Page 7 of Discovering Dahlia (The Blue Orchid Society #5)

A few hours after meeting with Dahlia in her office, Miles took luncheon quickly and hurried to the main deck to observe as the ship was brought into port. Even with the ship’s steam power, navigating such an enormous vessel into position was no easy task. And it was fascinating to watch.

As the ship slowed and turned to dock, the port city of Boulogne-sur-Mer provided an impressive vista beyond. Whitewashed houses with red-tile roofs rose up a large hill, interspersed with deep-green trees. Crowning the city were the walls of a medieval chateau, its square bell tower and the rounded dome of a basilica making a unique skyline. It was, in a word, charming, and Miles was thrilled for the chance to enjoy the town with Dahlia. For a few moments, as they’d talked in her office, she’d been the woman he’d known before. She’d come to him for help, confided in him. He’d left feeling more hopeful than he had in a year. Could he and Dahlia put everything behind them and begin anew? Or would the end of this cruise mark the end of their alliance?

At last, the ship was in position and the anchor dropped. With practiced movements, the sailors tossed ropes, and their counterparts on the dock fastened them, their hands moving in a blur as they tied complicated knots and pulled them tight, with muscles straining. A gangway was extended, but rather than a hanging bridge with rope handrails, the walkway was a ramp made of thick boards set between the dock and the ship’s deck. Wooden rails ran along the sides.

By the time the gangway was in place, passengers had congregated, ready to disembark.

Miles looked over the assemblage and found Dahlia easily. She was already off the ship, standing on the dock and speaking to the port agents. Her manner was so utterly confident that, had Miles not seen her uncertainty only a few hours earlier, he would have found it difficult to believe the woman to be capable of such doubts.

“You left the dining room so quickly, I wondered if your lunch had betrayed you.”

Ruben’s voice came from behind, and Miles turned his head, seeing that Ruben, Lorene, Miss Grey, and Lady Priscilla had joined him. He nodded an acknowledgment to his friends, turning more fully toward them, but he continued to watch Dahlia out of the corner of his eye. She was standing right at the edge of the dock and, in his opinion, in a very vulnerable position, should someone knock her off-balance. All those skirts would be heavy were they to be soaked with water. Could Dahlia swim? His muscles tensed, and he estimated how quickly he could reach her if he were to climb over the rail and jump in.

“Is everything all right, Lord Meredith?” Miss Grey asked. “You seem to be distracted.”

“Yes,” he said, making himself smile. “Please excuse me if I was rude. I came to watch as the ship berthed.”

“Are you planning to join us at the seaside, my lord?” Lady Priscilla said. “The weather is splendid, and the steward said we shall be able to hire bathing costumes and machines.”

He now noticed the women wearing striped light-colored dresses with wide straw hats. Each carried a parasol. Even Ruben wore a straw boater hat, ready for a day on the seashore.

“I’d thought to join the walking tour,” Miles said, keeping his voice casual.

“Walking tour?” Ruben laughed. “Looking at decrepit buildings and hearing about a crumbling French castle? Surely you are joking.”

Miles shrugged. “I thought I might enjoy it.” Leaning an elbow against the rail to keep Dahlia in view, he scanned the crowd and found Ben, his arm linked with his wife’s. Chatsworth was next to him and said something that made not only Benedict break into a laugh, but everyone standing close enough to hear as well. A spyglass poked out of Chatsworth’s pocket, indicating the man intended to view the local birds while they were ashore. “Seems a delightful enough town,” Miles added.

Ruben was conspicuously silent, and when Miles looked back, his friend was watching him with a confused expression.

“Perhaps I’ll join you afterward,” Miles said.

Ruben continued to regard him, but he didn’t argue, which was surprising. “Come along, ladies. There’s a café near the waterfront that serves fresh seafood and rather a fine cherry brandy, if I recollect.” He frowned, watching Miles as he spoke, then turned and walked toward the gangway with the women following.

Miles’s heart was heavy knowing he’d disappointed his friend. But he’d promised Dahlia, and even if he had not, he would still have stayed near her. Although everyone else’s focus was on protecting Ben, Miles hadn’t forgotten there had been two people on the terrace deck this morning.

