Page 14 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

The next morning after breakfast, the passengers disembarked at the port of St. Aubin’s Bay on the island of Jersey. It was the third morning of the cruise, and the weather was warm and sunny. Since their destination of Gorey Harbour was too small to accommodate the ship and had no dock, Victor had arranged for excursion cars to transport them.

Dahlia led the group to the waiting carriages, surprised that an island of fewer than fifty square miles would boast such large conveyances. The carriages had no roofs or sides. And in addition to the drivers’ seats, there were four long benches behind, which were long enough for three or four riders on each.

As Dahlia paid and gave instructions to the drivers, the ship’s passengers began to climb aboard the carriages, taking their seats. Two conveyances departed, and Dahlia walked with the driver to another. She was pleased to hear the happy chatter of those heading out on this excursion, and she couldn’t help but smile as she felt the warm sun on her face and thought of the day ahead.

Victor had left the ship with a company of stewards hours earlier to prepare the venue at Gorey. Fran c ois had planned a particularly delicious picnic to be prepared and served on the beach, which would be augmented with oysters fresh from the sea.

The driver accompanying her halted, holding out a hand to assist her in boarding. Dahlia took it, thanking him. She looked up into the carriage and drew in a sharp breath, flinching and pulling back, and if not for the man holding her hand, she may well have fallen onto the road.

Only one vacant seat remained in the excursion car, and it was next to Lorene. Ruben sat on the woman’s other side.

Dahlia looked away quickly, but it was too late. She and Lorene had made eye contact. To go to a different carriage now would be the height of rudeness.

From the corner of her eye, Dahlia saw a commotion. Elizabeth had seen the crisis of her cousin’s situation. She stood, attempting to shift around her own bench to make room, but Dahlia caught her eye, giving a quick shake of her head. It is only a short journey , she thought, bracing herself with a genial smile and stepping into the carriage.

The driver climbed into his seat, and they were off.

“Good morning.” Dahlia spoke before either Lorene or Ruben had the chance. “Isn’t this a lovely day for an excursion?” Her voice sounded high and squeaked in her ears. She maintained her smile despite the pummeling of her heart against her ribs and held the handle of her parasol tightly in her lap to keep her hands from shaking. She didn’t dare try to open it until her nerves had calmed.

“Lovely,” Lorene said in a monotone voice without looking at her.

“Indeed it is, Miss Lancaster,” Ruben said.

On the bench ahead of her, Priscilla, Charlotte, Helen, and Lord Lockhart kept their eyes forward, but Dahlia knew by their unnatural stillness that they were straining their ears, not wanting to miss what would undoubtedly be fodder for future gossip.

Elizabeth looked back at Dahlia, her expression panicked.

“How are you enjoying yourselves?” Dahlia asked, falling back on the question she felt compelled, as hostess, to ask every person on the cruise. She was grateful that such an impersonal topic was easily at hand. “And your accommodations?”

“Acceptable, thank you,” Lorene replied in the same dull tone. She glanced toward Dahlia without fully looking at her and then turned away.

“Exceptional,” Ruben said in a more decided tone, as if to correct his wife’s lack of enthusiasm. He leaned forward to see around Lorene. “The ship is a marvel. Don’t you agree, my dear?” His gaze moved to his wife, and his brows raised expectantly, waiting for her agreement.

Instead of looking at either of them, Lorene focused her eyes on the back of the bench in front of them, as if she wished she sat ahead with her friends instead of in the most uncomfortable seat on the island. Stiffness radiated off her, and in spite of her own discomfort, Dahlia couldn’t help but feel sorry for the woman.

“It has been very nice,” Lorene said at last. The resentment in her voice reminded Dahlia of a child whose parent was persuading them to thank a relative for an unwanted gift.

“Nice?” Ruben’s voice boomed, causing both women, as well as every occupant on the bench in front of them, to jump. “Just look at her!” He motioned behind them to where the SS Aurora was berthed. “She is the most beautiful ship I’ve ever seen, let alone traveled on.” Seeing that his wife still refused to meet his gaze, he frowned and looked beyond her again to Dahlia. “Some women have a difficult enough time merely managing their household staff.” The corner of his brow lifted, and even though she didn’t turn her head, Lorene winced. “But to see what you’ve accomplished, Miss Lancaster—directing your own company, the administration of a ship, clients, employees, and crew—it is an unbelievable accomplishment.” His voice dropped with his last words, his smile softening and his eyes looking intensely into hers.

Dahlia recognized the look. A year ago, it would have started delicious flutterings in her chest. His tone would have made her knees feel as if they were melting. But today she saw them for what they were: a performance. Artificial and insincere and intended to hurt the woman he was supposed to love more than to flatter the one he spoke to.

