Page 17 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

The sullied state of Miles’s trousers from playing beach games earned only the shadow of a frown from Peterman. He took the soiled clothing and scuffed shoes away without complaint, and within half an hour, Miles was clean, shaved, and wearing a fresh dinner jacket. He hadn’t even bothered to nap, knowing there was no possible way his mind would calm enough for sleep. The day had brought far too much excitement.

Feeling restless, he left the cabin and went up the stairs to the saloon.

Lorene, Priscilla, Charlotte, and Helen were the only people inside.

When he greeted them, Lorene gave only the slightest nod. The others returned the greeting, but their responses seemed cooler than usual, and they left soon after. He wondered whether their reaction had to do with Dahlia. Did they know what had happened at the castle? Most likely. Women always seemed to know.

Miles took a seat near a window. A steward offered a drink, which he gratefully accepted before sitting back to enjoy the view of the sea and allow the feeling of blissful contentment to wash over him. He could not remember a time when he’d felt so happy, and the feeling warmed him to his core. As did the excellent scotch.

The sun was getting low, bathing the room in a warm golden color. Or perhaps that was simply how Miles saw the world now. It stood to reason that everything would appear more beautiful now that he was entirely filled with joy. He wondered how long Dahlia would be working. She’d promised to see him at dinner, but he hoped she might finish earlier. Perhaps they could walk on the promenade deck before the sun set.

The idea of spending the next day at Shanklin with her was thrilling. He wondered if she had trekked through the chine before. The ravine was spectacular, with waterfalls and stunning vegetation. He imagined strolling down a footpath arm in arm with Dahlia. Perhaps they would stop to share a kiss. He couldn’t help the smile and sigh as he thought of the perfect day ahead.

A woman came up the stairs and into the saloon. Miles recognized her as Miss Thornton, one of Dahlia’s friends. She looked around as if she were searching for someone, and her gaze landed on Miles.

“Good afternoon, Your Lordship.” She looked past him to the doors.

Miles stood. “Miss Thornton, nice to see you. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, nothing to worry about.” She smiled.

Miles had never exchanged more than a few words with the woman. He hadn’t had reason to. The two shared few common friends.

Miss Thornton was slight with blonde hair, light-blue eyes, and pale skin. Everything about her seemed gentle, like a newborn lamb. But right now there was something anxious in her manner. Not exactly distressed, but she appeared to be in a hurry.

“I was hoping to find Mr. Vandelay or someone who might have a list of the cabin assignments. You don’t know where he is, do you?” Her voice was soft in spite of her rushed manner.

“I believe he is with Miss Lancaster, in her office.”

Her brows furrowed, and she glanced back in the direction she’d come, her cheeks pulling in a slight grimace. “I’m not quite certain where her office is.”

Miles held out a hand toward the doors that led to the deck. “Allow me to escort you.”

“Thank you.” Her smile was gentle. “That is very kind of you, my lord.”

They left the saloon and walked across the promenade deck and had taken only a few steps up toward the terrace deck when Mr. Vandelay himself started down toward them.

They stepped back down, waiting.

“Lord Meredith, Miss Thornton.” Mr. Vandelay gave a small bow. His gaze lingered on Miles, his expression strange.

Miles attributed his response to the awkwardness of their last encounter.

“I was coming to find you, Mr. Vandelay,” Miss Thornton said. “Mrs. Griffin is feeling poor. I sent to the galley for ginger tea but was told Mrs. Yeates had the canister in her cabin. Apparently, her husband is rather ill as well. Might I trouble you for their cabin number?”

“Twenty-six,” Mr. Vandelay said without needing to consult a register.

Miles wondered whether he had all of the cabins and their occupants memorized. He would not be surprised. Mr. Vandelay seemed a very competent assistant. “I will send a steward for the tea.”

“No need,” Miss Thornton replied. “I am on my way back down there now. Thank you.”

“If there is anything else I can do to help, please notify me,” Mr. Vandelay said. “Although, in this case, my advice would most likely come in the form of sending for a nurse.” He nodded at her and smiled. “And that has already been done.”

“I will find you if I need anything further,” Miss Thornton said with a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Vandelay.”

The assistant gave a quick bow and continued on about his business.

“Mrs. Griffin is ill?” Miles asked, accompanying Miss Thornton back toward the saloon. “That is a shame.”

“Yes, the poor dear. She thinks perhaps she ate too much seafood.”

“Didn’t we all?” Miles winced, remembering the ache in his own belly earlier today. He held open the saloon door, and they went inside. “Do you know how to find the galley?” he asked.