When they reached land, the groups went their own way. The seabathers took a path down to the shore, and those joining the walking tour came to where two omnibuses waited.

Dahlia greeted the tour guides who directed the sightseers to the carriages. The vehicles must have been specifically made for the warm climate, having open sides.

The crowd moved forward.

“Lord Meredith.” Lord Lockhart tipped his hat as he and Miss Rothschild passed. “Good afternoon.” The couple climbed aboard, sharing a bench in front of the Duchess of Dorchester and Miss Albright.

Lady Mather, Lady Chatsworth, and Mrs. Griffin came toward the omnibuses. Mrs. Griffin leaned on a cane, and Miles wondered how she would manage the cobblestone pathways and stairs of the old city. He held her arm, assisting her to climb up, as Chatsworth seated his grandmother in the bench behind.

Chatsworth kissed his fiancee’s cheek, nodded at Miles, and started for the beach. The young woman—Dahlia’s cousin Elizabeth—climbed into one of the omnibuses, scooting down on the bench to leave a space beside her.

Dahlia came toward them, and Miles assumed she would join her cousin. He offered a hand to help her step up, but she took his arm instead, leading him to the other omnibus and indicating the bench behind Benedict and Lady Covington. “You’ll sit here by me, won’t you?” she asked.

Although he knew the reason for the invitation, and it had nothing to do with her feelings for him, he felt a pleasant twist in his belly at both her touch and the invitation.

Dahlia’s attention was drawn to two people hurrying from the dock toward them. The doctor accompanied Lady Sophronia. When they reached the omnibus, he assisted her onto the bench next to Elizabeth, then took a seat by his wife. Dahlia took one last glance toward the docks and then at the carriages, as if making certain everyone was settled, before taking Miles’s hand and stepping up. She arranged her skirts and sat, scooting over for Miles to join her.

A couple was seated behind them, and when Miles glanced back, he was disappointed to see Mr. Yeates had decided to come on the tour after all. The woman next to him, who Miles assumed was his wife, wore an expression of displeasure.

Dahlia turned back at the same time. She greeted the couple pleasantly, although she did not project the warmth into her tone she might have otherwise. “I am glad to see you, Mrs. Yeates,” she said. “I have heard the gardens at the chateau are particularly lovely. I hope you will enjoy them, although I am sure they are nothing compared to your own.”

Mrs. Yeates tipped her head and gave a small nod in acknowledgment.

“You may not have met Lord Meredith,” Dahlia said. “My lord, this is Mrs. Kathryn Yeates.”

“A pleasure,” Miles said. “I take it you are an appreciator of flowers?”

“I am a horticulturist,” Mrs. Yeates said, looking irritated with his assumption.

“Ah,” he began, but luckily he was saved from continuing the conversation when the omnibus started off.

Dahlia took his arm, turning him to face forward again. She squeezed his arm and lifted a brow, letting him know wordlessly that he had been in danger of being subjected to a dull and longwinded description of Mrs. Yeates’s garden. He smirked, keeping his gaze averted from hers, lest they both break into laughter. The twist returned to his belly, and he allowed himself to savor the feeling, pleased at the silent communication between them. He wondered if she had missed their rapport as well.

A woman at the front of the conveyance stepped up onto the running board, holding on to a bench for balance as she faced the passengers. “Welcome to ze beautiful Boulogne-sur-Mer.” She spoke with a French accent. “As we have but a few hours, I shall give a brief history of ze city before we arrive at ze old sector.”

The woman continued talking, speaking of Roman walls, medieval wars, and Napoleon’s Grande Armée, but Miles heard hardly any of it. He was far too aware of Dahlia’s arm, still wrapped around his own, and the way their shoulders and hips pressed together when the omnibus rounded a corner. Every part of him felt warm, most especially his chest, which felt like it had expanded to twice its size. He wondered if Dahlia felt the same, but seeing the way she tipped her head, listening to the tour guide’s information, and craned her neck to see points of interest, it appeared he was the only one.