This was not the first time she’d seen or spoken with Lord and Lady Ruben since that awful night, but until now, their communication had been merely passing politeness. Now Dahlia felt like a pawn being used to upset her former beau’s wife, and that perception made her physically ill. She looked ahead, wishing she had any idea of how much farther until their destination. For an instant, she considered whether she could simply hop out of the carriage and walk the remainder of the way, but they were moving too quickly for her to manage it.

She grasped for something else to say, wanting to turn the topic away from herself and back to Lorene. “Your necklace is very unique, my lady.” She fought to control the pitch of her voice but still sounded nervous and squeaky. “This amethyst is a pleasing color with your skin tone.”

“Thank you,” Lorene said without inflection. She had become, if possible, more tensed.

The carriage had left the town of St. Helier and traveled along low hills covered with lush vegetation. They went around a bend, and Dahlia grasped to the seat-rail beside her hip, holding tight, lest she slide into Lorene. With a pang, she remembered the ease with which she and her former friend used to converse. The two of them could talk for hours, their giggles and gossip wearing them out. They had spent so many long days together, shopping, attending events, lolling in Dahlia’s garden or Lorene’s drawing room as they discussed fashion or friends. Lorene had once been so very dear to her. And, in Dahlia’s heart, she always would be, no matter what had transpired between them. It made her ache to see that her friend maintained none of the same feelings.

Ahead of the carriage, Mont Orgueil Castle looked down on the island from a high hilltop next to the deep aqua sea. Fishing vessels bobbed in the picturesque harbor. A lovely village spread along the shorefront above a seawall, and beyond, green hills led up to the castle. The view was stunning.

“I have never visited Jersey,” Dahlia said, finding the silence to be almost as uncomfortable as the conversation. “Have you, Lady Ruben?”

“I have not,” Lorene said.

“Nor have I,” Ruben said. “But this cruise has given me a taste for travel. I daresay I will be booking future journeys aboard the Paragon Line.”

Lorene inhaled sharply, and her nostrils flared. Dahlia shifted around so her knees were directed away from the couple. She gripped the seat-rail, ready to dismount the instant the carriage stopped. The journey took them down into Gorey and along the village’s main road, paralleling the shore. They continued on to the far side of the castle. Below the seawall was a beautiful stretch of seashore, deserted save for the marquee tents for the SS Aurora ’s passengers.

When the carriage finally halted, Dahlia was the first to alight, hurrying away from her seatmates and allowing her tensed muscles to ease. The feeling of discomfort lingered like a malaise she couldn’t quite shake. A bitter taste stung the back of her throat, and her hands were shaking.

“Dahlia!” Elizabeth rushed through the disembarking crowd. When she reached Dahlia, she grasped her arm. “I am so sorry. I did not see until it was too late.” Elizabeth’s eyes were wide, her forehead crinkled in rows of distress.

“It is no matter. I survived.” Dahlia widened her own eyes and whispered, “Barely.”

Elizabeth made a sound that could have been a harrumph but sounded more like a growl as she looked behind at Lord and Lady Ruben.

“I couldn’t avoid them forever, could I?” Dahlia said. “And better here than in a dark alley somewhere.” She was trying to make light of the situation, but from Elizabeth’s serious expression, her cousin saw straight through her attempts.

“I should have paid closer attention.” Elizabeth glanced back toward the carriage, then took Dahlia’s arm and started toward the seawall stairs. “You shouldn’t have had to face them alone.”

Dahlia sighed. She squeezed Elizabeth’s arm as they walked, and no further words were needed. Her cousin’s outrage was reassuring. Her friends were always ready to give support.

There was a bit of a press when they reached the steps that led down to the shore. The stairs were steep, and the descent was necessarily slow. She and Elizabeth waited their turn.

Presently, Lady Mather and her friends were climbing down, assisted by Meredith, Charles, and Benedict.

From above, Dahlia watched Meredith. One of his arms was around Lady Mather’s waist, and the other held her forearm as they stepped downward together.

Dahlia had seen him yesterday, assisting the crew as the ship docked. The memory of his disheveled hair and muscled arms as he pulled on the ropes came into her thoughts, making her blush. And that brought a feeling of irritation. She’d expected he would have saved her a seat this morning. Hadn’t they ridden together to the castle at Boulogne-sur-Mer? Of course, this was insignificant reasoning for her assumption, but the discomfiture of her interaction with Lord and Lady Ruben was still fresh, dredging up old insecurities.

Meredith had made it clear that he was, first and foremost, Ruben’s friend. And Dahlia was foolish for believing she could shift his loyalties.

She and Elizabeth made their way down the stone steps and crossed the hard sand of the beach together.

“Oh my,” Elizabeth said as they neared the tents. “You have really outdone yourself, cousin.”

“Not I,” Dahlia said. “This is all Victor’s doing.”