Miss Thornton shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve hardly explored the ship at all.”

“Come along.” Miles offered his arm. “Let’s collect the tea and I’ll show you the way. Francois, the head chef, may even offer us a pastry while we wait for the tea to brew.”

Cabin twenty-six was easy enough to find. Having an even number, it was located on the interior of the ship, meaning it had no porthole. Miles thought it was a pity that Mr. and Mrs. Yeates could not look out at the stars or hear the waves slapping the hull as they fell asleep at night.

Miss Thornton knocked on the door. “Mrs. Yeates? It’s Hazel Thornton.”

There was movement inside, but no answering voice.

“If I might speak with you for a moment,” Miss Thornton said. “It is important.”

The sounds of movement came again, and Mr. Yeates opened the door just a crack. His face was pale, his hair damp and plastered down to his forehead. His appearance gave no doubt that he was ill. He looked between the two of them, frowning.

“I’m so sorry to trouble you, Mr. Yeates,” Miss Thornton said. “I was told the canister for the ginger tea—”

“The tea.” He practically snarled the words. He left the doorway and returned with a tin canister. He thrust it at the young woman. “Take it. I hope never to see it again. My wife insists upon my drinking it, but the taste...” He frowned further.

“Yes, the taste can be rather strong, but ginger is an effective treatment for stomach maladies,” Miss Thornton said, taking the canister. “If you’d like, Dr. Jackson would be happy to call on you. He may be able to recommend a different treatment.”

“No need for that,” Mr. Yeates said. “And there is no need to return that .” He glowered at the tea canister as if it had done him personal injury. “I’d rather suffer.” He shut the door.

Miles and Miss Thornton looked at one another, astonished by the man’s strange behavior and his rudeness.

“He does not mince words, does he?” Miles said, widening his eyes and bouncing his eyebrows.

“Poor man,” Miss Thornton said, lowering her voice so as to ensure it would not be heard through the door. “Being ill does not bring out the best in one’s temper.” Her eyes sparkled with repressed laughter, showing Miles that she was not entirely altruistic. “Shall we continue on to the galley?”

As Miles had hoped, a plate of pastries was set before them when he and Miss Thornton arrived in the galley. He selected a caramel-colored macaron and took a bite. “Delicious, Francois,” he said to the chef. “But I would expect no less.”

Francois beamed. He directed a galley assistant to pour tea for his guests while another arranged a tray to be delivered to the Pearl Suite.

Miles leaned a hip against the preparation counter, turning to his companion. Miss Thornton was eating a macaron of her own. “How is it that you chose nursing as your vocation?” he asked.

“My mother was a healer,” Miss Thornton said. “She wasn’t formally trained. Women weren’t in those days, you know. In India, when I was very young, there was an attack on the residency.” Her face paled as she spoke, but her voice remained steady. “There were noises outside the walls, cannon fire, men yelling, rifles. And inside, so much illness. And fear.”

Could she be talking about the Siege of Lucknow? If so, her composure in describing the horrific event was commendable. He nodded for her to continue.

“Most of the women did not know what to do. They panicked and wept, but Mother was steady and calm. She helped people, soothed them, and eased their pain. I wished to do the same.”

“From what I’ve seen of you, Miss Thornton, you have more than lived up to her precedent.”

“Thank you.” She smiled shyly and took another bite of macaron.

Miles considered the woman standing before him. And all the members of Dahlia’s group of friends. A news reporter, an inventor, a nurse, and a headmistress. They were all intelligent, with unique interests and aspirations that went beyond what interested most women of his acquaintance. He glanced at the brooch on Miss Thornton’s collar. Dahlia often wore one with the same design. A blue orchid surrounded by silver filagree. He’d never asked her about it, or about how her friendships with these women had developed, but he was intrigued. He did not believe the Dahlia he’d known a year ago would have undertaken the responsibility of president of a steamship company. The credit for her success went to Dahlia, of course, but he couldn’t help but think these women were involved as well. They had no doubt encouraged her, helping her grow and discover that she was indeed qualified for the position. Miles felt an affection toward them at the thought.

Once the tray was prepared, Miles carried it back up the stairs. At the Pearl Suite, Miss Thornton knocked, and Dr. Jackson opened the door. He thanked Miles, relieving him of the tray.

Dr. Jackson was another person Miles wouldn’t mind knowing better. He seemed a very respectable man and, from the few snatches Miles had overheard about the doctor’s military service, a fascinating one as well.

