Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Afew days after their arrival, Helena and Chastity were inducted into the Garden of Hesperides.
The Duke and the Aspiring Detectives was secretly lent to them, and by the time the next meeting was due, they had caught up with the Mary and Claire.
Holding the meetings in the hothouse was now out of the question, therefore a new Garden needed to be named.
Dahlia had thought the answer most obvious.
Her bedroom was the perfect place for it.
Although the master’s and the mistress’ private sitting rooms had connecting doors, they never had actually been used by either party.
It isn’t like Peter will visit my chambers.
And so, the afternoon found Dahlia, Mary, Claire, Helena, and Chastity in her bedroom.
“Let us use the bedroom and not the sitting room just to be sure,” she told them as they filed into her chambers.
When they had settled down, Dahlia took out the commonplace book she used to write down her new story. It had originally been intended as a journal, but once the twins had convinced her to write again, it had naturally transformed into her novel.
With expectant faces the twins and Chastity listened as Dahlia read the lines of her story. Helena, who leaned against Dahlia’s bedpost, smiled, obviously happy that her friend had gotten over her difficulties in the story and in her characters.
Everyone was quiet, their full attention on Dahlia’s reading. Only when she had read the entire chapter did the others speak again.
“Oh, I quite enjoyed that chapter!” Claire exclaimed. “I would never have thought that the Duke of Snowdon would marry! But look at him now!”
“And the detectives are in league with him. Finally!” Mary added.
Dahlia smiled appreciatively at their positive words. She had rewritten the chapter so many times that she had despaired of ever finishing it, but she finally had and was now gratified that it garnered such reactions.
“Dahlia.” Chastity frowned. “The Duke of Snowdon sounds awfully familiar.”
“Whatever can you mean, Chastity?” Dahlia swallowed.
“Well, he really reminds me of the Duke.”
“That’s because he is the Duke, silly!”
Dahlia pretended to misunderstand her. Deciding it safer to change the subject, she continued, “Who would like some refreshments? I shall ring for tea.” She stood up, but Chastity was not to be deterred.
“No, I mean the Duke of Icedale, your husband. Now that I think about it, the way he speaks certainly reminds me of His Grace.”
Dahlia shot Helena a look of help.
“Even his words during the sledding scene are very similar to His Grace’s yesterday when we, ourselves, went sledding!” Chastity continued. “The way he had scolded us for not wearing our complete snow wear and how he ordered us to put them on or else the activity would need to stop.”
“That was just a coincidence! Sledding is a very common activity you know.” Dahlia stood up from her chair and put her book away lest Chastity asked to read it again.
“A coincidence?” Chastity asked, unconvinced.
Dahlia had forgotten how persistent Chastity could get when she was convinced that she was right.
Like a dog with a bone.
“Well, I do base some of my scenes from real life happenings, you know. I must get inspiration somewhere!”
“So, you admit that your inspiration for the Duke of Snowdon is your husband?”
Evading Mary and Claire’s questioning looks, Dahlia went to the bell pull and rang for Biddy. When she turned to her friend again, they all looked expectantly at her, waiting for her answer. Helena, she noticed, looked apologetic.
Dahlia took a deep breath.
“Of course, Peter is not the Duke of Snowdown! For one thing, he is so much more than the character. He is–he is more complex and not nearly as brooding. As a matter of fact, Peter can be quite a thoughtful and caring person.”
“I’m not so sure,” Chastity replied. “He still seems like the same person to me.”
“How you do go on, Chastity,” Helena said berating her sister. “Come, let us go back to our chambers; we must get dressed for dinner.”
The younger sister shrugged her shoulders and stood up as she followed Helena out. Mary and Claire looked at Dahlia thoughtfully.
Claire was about to say something when Biddy entered the room.
“We—we shall see you at dinner, Dahlia,” Mary said instead.
Dahlia smiled at them in reply.
“Shall I ring for tea, Your Grace?”
“No, thank you, Biddy.” She moved to the window and looked out. Turning to Biddy again, she continued, “Actually, I would like to rest for a while before I prepare for dinner. Would you mind coming back again later, dear Biddy?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Biddy looked at her mistress. “Is it the headache? I can have Mrs. Ba—”
“No, no, I find that I am just a little fatigued. Nothing that a short rest will not cure.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Biddy, I shall ring for you when I am ready.”