The tents were large, their sides folded and tied up to give full views on three sides. Beneath the shade of the canvas, chairs sat around circular tables. Each was covered with a white tablecloth, and in the center was an elegant floral arrangement. A long line of rectangular tables was arranged buffet-style with large ice-filled bowls of fruit, selections of cheese and sliced meats, and warming trays filled with delicious-smelling foods. A bar was set up at one end, and a steward was already pouring drinks.

Elizabeth sat beside her husband and his grandmother, assuring Dahlia that she would protect the empty seat beside her with her life, lest her cousin find herself again seated with undesirable acquaintances.

Dahlia thanked her and went in search of Victor.

Seeing him talking to Francois, she went toward the buffet area.

Victor started toward her, but he stopped, turning around a floral arrangement and tucking a sprig deeper before giving it a satisfied look and continuing on. He gave a small bow. “Miss Lancaster.”

In spite of her unsettled temperament, Dahlia smiled at his gallantry. “This all looks spectacular,” she said. “Where did you possibly find ice?”

“There is a cold house just north of here,” he said, as if discovering such a thing on a remote island were nothing at all.

They walked along the buffet, and then Victor led her between the tents toward the beach, where various equipment was set in orderly rows. “The boatswain arranged for tug-of-war ropes, tools for sand sculpting, small rowing boats, and badminton.” He gestured to where a group of stewards were setting up a high net. He glanced at his pocket watch, snapping it closed and putting it back into his waistcoat pocket. “Within the hour, the sea-bathing machines will be delivered, and an hour after that, the oysters.”

Dahlia raised her parasol against the sun. She surveyed the scene, taking it all in with amazement and pride. Her assistant had gone above and beyond what was necessary, making the shore excursion into an unforgettable experience for their guests. “You really want this cruise to succeed,” she said, turning to look at Victor.

“Of course I do,” Victor said. “The success of the Paragon Line is all of our success.”

Warmth expanded inside her. “Thank you,” she said. She motioned around with her hand. “For all of this. For all you do. I don’t believe I thank you enough.”

“I enjoy it,” Victor said. “Throwing fancy parties with someone else’s money. Ordering people around...” He wagged his brows. “It is everything I’d ever hoped for in my professional life.”

Dahlia smiled at his jest. “And what of your personal life?” she asked. “Leaving London for weeks at a time cannot be good for maintaining relationships.”

He tipped his head from side to side, shrugging. “As I said, I enjoy it. And right now, it is where I wish to be.”

Dahlia studied his expression for a moment. “I understand. But if that should change, please tell me.”

Victor smiled. “I shall.” He was watching a group descending the stairs with baskets. “That must be the croissants,” he said. “Will you excuse me?”

She nodded and he hurried away.

Dahlia remained where she was, watching the activity around her. Guests were talking happily, drinking and eating in the shade of the tent. She imagined some would take an excursion up to the castle, while others would spend their time sea bathing or participating in the beach diversions. Many would be content to sip a drink and chat with friends in the beautiful surroundings. Today really would be the highlight of the cruise, and all because of Victor. She felt a hint of remorse. She truly took her assistant for granted.

She walked slowly back to the tents, watching the other passengers as they made requests of the stewards. Did any of them know how much work had been done on their behalf? Until a year ago, she’d certainly had no idea. She was no longer the same debutante who’d demanded a particular gown washed and pressed for the next day, even though doing so had meant a lady’s maid would be deprived of sleep, or throwing a hat into the bin because the feathers were the wrong color. How often had she sent back a meal to the kitchen when it hadn’t suited her? She watched the stewards hurry to fill orders and grant requests and knew the other passengers didn’t notice the workers as people at all. Not that she blamed them. Until she’d taken on this position, she hadn’t been aware of anything but her own whims either. What a change this year had brought, and the result of her new enterprise left her in a strange middle ground—no longer a full member of high Society but merely adjacent. And the same went for the servant class. She was much closer to working for those passengers on board than indulging in a pleasure trip with them.

Her contemplations continued as she returned to the tent where Elizabeth sat. Dahlia had changed, and she was proud of the woman she’d become. Though she didn’t care to admit it, Ruben’s words rang true. She had accomplished something. She’d worked hard to learn the management of the company, and she should be proud of what she’d done. She’d discovered who she was and what she was capable of. And she had learned the value of true friends.

So why did Ruben still make her feel small? Why did the loss of her friendship with the Darling Debs still hurt? Would she ever overcome the flush of humiliation when she remembered the Marchioness of Molyneaux’s ball?

She sighed, putting on her hostess smile and entering the tent. She glanced toward the table where Lorene, Ruben, and the other Debs sat, feeling the familiar clench in her belly and ache in her heart, which was made far worse when Meredith joined them.

Dahlia looked away, frustrated at the pain she couldn’t quite push away. She found her Blue Orchid Society friends and took a seat with them, trying to lose herself in their conversation. Her father had often told her that time healed all wounds. The truth of that remained to be seen.