Miles excused himself and returned up the stairs, seeing through the windows that the sky was darkened and the deck lamps had been lit. More passengers had assembled in the saloon for pre-supper drinks, but Miles was not inclined to conversation with any of them. He had wished to find Dahlia returned from her business, but she was not there. Nor were Ben, Chatsworth, or even Ruben.

He found her on the promenade deck. She and her assistant were at the gangway, greeting a man in a cape and a top hat. He was surely the magician for that night’s entertainment.

Miles waited, and soon enough, Mr. Vandelay and the magician started toward the dining room, the latter directing porters carrying trunks that likely held his props.

Dahlia turned.

A wonderful thrill moved through Miles when her gaze met his. He walked toward her, wondering as he did whether she had a worry on her mind. She did not seem to be in the same state as when he’d left her earlier that afternoon. The cheerfulness was gone from her countenance, and her eyes appeared red.

“Good evening,” he said when he reached her.

“Lord Meredith, we need to talk.” Dahlia’s voice sounded flat.

“Has something happened?” Was she worried about Mrs. Griffin’s health, or had some other trouble been brought to her attention? The responsibility of overseeing the ship was one he did not envy, but he hoped he could ease some of her concerns, or at least try.

She glanced around, rubbing her fingers on her forehead. “I apologize. I made a mistake. I should not have allowed... I should not have kissed you.” She glanced around again.

This was not at all what Miles had expected, and he cast his thoughts over their interactions, trying to understand what could have brought this on.

“I’m a woman of business,” she continued.

“Yes, I know,” Miles said, trying to understand what that had to do with kissing.

The lines between her brows deepened, and she appeared to be searching for the right words. “I know men have particular expectations of women,” she said. “Especially those they...” She rubbed her forehead again, looking distressed.

Miles reached for her hand, then thought better of it. He rested his palm on the ship’s rail instead. “Dahlia, I cannot understand your concern if you do not tell me what it is.”

Her face had reddened, which was much better than its pallor of a moment before. She rested her hands on the rail as well, looking toward the shore. “I know it was only a kiss,” she said. She did not glance at him. “And I do not want to make assumptions about you or your intentions. But I do not wish for you to make assumptions about me or my intentions either.”

“It was not just a kiss,” he said. “Not to me.”

Dahlia nodded. “That is why I must be clear with you.” She kept her gaze on the shore, perhaps finding it easier to speak directly without looking at him. “I do not intend to leave my position at Lancaster Steam Sailing and Shipping Limited. I enjoy it. I am good at it. And it will take a particular sort of man to be comfortable with such a modern woman and my lifestyle.”

“Especially if that man hopes to share a life with you,” Miles added.

“Yes,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “I am sorry I misled you. I was... distracted. I wasn’t thinking properly.”

Miles understood that fully. He had not been thinking properly ever since his lips had touched hers. But he did comprehend her concern. Or, at least, he thought he did. She worried that a life with him, as the future Countess of Rushford, would make it impossible for her to retain her duties at the steamship company. That she must give up either one or the other. It hurt more than a bit to realize she would choose her business over him. But that wasn’t what she’d said.

He took her arm, turning her to face him. “It will work out,” he said. “I know that reaching this point, in both your career and your personal growth, has been difficult. I know you do not want to give it up, to return to Society life, but perhaps it doesn’t have to be one or the other. And we do not have to figure anything out today. We can make decisions as they come.”

Dahlia shook her head, frustration clear in the tightness of her shoulders. “That won’t suffice. We must move forward with a plan. Do you have a plan?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “But I have confidence.” He gave her arm a small squeeze. “Confidence in myself, confidence in you, and confidence in us. And I have hope. I know if it is right, this will all work out. And for now, that is enough.”

Dahlia tipped her head, as if considering. She looked uncertain. But before she could say anything, the bell rang, announcing the dinner service would begin.

Relief softened her expression as she was spared an answer. “Please excuse me.” She hurried off to the dining room.

Miles watched her go, wondering what she might have said. Would she put an end to this before it began? He did not believe so. But she did bring up a good point. One he must consider as well. Simply being in love with the woman did not ensure an easy road ahead should they continue with a relationship. A return to Society would not be easy for her, and having a wife who worked in a shipyard would not be easy for him. And that was not including the complexities of family relations and expectations or his own duties as a member of Parliament. She was right to be concerned. Whatever their future might look like, it would not be conventional. But Miles knew one thing for certain. He would never ask her to change, nor would he expect her to leave her position in her company. Those decisions would be for Dahlia alone.