The ride ended far too soon, and the passengers disembarked, crossing the drawbridge to gather at the chateau gates. Looking over the edge of the bridge, Miles could see that where there had once been a moat was a very pretty walkway running around the inside of the wall.

The two guides waited until they were all close enough to hear before the same woman who had spoken earlier took charge, pointing up to the castle above them. “Ze chateau herself was constructed in ze zirteenth century by ze Count of Boulogne, Philippe Hurepel...” She continued speaking, and Miles looked up at the thick stone walls, wondering whether Dahlia was going to take his arm again. He glanced to the side, seeing Benedict was safely nearby, listening to the oration.

At last, the guide finished. “Now you will enjoy walking along ze ramparts.” She indicated the tops of the chateau wall. Then she opened the pocket watch that hung from a chain around her neck, looked at it, and snapped it shut. “We will meet in ze garden at three o’clock to continue on to ze basilica.”

The group dispersed, couples and individuals moving about to admire the gardens. Some of the more adventurous took to the steep steps, climbing up to walk the ramparts, among them Benedict and his wife.

Dahlia caught Miles’s gaze and motioned toward Benedict with a tip of her head. They would follow.

Although Miles could see no danger on the castle walls, short of Benedict being shoved over the side—unlikely in this public space—he could not have been happier to agree to the invitation.

The castle walls went around the inner courtyard in the shape of a pentagon, with the chateau in one corner. The ramparts were wide, giving plenty of room for a couple to walk side by side as they admired the spectacular views of the town.

Benedict and Lady Covington chatted as they strolled, and Dahlia and Miles followed behind at a discreet distance.

“Splendid, isn’t it?” Dahlia said. She’d paused to look across the city to the deep-blue water beyond. A breeze blew the wayward curls around her face and on her neck.

“A striking view, yes.” Miles clasped his hands behind his back and pretended he was looking out at the vista rather than at the woman beside him.

Dahlia started off again, not allowing Benedict to get too far ahead.

“I have neglected to inquire about your parents,” Miles said. “And for that I apologize. How is your father’s health?”

The corners of Dahlia’s eyes tightened in a slight wince. “My parents have gone to a sanatorium in Switzerland,” she said. “There is a doctor there who claims he can cure tuberculosis of the lungs with fresh air and exercise and nutrition.” She sighed. “I believe there is only a small chance that he will be entirely healed. But...”

“But even a small chance offers hope.”

She nodded, giving him a little smile. “From their letters, they are at least enjoying a beautiful holiday in the Alps,” she said.

“I admire your father a great deal,” Miles said. “He has a way of making every person feel important, as if what they are saying is exactly the thing he is most interested in hearing.” Miles’s own father was the exact opposite. Short-tempered, impatient, and perpetually disappointed.

“That is a good description of my father,” Dahlia said. Her voice had turned sad, and Miles wondered whether he should have brought up the topic in the first place. “I wish he could have seen the SS Aurora completed, but he was far too ill to come to the shipyard. By the time she sailed to London, he had already left for the Continent.”

“He would have been impressed,” Miles said. “How could anyone not be? She is the most beautiful ship I have ever seen.”

“It’s true,” Dahlia said, nodding. Only a hint of a smirk and a twinkle in her eye revealed that she spoke partially in jest. “She really is.”

Miles grinned. He was glad the conversation had taken a lighter turn.

“And what of your parents, my lord?” Dahlia asked. “Are they in good health?”

Nothing could ruin the mood faster than bringing Lord Rushford into the conversation, so Miles answered briefly. “They are, thank you. My father is as hearty as ever, and my stepmother is quite well.” He glanced ahead and saw Benedict and Lady Covington begin a descent of the stone steps. “They are going down to the gardens,” he said, offering his arm. “Shall we?”

The waltz at the Marquess of Molyneaux’s ball popped into Miles’s mind, as did the memory of the warmth he’d felt with Dahlia in his arms as they’d danced.

She looked behind them now, and then down toward the stairs, as if she’d become turned around. “Are you certain the gardens are this way?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been here before?” she asked.

