Dalia’s face lit up with pleasure.
“It is wonderful! I have always loved hothouses ever since I was a child. The things to be found in them!”
She pointed to the newly cut roses on the table.
“Look, is it not a marvel to have roses in the middle of winter?”
“It is indeed,” he said smiling. Moving closer to the table, he examined the cut stems.
“Is everything in order for our visitors’ arrival tomorrow?”
As they talked, Dahlia put the stems in her basket.
“Yes, everything is arranged. Mrs. Baker has identified which chambers to assign to them. She said that Matteo will be given his usual rooms.”
“If there is anything else that you need, you must let me know”
“Thank you, Peter.”
“Not at all, Dahlia.”
She put down the shears then took off her gloves.
“Well, I am done here. I should call Joshua to—”
“Allow me.” Peter took the basket from the table and carried it.
“Thank you.”
Putting on their coats, they stepped out into the snow.
“How long have you and Matteo been friends?”
“Since university. Too long in my opinion,” he jested.
Dahlia recalled the night of her rescue; she remembered how he and Matteo had worked together. Looking back, she could now appreciate their coordination. To have worked so well together would have entailed trust in the other’s capabilities as well.
Outside of his family, Matteo was the only other person Dahlia knew that Peter had strong ties to.
“We met when we were both seventeen.”
He steered Dahlia towards the packed snow path the gardeners and the stablehands had worked on that morning.
“Some older boys pitted us against each other; they wanted to create a rivalry between us for their entertainment. We were both set to inherit dukedoms you see. But we soon discovered what they were up to and decided to team up against them instead. We tried to set up boyish pranks as retribution.”
“What horrid boys!” Dahlia exclaimed indignantly. “I hope you were able to teach them a lesson or two with your pranks!”
Peter laughed.
“Not even close, most of the pranks failed. We were labeled the Poor Dukes after that. It took a year for the other boys to stop using the nickname, but it stuck for Matteo and me. We dropped “poor”of course,” he chuckled as the remembrance lit his eyes.
Again, Dahlia tried to imagine him as a young man. His mother would have still been alive when he was in university. She remembered Mary and Claire’s description of him then.
A charming, devoted brother.
Did he have any fun at all now? An idea formed in her mind.
“Peter, Mary and Claire would like to practice some dance steps after dinner tonight, and I shall be tutoring them. Will you be so kind as to play for us? It will be very difficult if I play and teach dance steps at the same time.”
They entered the castle. A footman helped them with their coats as Mr. Cooper took the basket of roses from Peter. The butler turned to Dahlia.
“Shall I have Mrs. Baker prepare the flowers for you, Your Grace?
“Yes, please do let her know.”
“Will you be using the same vases, Your Grace?”
“Yes, but perhaps instead of the white, I shall use the blue this time. Thank you, Mr. Cooper.”