Page 16 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

Dahlia went down the tower steps feeling as if she were floating. Meredith was a step ahead. She hardly noticed the twisting of the staircase or the cool of the stone walls under her fingers. Her thoughts felt as if they were scattering in the wind. And only one was anchored in her mind. Meredith had kissed her. And she’d kissed him back. And she never would have believed it was possible to feel this contented. A small giggle pushed its way out, and Meredith turned his head. “What was that?”

“A sneeze,” she told him, feeling featherbrained. She was actually giddy.

For the next hour, the pair explored Mont Orgueil Castle, climbing up tall towers, descending down to dank dungeons. They walked through halls that had been used for banquets, strolled in gardens, and peered at the view of the sea through paneless windows. But Dahlia hardly noticed any of it, aside from the man next to her. She perceived every movement he made, each time his arm brushed hers, the way he bent his head down when he stepped beneath a low doorframe, and how he tapped his fingers on stones as they passed. It was all familiar, and yet it was like she was seeing her old friend through different eyes and discovering him all over again.

They occasionally met up with others from the ship as they wandered, and Dahlia must have made some conversation, but for the life of her, she could not remember who they had seen or what she’d said. The kiss had addled her brain somehow, leaving her dizzy and delirious with happiness.

Meredith was silent, but the silence was a comfortable one, as if they were each coming to terms with what had happened, what had changed, and what it might mean for the future. There was so much to think about. But right now, Dahlia didn’t want to think. She wanted to remember the feel of Meredith’s arms around her. His lips on hers. She let her emotions move through her, not fighting against them.

Simple and complex , she thought, taking Meredith’s hand to step down onto the main road. And an element of trust. She glanced at him as they walked back down the road to the seashore.

He looked back, his expression warm. Dahlia smiled, and a thrill went through her.

When they reached Gorey, Miles took her hand, assisting her on the stone steps from the seawall onto the beach. They started toward the tents.

A group was assembled around the badminton equipment, and when Miles and Dahlia drew near, a few of the men waved, calling for him to join them.

Dahlia was surprised to see that Benedict and Charles had already returned from the castle and were among them. She looked toward the tents, seeing that her friends had also returned and waved to her from a table beneath the shade. Were she and Meredith the last to come back from the excursion? It hardly seemed like any time at all had passed.

She and Meredith stopped.

Both looked toward their friends and then back to each other. Would he take offense if she excused herself to join the Blue Orchid Society?

“If you don’t mind—” Meredith said.

“I should—” Dahlia began.

Seeing that they both had the same worry, the pair of them laughed, and the sound returned Dahlia to her senses. “Thank you for accompanying me, Lord Meredith.”

He inclined his head, tipping his hat. “Always a pleasure, Miss Lancaster.” The corner of his eye squeezed in the smallest of winks.

And the giddy feeling of bliss rushed back through her at their shared secret. She left him, crossing the sand and joining her friends at their table.

The women all stared at her.

Dahlia sat. She waved to a steward, who brought her a cool lemonade. She thanked him, taking a drink and setting it on the tablecloth. She adjusted her skirts. Her movements were slow, giving her, she hoped, a chance to discipline her expression.

“Did you all enjoy the castle?” she asked in what she thought was a casually interested voice.

“Very much,” Hazel said.

“Indeed,” Vivian said.

Sophronia nodded, taking a drink.

“Not as much as you did, cousin,” Elizabeth said in a sardonic voice.

Heat crept up Dahlia’s neck to her cheeks, and she turned to watch the badminton match in an attempt to hide it. “What was that?” she asked innocently as she glanced at the others at the table.

They were still staring, watching her, as if they were waiting for her to say something. Elizabeth looked as if she were struggling to hold back a smile. Sophie coughed into a handkerchief.

Did they know? Impossible.

“You kissed Meredith,” Elizabeth said. Her mouth twisted in a smirk.

The others let out their breaths, grinning as if they had been waiting to do so.

Dahlia’s face exploded in a blush. She looked around the tent, making certain nobody was close enough to hear. “How could you possibly know that?” Her voice came out as a splutter.

“You were atop the highest tower in the castle,” Elizabeth said, her eyes at half-mast. “Hard to miss. And even if we hadn’t seen it for ourselves...”

“Your expression gives you away,” Sophie said. She was smirking too.

Elizabeth snickered.

Dahlia was indignant. And embarrassed. “What expression?” She was still spluttering. But, under the circumstance, she thought it impossible not to be.

“The increased facial blood flow,” Vivian said.

“And your dreamy eyes,” Hazel said. She put her hand over her lips, stifling a giggle.

Hearing it, the others couldn’t help themselves. After a moment, even Dahlia was laughing. The giddiness she’d felt earlier made her silly. She sighed loudly, closing her eyes and resting the backs of her fingers on her forehead. “It’s all true.”