When Dahlia found herself alone, she moved to the fireplace and watched its dancing flames.
She closed her eyes. Was she writing a romance between Peter and herself?
The Duke of Snowdon—the Duke of Ice—was now the Peter that she had come to know.
Gone was her antihero, in his place was Peter, just Peter.
She was writing a fictional life with her husband.
She went to her bed and sat down on it. Frustrated, she covered her face with her hands and fell back on the bed.
Peter set the candle down on the kitchen’s worktable. Going straight to the larder, Peter considered its contents; he chose a custard tart and the game pie. Taking them out and setting the items on the worktable, Peter went to get a knife and a plate to slice himself a piece of the pie.
Knife and plate in hand, Peter turned around and nearly dropped the plate as Dahlia, startled to see him, shrieked and accidentally tossed her candle to the floor.
“Will you please stop giving me a fright!” Dahlia bent down to retrieve the extinguished candle from the floor.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Peter said laughing at her. “Again, it was not my intention to startle you. And I thank you for not throwing the candle at me this time.”
She looked at the knife he held in his hand.
“I was about to slice the game pie.” Peter pointed to it. “Would you like some as well?”
She went to the table and put her unlit her candle on the table.
“That pie smells quite divine,” Dahlia said.
“There is a custard tart as well.”
He cut two slices and put both on the plate. They sat down on stools and with no utensils on about, used their hands instead.
“This is delicious! We must tell Mrs. Baker that we are the pie culprits.”
When they finished with the pie, they started with the custard tart. Dahlia split it in half and handed Matteo’s piece to him.
“Since you prepared the food, I shall get us some milk and return the pie to the larder.”
Their midnight meal satisfied them both. Now quiet, Peter and Dahlia studied the darkened kitchen.
“Shall we go?” Dahlia asked.
Peter nodded in agreement, and both stood up. He picked up his candle and led the way out of the kitchen. The castle was quiet; stillness surrounded them.
“I thought Cook has snacks brought up to you every night?” Peter said.
“I had three young ladies visit me tonight; they wanted some of the ribbon we used on the fir tree the other day. I heard talk of matching caps.” She grinned. “Of course, whatever food I had was gone before they left.”
“I see. And Lady Helena was not with them?”
“No, she was not,” Dahlia frowned. “When I asked Chastity where her sister was, she said that she had a meeting with Matteo.”
Peter raised both eyebrows at this information.
“Are they...? I warned Matteo not to—”
“Please! I am appalled that you could even suggest that.” Dahlia shook her head, giggling. “Helena is a very conscientious, very correct lady. Why, she is a fierce guardian to her sisters against such things!”
“I suppose Matteo would not dare as well, at least not while he is in my home and she is my guest.”
“Anyway, they do not even seem to be in the least attracted to each other,” Dahlia said thoughtfully. “Have you noticed how they seem to dislike each other?”
Peter actually thought that Matteo paid her friend too much unnecessary attention but did not say so.
Without waiting for Peter’s answer, Dahliah continued, “But what I also noticed is, despite them not liking each other, they seem to always be planning things together.” She eyed him; the candlelight could not hide the telltale flush on her cheeks.
Peter had hoped that Dahlia would not notice what he himself had; that Matteo and Helena were scheming to bring them together. Embarrassed, he sighed.
“I apologize for my friend. He seems to consider himself Cupid.”
“And I apologize for Helena as well. Such silliness, they seem to think us a couple of youths with no mind of our own.” She laughed, embarrassment tinting her cheeks.
They caught each other’s eye and just as quickly, looked away.
“Silly,” Dahlia said again.
“Yes, silly,” Matteo repeated.
Covertly, he studied her face; the blush was still there. She turned her head, and their gazes met again, but this time neither of them faltered.
Could she…? Perhaps…
He felt his heart beat heavily in his chest.
They turned down the corridor that led to each of their chambers. The master’s chambers would be reached first; the next door was the mistress’ chambers.
Peter, looking at her empty hand, noted that Dahlia had left her candle in the kitchen, and by the look on her face that she had just realized the same.
