Chapter 17 #2
When she was satisfied that they had the bows at hand, Dahlia asked Helena to help her in putting the pinecones on the tree.
They found Peter and Matteo, flowers in hand, debating about colors and locations.
“Strategically, it should be the amaryllis next,” Peter insisted.
“Strategically? Do you hear yourself, old man? This is not a battle plan!” Matteo said. “The colors must be random, like nature!”
“Gentlemen,” Dahlia said, amusement rife in her tone, “if only to maintain the peace, please allow me.”
She took one bloom from Peter’s hand and directed him where to put it.
Next, she took one from Matteo and pointed to where it would go.
They continued on in that manner until only a foot of tree was left undecorated.
Before that, Peter and Matteo, both over six feet in height had simply reached up and easily placed the flowers on their intended locations, but now, even their height proved insufficient for the much taller tree.
“How shall we tackle that?” Helena asked Dahlia. “Shall we fetch a chair?”
Looking around, they found that all the chairs, including the pianoforte bench, were taken up by the bow makers.
“Perhaps if I…”
Matteo, flower in hand, jumped and tried to perch the flower on the upper branches.
The result was less than spectacular as he nearly took the whole tree down with him.
Exclaiming in alarm, Dahlia and Helena rushed forward to save the tree, realizing that their efforts were not needed for Peter had predicted the outcome of Matteo’s actions and had stabilized the tree before any real damage was done.
“Perhaps not.” Matteo said scratching his head and looking embarrassed.
“Definitely not; you almost killed it… and us!” Helena said annoyed.
“Pardon, my enthusiasm, Lady Helena, I had not intended to murder anyone.” Beneath his breath, he added, “Merely to maim a tongue.”
“What did you say?”
“Absolutely nothing, My Lady,” Matteo said with a charming smile.
He cleared his throat and spoke to Helena in a curiously loud voice, “Lady Helena, perhaps I could lift you up, so you may reach the top of the tree without toppling it over.”
“What? Certainly no—oh!”
“It would be the most convenient way.”
“That would, indeed, be most convenient,” Helena spoke in a tone that matched Matteo’s, “but I am too tall; it might be too difficult for Your Grace to lift me that high.”
“Yes, you might indeed be too heavy.”
Peter and Dahlia both watched their friends, a mixture of laughter and confusion on their faces.
“Peter, perhaps you can lift Dahlia instead?” Matteo suggested.
“Yes, she is such a tiny thing that it would be much easier for you, Your Grace,” Helena added.
Dahlia and Peter looked at each other, unsure as to what to do.
“Shall we… try it?” Peter asked Dahlia tentatively.
He watched her as she considered her options. Finally making up her mind, she pointed a finger at him.
“If you drop me…”
Peter laughed aloud.
Ye of little faith.
“On my word as a gentleman, I shall not.”
“Very well,” she sighed. “This all happened because of me anyway. If someone were to get injured, it should be me.”
“I shall not drop you!” Peter laughed again.
Choosing the next flower, Dahlia prepared to be lifted as Peter took off his coat.
“Forgive my informal dress, ladies.”
Helena nodded.
When they were ready, Peter bent down and wrapped his arms around Dahlia’s knees. Lifting her up in a single motion, he sat her upon his right shoulder, wrapping his forearm across the front of her thighs. To keep her steady, his left arm went over her knees.
At Dahlia’s gasp, he steadied his stance.
“I have got you, Dahlia.”
“Oh my, so this is what it feels to be tall!”
She placed the flower on the tree, smiling nervously as she did so.
“Well done!” Helena said. Then turning to Matteo, she gave him a flower.
“Why thank you, My Lady. No one has ever given me flowers before.”
Helena gave him a look.
“You are taller. Please hand it to Dahlia, Your Grace.”
The others, now aware of what was happening, gathered around the fir tree and watched as Dahlia quickly completed the top portion of the tree. Impressed at their efficiency, Mary, Claire, Chastity, Mrs. Baker and Biddy clapped their hands as the last ornament was put in place.
“Wait, do not put Dahlia down yet, Peter,” Claire said as he prepared to do so.
“Here, you must hang this as well.” She held out a sprig of mistletoe which Matteo took and passed to Dahlia.
She, Mary, and Chastity had gathered some sprigs from a low hanging branch of a hawthorn tree that grew near the hothouse.
“Christmas will not do without mistletoe!” Chastity had told the giggling twins.
“Over there.” Claire pointed to the chandelier. “Can you reach it Dahlia?”
“Hold on,” Peter told Dahlia as he tightened his hold on her.
Her hand held on to the side of his head and neck. He walked carefully to the chandelier. Dahlia reached up and slid the mistletoe between the curving iron designs of the chandelier.
“There!” she said triumphantly.
Another round of applause broke within the room.
Slowly, Peter let Dahlia down. When her feet touched the floor, she swayed, and he stilled her. Her hands rested on his chest as she got her bearings back, his hands around her waist.
Peter felt invigorated, like an Olympian finishing a race. He could still feel her form as he carried her. Indeed, he could feel her in the entire room.
Slowly, she moved back, her hands sliding away from his chest. He knew it was with reluctance that he let her go.
“There,” he said smiling at her, playing down his reactions. “I have kept my word.”
“And so, you have. Thank you for not dropping me, Your Grace.” She smiled back at him then turned to the ladies as they went to survey their handiwork.
“Your face is all red,” Mary told Dahlia.
“Is it?” Dahlia covered her cheeks with her hands. “I don’t suppose I am used to being so high up.”
Matteo went to his friend and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Well done! You are not such an old man after all.”
Peter gave him an unimpressed look. He’d given Matteo so many that day that he half believed his face would freeze that way.
“I do believe you are winded, Peter; your face is all red as well—it must be from all that lifting.” His face split into a wide grin then added in a low voice. “Or could you be blushing?”