The laughter increased.

“Oh dear, this is serious,” Sophie said.

“Hazel, perhaps you should feel her pulse,” Elizabeth teased.

Dahlia shook her head, giving her friends a flat look. “It’s not as though none of you has ever”—she looked around again, making sure she wouldn’t be overheard—“kissed a man.” She looked down at her hands as her blush returned. “Though, I grant you have all done so less publicly.”

The women broke into peals of laughter again.

“We are very happy for you, Dahlia,” Hazel said after they had stopped to draw breath.

“Lord Meredith is a fine man,” Vivian agreed.

“He is, isn’t he?” Dahlia smiled and looked toward the beach. Meredith had removed his coat and hat and was right in the middle of the badminton game. His curls bounced as he stretched out his arm to hit the shuttlecock back over the net with a swift flick of his wrist. Dahlia watched him happily. But, after a moment, she voiced a worry that had been nagging at her. “Is this... I mean, what will people think?” she said, feeling the heat of a new kind of blush. One much less pleasant.

“Who gives a care what people think?” Elizabeth said. She frowned. “I certainly do not.”

“Think about what, specifically?” Sophie asked.

“Meredith and Ruben are... of course, you know.” Dahlia was struggling to put her concern into words. “They are such close friends. I’m sure people will talk once...” She motioned with a tip of her head toward Meredith. “Once it is known.”

“People will always talk,” Vivian said decidedly. “There is nothing to be done about it.” There was a hint of pain in her words. She had experienced firsthand how high Society treated a newcomer.

Sophie’s head was tipped to the side. She was looking closely at Dahlia, as if trying to discern her meaning. “You worry people might believe you are trying to wheedle your way back into the good graces of the haut ton by beguiling one of its respected members?”

Hazel’s mouth fell open, and Vivian’s eyes widened at the boldness of the question.

“Oh my,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t spare her feelings.”

Sophie winced. “I apologize. Was that too blunt?”

“Don’t apologize,” Dahlia said. “That is definitely part of it. I suppose you’re right, Vivian. People will always talk.” She looked back toward the badminton game. “I just do not wish for Meredith to become the object of their gossip. I don’t want his reputation ruined by my own.” She grimaced.

The women nodded, understanding.

“Well, there is nothing for it but to wait and see,” Sophie said. “Nothing you can do. So.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “You must tell us every detail of the kiss.”

Hazel, Vivian, and Elizabeth leaned in as well, their hats nearly touching over the round table.

“What did he say?” Hazel set her chin on her hand.

“What did you say?” Vivian interlaced her fingers.

“Who kissed whom?” Elizabeth waggled her brows.

Dahlia smiled, and the blush returned. She glanced over her shoulder, then rested her arms on the table, leaning in with the others. “It all began when Lord Meredith arrived at the top of the tower steps. He was out of breath and heated, so he asked for my fan.”

***

Later that afternoon, the passengers returned in their excursion cars to the dock at St. Aubin’s Bay. Dahlia sat beside Meredith as they traveled, and based on the sideways looks and whispers among the other passengers, word of their kiss in the tower had spread.

Neither the gossip nor the attention bothered her. The passengers were, for the most part, her friends. And besides, Dahlia was not the person she’d been a year ago. She was much less concerned with the opinion of high Society.

Meredith sat on the bench next to her, legs extended as far as was possible in the cramped carriage, ankles crossed. He appeared entirely comfortable. His clothes were wrinkled from the activities on the seashore. There was a wet patch on one leg, where he’d fallen, and a sunburn colored his cheeks and nose.

The conversation in the carriage was sparse. Some passengers dozed. It seemed the sun, activities, and delicious meal had tired them out. Dinner was still hours away, and Dahlia assumed most would nap in their cabins until then. She, however, had work to do.

Once they boarded the ship, Meredith climbed the stairs with her to the terrace deck. They walked down the corridor, stopping outside the door of Dahlia’s office.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” Dahlia said. “Today was... I enjoyed it very much.”

“As did I.” The flicker of the gas lamps enhanced the shadow of Meredith’s jaw and made small fires glow in his eyes. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Dahlia cupped his cheek, her thumb rubbing over the whiskers on his chin. “I’ll see you at dinner.” She turned away, reaching for the doorknob.

“Must you work now?” he asked. He did not pout, but his voice sounded disappointed. “I can think of so many other, pleasanter, ways to bide the time.” He put his hands on her waist.

“I must.” Dahlia turned toward him again and laid her palms on his chest. “There is a coal delivery to sort out with Mr. Yeates, and the magician for tonight’s performance will arrive soon.”