“I shall walk you to your room,” he said quietly.
“Thank you,” she smiled, “the food has made me slow tonight, I think.”
When they reached her door, Peter opened the door for her. Darkness and cold greeted them. Biddy had closed the drapes when she had left her mistress for the night. The fire, for some reason, had gone out.
“What has happened to the fire?” Dahlia said, trying to look through the darkness.
“Allow me to help,” Peter said.
Peter was very conscious of the fact that he entered Dahlia’s chambers for the first time since they had arrived at the castle.
Setting the candle on her desk, Peter found another one and lit it. Then he went to the fireplace to check what had caused the fire to extinguish.
Kneeling down, Peter moved the candle closer to the hearth. He took the poker and stoked the partially burned wood. He shook his head.
“This wood is unseasoned.”
He got up and looked at the stack of wood beside the fireplace. It was unseasoned as well. Shaking his head, he moved the poor-quality wood to one side of the fireplace.
“I shall get wood from my chambers. I shall be back momentarily.”
Without waiting for Dahlia’s reply, he straightened and headed to the door which led to her private sitting room. She quickly followed him. Walking straight inside, Peter opened the adjoining doors without hesitation and entered his own chambers.
He turned to look at Dahlia, who was clearly surprised to see that the adjoining doors were not locked.
How many times have I looked at those doors?
She stood just inside his chambers, waiting for him. After a few moments, they returned to her rooms, Peter carrying enough wood to restart the fire. When the fire blazed, he stood up and dusted his hands.
“That should be enough to last until morning.”
“The doors were unlocked.”
Peter took a deep breath. He turned slowly to face her.
“They have never been locked.”
“But—but why?”
Shaking his head, he could formulate no answer.
“You could have walked in here at any time?”
“You could have walked into my chambers at any time as well.”
“But I didn’t know the doors were unlocked.”
“Would it have mattered if you did?”
“I—I don’t know. Perhaps.”
Dahlia’s answer sent a thrill through Peter.
He walked closer to her, his gaze heavy as the implications of her words settled in his heart.
“What are you saying, Dahlia?
No longer able to maintain his gaze, Dahlia looked down.
“Tell me.”
When she looked up again, she was surprised to see Peter so close to her.
She gasped softy, not knowing how the sound affected him.
She moved back until she was blocked by her desk.
He followed her forward and stopped when she was a mere inch away.
With a finger under her chin, he lifted her face up to meet his eyes. Her green eyes would be his undoing.
“Perhaps Helena and Matteo have not been working in vain,” she said.
“Dahlia…”
“Perhaps I have formed some feelings towards you. I don’t know! What of it? I don’t—” She gestured wildly with her arm and in the process knocked over the candle.
“Oh, good heavens!”
Acting fast, Peter righted the candle and was in the process of pushing away a book that had been laid open on her desk when he stopped.
A word caught his eye. Duke. His attention now completely caught, Peter looked closely at the book.
Realizing what it was, he flipped through the pages and then finally went to the first page.
The Duke and the Aspiring Detectives
Dahlia, seeing what he was looking at, gasped again.
“Peter, give that to me!”
Closing the book, Peter gave it wordlessly to Dahlia. This time when he looked at her, his face was hard, and his voice was clipped.
“We had an agreement.”
“Peter, I—”
“I knew I should never have trusted you to keep your word.”
“No, if you just let me—”
Peter shook his head. How could he have been so trusting of her? This is what one got when one let their feelings rule over their mind. Peter took a firm grip on his emotions.
“Good night, Dahlia.”
Once again, he walked through her private sitting room until he reached the adjoining doors. He went through them and for the last time that night, closed the doors.
He felt betrayed, certainly lied to. He could not believe Dahlia capable of deceit. He was ashamed of how he nearly lost his resolve just a few minutes ago. Perhaps, he should thank fate, for it showed him early enough what weakness could cause him.
Peter headed to his desk and rummaged inside a drawer until he found what he sought. The keys to the doors.
Walking back to the adjoining doors, he put the key in the keyhole and turned it. The distinctive click of the lock sounded, and to Peter, it felt like it reverberated across his chambers, indeed across the whole castle.