Page 13 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

On the promenade deck, Miles leaned his hips back against the rail and shook his head, letting the breeze dry his hair. His muscles ached pleasantly from his morning spent in the boiler room, and his skin tingled from the scouring required to remove all of the coal dust. He had told Dahlia the truth. Peterman had fastidiously collected Miles’s dirty clothing and supervised his scrubbing. Miles had full confidence that not one speck of dust remained on either himself or in the cabin.

He stepped around to survey the quoits board, crouching behind one spindle and squinting to judge the distance required for the toss. The breeze would impact its trajectory, but that was easy enough to compensate for.

Returning to the rail, he watched as the other passengers made their way onto the deck and took up positions.

Ruben, Chatsworth, and Benedict were standing beside the boatswain, studying the quoit rings and adding their names to the scoreboard.

Dahlia and her friends sat beneath the awning. He noticed that the inspector, apparently feeling better, had joined them. The man appeared tired, and there was a blanket covering his legs, but his face had regained much of its lost color.

Dr. Jackson sat with the women as well, holding hands with Miss Thornton.

Miles attempted to catch Dahlia’s eye, but she was listening intently to Lady Covington. Based on the woman’s hand motions, she was no doubt describing the morning’s ship tour, specifically the workings of the engine.

A small distance away, their deck chairs clustered together, sat Lorene, Priscilla, Charlotte, and Helen. Lord Lockhart sat near the women—near Helen, at least, a closed book on his knee. Miles wondered whether he intended to participate in quoits today or would occupy himself with the book. The man had shown himself to be a worthy competitor, and Miles hoped to challenge him sometime during the cruise.

The older women on the ship, Lady Chatsworth, Lady Mather, Mrs. Griffin, and the Duchess of Dorchester, occupied a third group of deck chairs, with Her Grace’s companion knitting nearby.

Miles crossed the deck and joined the competitors and the boatswain. He looked at the board, surprised at the listings. It appeared the four men were not to form two teams but were each partnering with one of the elder women. Miles saw he was paired with the eccentric Lady Mather and grinned, giving a pleased nod. If not a battle of skill, this contest would certainly be diverting.

The first match was called out, setting Miles and Lady Mather against Chatsworth and his grandmother.

Hearing their names, the women left their deck chairs to join them.

Ruben and Benedict took the seats the women had vacated.

“Good afternoon, Lady Mather.” Miles gave his partner an elegant bow. “How am I so fortunate as to have the most engaging teammate on the ship?”

“Lord Meredith.” She curtsied in return. “I insisted upon it.” She gave their opponents an impertinent smirk. “I like to win, you know.”

Chatsworth laughed, and Lady Chatsworth gave a good-natured smirk back to her friend.

Miles thought he’d seen just a glimpse of what the women must have been like when they were younger. He knew their friendship had lasted for decades, and seeing the playful way the women still teased one another, he couldn’t help but laugh as well.

The men took the quoits, and the pairs separated, going to their sides of the court.

Lady Mather motioned to the Chatsworths with her chin, speaking under her breath. “Joanna is proficient with many things, but throwing contests is not one of them.”

Miles laughed again and offered her a quoit. “Shall we give them what for?”

She twirled it in her hand. “Quite so.”

The partnerships took their places and faced one another across the board.

The boatswain laid down markers on the deck, indicating where the ladies would stand to throw. The men would throw from behind the spindle. Lady Chatsworth threw first, and Miles had to step aside to avoid being hit by her errant toss.

She winced, glancing at her grandson.

The spectators clapped politely

“Just testing out the wind,” Chatsworth said, returning his grandmother’s parasol to her.

Lady Mather tossed next, her quoit coming very near the spindle but still missing.

“Well done,” Miles said.

She shook her head, giving a disappointed frown to the applauding spectators, and opened her own parasol.

Chatsworth tossed his quoit, hitting the spindle, and his grandmother clapped a hand against her parasol handle. “Excellent toss, Charles!”

Miles took up his position. He extended his arm, hand empty, in a few practice tosses, then took the ring, flinging it with a snap of his wrist. It sailed in a straight line, hooking the spindle and circling down to the base. He caught Chatsworth’s gaze and raised a brow.

Chatsworth smiled and shook his head at the cocksure expression, applauding the ringer with the others.

The boatswain called out the score, marking it on the board and calling for the new teams to be substituted in.

Miles picked up the tossed rings, giving them to Benedict.

Lady Mather tipped her head, watching him from beneath the shade of her parasol. “You look very much like your grandfather, you know. But I see some of your grandmother too. Here”—she pointed to her own face—“around the eyes.” She smiled softly. “She did have kind eyes. And she was very intelligent, you know.”

Miles was surprised by her gentler tone. Only a few moments ago, this same woman was boasting to her opponents. “I only knew her when I was very young,” he said.

She nodded. “Yes, it was such a tragedy when she passed. She was a true friend to me at a time when high Society had all but washed their hands of my mother and myself. After my father’s death, a cousin inherited the estate, and within only a few years, through greed and gambling, he had lost the inheritance entirely.” She took Miles’s arm, and they moved off the court, making way for the next team. They stood on the far side, near the rail and across the court from where the spectators sat beneath the awning.

“It is amazing how quickly so many supposed friends are willing to ostracize a person for something over which they had no control,” Lady Mather continued.

