Chapter 21 #2
A sennight back with her parents—she loved them, but Dahlia felt that she had finally outgrown them. Why would such an organized man not have handled this better? Her heart gave a heavy beat at the answer that came to mind.
Perhaps he delayed, perhaps he did not push through with the purchase but has not told me yet. Perhaps he wants me to stay.
“Stop it!” she admonished herself.
Stop with all these daydreams, stop with all this nonsense. It is time to move on.
She had said her goodbyes to Mary and Claire the night before.
Indeed, she had planned it as such, for she preferred for them not to see her leave.
Dahlia was not sure if she could handle seeing the twins vanish from her sight as the carriage took her away from the place she now thought of as home.
And so, she had not told them that she was to leave before breakfast. They would wake up to find her gone.
She surveyed her rooms one more time, how they suited her. Thinking of her own rooms at her parents’ house, Dahlia wondered how they would ever seem enough now. Not their size, not their decorations, no, but the memories.
“Your Grace, the carriage is waiting. We must leave soon so as not to arrive too late in London,” Biddy said quietly.
Even Biddy sounds sorry to go. She will miss having her own room.
Despite herself, Dahlia smiled at that.
“I shall be down shortly, thank you, Biddy.”
She made one more round of her chambers, completing a circle which ended with her private sitting room.
That door.
She stared at the adjoining door to the master’s chambers.
Suddenly angry, she marched to it and turned the door handle, fully prepared to have it remained shut. When the door opened, Dahlia gasped and let go of the handle as if it burned her hand.
Oh, he’s not here. Thank goodness!
Dahlia could not help it. She peeked inside Peter’s private sitting room and saw that the door to his bedroom was ajar.
The quiet of the room told her that there was no one about.
From where she stood, she could see directly into his bedroom.
She saw his desk and placed on top of it was her present for him.
When he had not opened it last night, Dahlia had not minded very much.
Perhaps he wants to open it in private. In truth, I hoped that he would not open it there, for I do not wish to know his reaction.
But seeing it now, the morning after Christmas, still unopened, stung her.
“Why am I even surprised?” she heaved a great sigh which threatened to turn into a sob.
“Goodbye, Peter. I love you.”
And because she had finally said it, Dahlia rushed out of the mistress’ chambers, down the corridor, down the grand staircase, across the great hall and finally, out of the castle door.
Peter was there. Dahlia half-hoped that he would not be.
Mr. Cooper and Mrs. Baker stood behind him.
What has he told them, I wonder?
Seeing Mrs. Baker’s red rimmed eyes gave Dahlia an idea.
The simple truth of course. Dahlia hoped they did not assume that she thought them lacking in any way. To reassure them, she smiled warmly at them both and nodded her thanks.
Biddy entered the carriage. Following her, Dahlia walked quickly.
Peter caught her hand.
Surprised, Dahlia turned.
“Safe travels, Dahlia,” Peter said softly. “My—my solicitors will be in touch when the house is ready. It won’t be long.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
“If there is anything you need, anything at all, please—”
“Contact your solicitors,” Dahlia cut him off. “Yes, I shall, thank you.”
He stood silent, watching her, his hand still holding hers.
“We best be off; we would not want to arrive too late in London,” Dahlia repeated Biddy’s words.
Peter nodded.
“Peter.” Her hand tightened in his. She reached up and softly kissed his cheek.
Peter’s arm went around Dahlia. Pressing her close, he inhaled the scent of her. Then quickly letting go, he handed her inside the carriage and closed the door.
When the carriage moved, Dahlia refused to look back at the castle, and she refused to look back at Peter. At the life that had almost been hers. She wondered if she would ever come back here, if she would ever see Mary and Claire again.
Perhaps in a ball in London, perhaps in Hyde Park.
The thought brought tears to her already brimming eyes.
Would she ever see Peter again? Perhaps it was best if she did not. No, she did not want to see him again.
Liar.
The tears fell hard and fast. Dahlia crumbled in her seat.
“Oh, Your Grace!” Biddy embraced her.
“Do not call me that, Biddy!” she said between sobs. “I am not his wife in truth. I refuse to be an empty duchess.”
Peter stood watching the fire in his bedroom, a drink in his hands. Checking the time on the clock, he estimated that Dahlia should have arrived at her parents’ house half an hour ago.
As soon as the carriage started to move from the driveway, Peter had turned around and walked back inside the castle. He had gone straight to his study and buried himself in work.
At breakfast and luncheon, he thought of sending word to Mary and Claire that he would be busy with matters of business, but at the last moment, he decided that it would be best if he joined them.
He had judged right, for the twins were devastated to learn that Dahlia had already gone.
“What are your plans for the day?” he asked, trying to make conversation.
How quiet the meal is. How quiet the castle is.
“Nothing exciting. I shall be trimming my bonnet,” Mary said, trying her best as well.
When Claire did not answer, Peter tried again.
“And you, Claire?”
“Ouch!”
Peter knew Mary kicked her under the table. She gave her sister a dirty look.
“I shall be in the hothouse.”
Apparently, that was all that Peter was going to get. And so, the meal finished with nary another word uttered between them.
Dinner was not any better. But there, they dropped all pretense of politeness and simple finished their food and said good night.
He found no one in the sitting room that night. Peter could not bear looking at the empty room, so he had gone up to his chambers instead.
He crouched by the fire and stoked it, remembering the night that he had built Dahlia a fire in her chambers. That was the first time that the doors between their rooms had been opened.
“And then you went ahead and locked them.”
He sighed. Standing up, he went to the said doors and opened them. He had found them just like that when he returned to his chambers.
“Did you open the doors, Dahlia?” he asked her shadow.
In his heart of hearts, he wished that she had opened them even before. He saw her, in his mind’s eye, going to him. Telling him that she wanted the genuine thing.
Kiss me because you care for me as I do you. Because your heart tells you to as mine does.
No! He was right not to do so. He knew why.
It was like watching his father fade before his eyes after Peter’s mother died.
His father had let go of all his responsibilities, including his children.
Peter had no choice but to take over the running of the estate.
He became the Duke in all but name. And then, not too long after that, his father left them as well.
He had become wasted and deeply sad; it was as if he simply willed his heart to stop beating.
Neither would he be manipulated into doing what he did not want to do. Others had tried before, especially when he had just inherited the dukedom. Leering at him, waiting for him to fail, all the while giving him advice, claiming friendship with his family. How could he trust anyone?
And yet… and yet he trusted Dahlia. Everything she said, every word she told him since they had come to matter to each other was the truth. With her, he felt… free.
But what did all of it entail? What was asked of him? His surrender.
“I cannot!”
To give himself wholly was to take away whatever control he had. That was love. And love ran a man aground until there was nothing left but the shell of what he used to be. It took everything and gave nothing. No, he would not let that happen. He knew he could not let that happen.
He could not be like his father. But what was it like to be him? Peter. In control, powerful, safe—alone. Was this what he really wanted? For the longest time it was. And now?