Meredith’s arms tightened around her, enveloping her and bringing her so close that she had no choice but to slide her arms around him as well. “I suppose I shall have to—”

The office door opened and Victor stood inside. He looked between the pair of them, only the smallest flicker of his brow showing any surprise at finding them in such a circumstance. “I beg your pardon,” he said, moving to close the door.

Dahlia pulled away from Meredith’s embrace. She stopped the door with her outstretched hand. “Good afternoon, Lord Meredith,” she said in a tone much too formal for the action that preceded it.

“Good afternoon, Miss Lancaster.” He inclined his head and left down the corridor.

Dahlia went inside the office. “Have you seen Mr. Yeates today, Victor?” She spoke in a business tone, hoping to hide the embarrassment she felt at being discovered in Lord Meredith’s arms. She moved to sit behind her desk, straightening her skirts and trying to act as she did every day when she sat here.

“I have not,” Victor said. He shuffled through a neat pile of papers, drawing one out and setting it aside. “Mrs. Yeates brought word that her husband is ill.”

“Ill?” Dahlia had heard nothing of this. But it probably explained his absence the past few days.

Victor shrugged. “Apparently so.”

“You managed the coal delivery yourself, then?”

“Yes.” He slid the receipt across the table, still not looking up.

“And the magician?” Dahlia asked.

“Arrives in an hour.” He snapped closed his pocket watch. “Here is his contract. It wants only your signature and the payment.” He slid another paper across the desk without meeting her gaze.

Dahlia took it, glancing over it. Of course it was all in order. “Victor, are you angry with me?” she asked.

“No. I’m not angry.” He uncapped an inkwell and opened a ledger, seemingly engrossed in his work.

“Your responses are very laconic,” she said. “And that is not like you at all.”

He wrote something in a leger, grunting an acknowledgment to her words.

Dahlia frowned. She knew something was amiss. “Is it because of Lord Meredith?” She felt the familiar heat bloom in her cheeks at the mention of the man and the memory of the position Victor had caught the pair of them in a few moments earlier.

Victor set down the quill on the ledger. He blew out a sigh through his nose. “I am not angry, Miss Lancaster.”

Dahlia was quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I am . . . uneasy. Troubled, perhaps.”

“Are you going to tell me why?” she asked.

“I have a fierce loyalty to this company. I am immensely proud to belong to it. I believe in the Paragon Line. I believe in you as its president.”

“I have no doubt of that, Victor,” Dahlia said. She felt uneasy now too, sensing a “but” coming.

Victor let out another nose sigh. “I don’t want to see you throw all of this away.” He motioned around with a wave of his hand, indicating the office, the ship. “To lose all you have worked so hard for.”

“Why would you think that? Of course I am not going to—”

“What sort of wife does Lord Meredith want, do you suppose?”

Dahlia was shocked, both by being interrupted and the audacity of his question. “It is rather early to—”

“A Society wife.” Victor answered his own question. “Do you think he—or anyone else—expects the future Countess of Rushford to spend her days at a shipyard office? To sail away for weeks at a time?”

Dahlia didn’t answer. She hadn’t thought of that. If there was to be a future with Meredith... what would it look like? She felt foolish that she hadn’t contemplated beyond kisses and courting. It took only a moment of consideration to realize Victor was right. She couldn’t picture a scenario that would not involve major changes, major compromises—on both their sides. The idea of leaving the Paragon Line to live in Foxborough Hall, to throw dinner parties for the same people who had ostracized her, to spend her days shopping or visiting, felt like a pin popping the bubble of bliss she’d wrapped herself in. And she felt foolish that she’d not thought through it realistically. The Dahlia of a year ago could happily slide into the roles of hostess and wife with no adjustment whatsoever. But Dahlia, the woman of business, could not.

“His Lordship is a fine man,” Victor said. “An honorable man. I can see why you like him. But you have worked too hard. You have achieved too much to just walk away from all of it.”

“You’re right,” Dahlia whispered. Her throat had tightened. “I hadn’t...” Tears prickled behind her eyes and her heart ached.

Victor reached across the desk, offering a handkerchief.

Dahlia took it. “I should like to be alone, if you please.” She fought to keep her voice steady.

“Of course.” He capped the ink pot and stood. When he reached the door, Victor paused, as if he’d say something more, but changed his mind and exited.

Dahlia released her tears, letting them flow. Sobs choked her throat. She had been so foolish, letting herself be carried away by tender words and kisses. Was she so desperate for love that she did not even think the situation through before leaping in? The ache inside her heart increased, and she mourned for something she’d known for only a few hours. The truth was, Dahlia realized it had been there all along. But she hadn’t seen her easy friendship with Meredith as anything more. Until it was. And now, knowing it could never be, hurt worse than she could have imagined.