Miles followed her gaze to Dahlia, and he knew they were no longer talking about the cousin’s gambling. He knew he was being chastised and did not know how to respond. Instead of speaking, he feigned interest in the game.

Benedict and Lady Griffin took their place on the court, facing Ruben and the duchess, and the quoits tournament continued.

“I love that young woman like my own daughter,” Lady Mather said, either oblivious to Miles’s discomfort or perhaps in spite of it. “What she’s endured this past year...” She looked purposefully toward Ruben, then the Darling Debs, and back at Miles.

He felt the reprimand down to his bones, and heat flashed over his skin.

When his eyes met hers, Lady Mather’s expression was not castigating but gentle. “Dahlia suffered a slight that most would never come back from, but she’s risen magnificently from the ashes. Wouldn’t you say? Just look at her. Think of all she’s accomplished.”

Miles did look.

Dahlia was clapping with the others. She smiled at something one of her friends said. The heat that had been on his face a moment ago moved into his chest, expanding as he considered this magnificent ship and the endeavor it had taken to make it into a luxury cruise liner. What she had done was simply brilliant. He remembered the broken woman who had run from the marquess’s ballroom and compared her to this successful businessowner he saw before him. A phoenix from the ashes indeed.

“She has done what I never could,” Lady Mather said. “Thanks to the inheritance law, Dahlia is able to control her financial stability. But in spite of everything, one can never control the conduct of others.”

“After... the ball...” He glanced at Lady Mather, making certain she understood what event he was speaking of. “I tried to visit her. More than once. I went to her house; I invited her and her parents to supper... but she would not see me.”

Lady Mather’s face softened further, and he realized that instead of a critic, she was an ally, and he was relieved at last to have the chance to tell his side.

“It is hard to swallow one’s pride,” she said, looking sympathetic toward both of them. “Especially after such a humiliation. But time does heal. And, as for you, my lord, I know it is difficult to find your footing when your loyalties are divided.”

“Do you think,” he began, but he stopped when Benedict handed him the quoits. He and Lady Griffin had joined them. Miles hadn’t noticed that the game had ended. And with it, his and Lady Mather’s conversation.

“The pair of you have your work cut out for you, making up for my lack of aim.” Benedict grimaced. “I must apologize to my partner.”

Lady Griffin was holding on to Benedict’s arm with one hand and her cane with the other. “Lord Benedict is being chivalrous,” she said. “It was I, of course, who lost our points.”

“Lord Meredith will make up the difference easily,” Lady Mather said, giving her partner a thump on the arm.

Benedict and Mrs. Griffin argued graciously on the way back to their seats beneath the awning.

Miles and Lady Mather took their positions, facing Team Chatsworth once again. He looked to the scoreboard, calculating quickly the points they would have to make up. But his mind was no longer on the game.

Lady Mather had given him a lot to think about. He had hoped enough time had passed that he and Dahlia could simply resume their former friendship without discussing what had happened between her and Ruben—or, more specifically, what Ruben had done to her, how it had hurt her, how it had changed her life, and why Miles had not been more present during what must have been her darkest hours.

He reminded himself that he had made an effort. He thought of the flowers he’d brought, the cards he’d left... but if he were honest with himself, he could have done more. And how did one apologize for such a failure? For remaining loyal to the person who had wronged her? How could he explain his reasons for continued association with Ruben after his abominable behavior toward her? He did have reasons. And if she only understood, perhaps... He was not sure she would listen and was even less sure that she’d accept his explanation. But once he had an opportunity, he was going to try.

The quoits continued throughout the afternoon with different pairings. Miles and Lord Lockhart found themselves in a particularly competitive battle, their scores even with each round until at last, Miles’s toss was short, giving Lockhart the victory.

Once the match was finished, Miles shook Lockhart’s hand, congratulating him on a match well played, and took a seat under the awning, beside Inspector Graham. Miles gratefully accepted a glass of lemonade from a steward.

Lockhart returned to his deck chair beside Miss Rothschild, who gave him a cold lemonade and a warm smile.

Miles took a long drink of the lemonade and sat back in his chair. The shade felt good after the sun on the deck.

“Well played, Your Lordship,” Inspector Graham said.

Miles lifted his glass, thanking him for the compliment. “You look much improved, Inspector.”

“I am improved.” He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “The past three days are some I never want to repeat,” he said.

“I believe you,” Miles said.

“The worst part was that cursed tea.” His lip curled in revulsion. “It was meant to soothe the sick, but I could swear it made it worse.”

Miles grimaced, commiserating with the man. Though he did not suffer from motion sickness himself, he fully sympathized with having an ill stomach.

“You’ve seen nothing suspicious these past days?” Inspector Graham asked. “No further threat to Lord Benedict?”

Miles shook his head. “Nothing at all.”

“My wife thinks there is a conspiracy afoot.” The inspector grunted as he shifted in his seat. “She’s always looking for a story.”

“And you?” Miles asked. “What do you think?”

“I think there’s no reason to believe the situation is any more than what it is. An attempt at harm. But until the villain shows his or her hand, there is nothing we can do other than remain on our guard.”

Miles nodded, his gaze moving past the inspector to where Dahlia sat talking with Lady Covington. Was Her Ladyship still talking about the engine room? “I intend to remain alert, to safeguard both Benedict and Miss Lancaster.”

“Good man,” the inspector said. “I will do the same. Jim and Lord Chatsworth will be vigilant as well. And we shall hope that, seeing it, the culprit will let go their design to do injury.”