“On my Grand Tour, after I finished at university.”

“Oh, I don’t remember that,” she said. “I was still very young then.” The sparkle returned to her eye. “You remember, I am much younger than you.”

“I am only seven years your senior, Miss Lancaster, and in the grand scheme of things, that is hardly any time at all.”

Dahlia shook her head, making a tutting sound. “Oh dear, it seems as though your poor old mind is softening. Mathematics can be difficult for the elderly.” She patted his arm. “You are seven and a half years older than I. There is a difference.” Her voice was grave, but she could not contain the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Miles laughed. “Four months does not constitute half a year,” he said. “Perhaps, in your extreme youth, you have not fully grasped the complications of arithmetic.”

“It is possible.” She nodded.

They paused at the top of the stone steps, and Miles took her arm, wrapping it tightly around his. The steps were steep and uneven, and with all of her skirts, Dahlia would not be able to see where to place her feet.

“Not to worry,” she said. “I won’t let you fall.” The teasing tone was still in her voice, but much less so. As they descended, she looked around the garden and up at the ramparts, regarding the other members of the tour group. “I can’t stop looking at everyone with suspicion.”

“Neither can I,” he said.

“I don’t like feeling this way, as if someone near me might have malicious intent. Whoever could it be?”

“I don’t know,” Miles confessed, wondering the same thing.

“Everyone likes Benedict. Of course, he is a bit eccentric, but that only makes him the more endearing. I cannot believe anyone would wish him harm.”

Miles nodded, still holding her arm tightly as they moved down onto a particularly uneven step. “He has been rather outspoken about poor conditions for factory workers,” he said. “But none of the affected parties are on the ship,” he said, repeating the same argument he’d used with Inspector Graham. “And, in truth, his changes have not caused anyone other than himself financial hardship.” Miles considered again whether Benedict was actually the intended target. He glanced at the woman beside him. Does Dahlia have any enemies?

The only person who had shown any sort of ill will toward her was Mr. Yeates, but while the man seemed resentful, Miles did not believe him capable of inflicting physical harm. And what motive would he have? From what Miles understood, the man owed his position within the company to Dahlia. He wouldn’t harm the person distributing his salary.

He glanced around the castle courtyard, regarding the others as Dahlia had done. The idea that any of them had set a deadly trap was ridiculous. These people all loved her. He did not doubt it for an instant. Might the blame be laid upon a crewmember with a grudge? He did not want to bring up the possibility now. Perhaps once they returned to the ship, he would ask her.

When they came to the bottom of the steps, Miss Miller and Lady Sophronia came to join them. Dahlia released Miles’s arm, and the four made the appropriate greetings.

“I take it poor Johnathan is still ill?” Dahlia asked. She started along a path, admiring the gardens.

“Yes.” Lady Sophronia sighed as she fell into step beside her friend. “He’s had a dreadful time of it. Jim called on him after luncheon. He is surprised that it has lingered this long.”

“Perhaps he needs just a few more hours of rest,” Dahlia said.

Miles tipped his head in an invitation for Miss Miller to walk with him. After a hesitation on her part, the pair of them started along the path as well, following behind the others through the castle’s inner court.

Miles could feel his companion’s gaze scrutinizing him. He had met Dahlia’s cousin only a few times in passing. She was engaged to Chatsworth, one of his dearest friends, but the rift between Dahlia and Ruben had grown so deep that the chance for their friends to come into contact had been nearly impossible. And Miles was sorry for it. He disliked the feeling that, in making Miss Miller’s acquaintance, he was somehow betraying Ruben but in not doing so, he was being disloyal to Chatsworth. How had what should have been a simple acquaintanceship grown so complicated?

“I take it Chatsworth is off in search of birds?” Miles said.

“Naturally,” Miss Miller answered. “He seizes any opportunity.”

Her voice was not warm, and he wondered if she felt the same struggle between her loyalties as he did his.

“And you do not accompany him, Miss Miller?” He gave a smile so she would know he was simply asking out of curiosity rather than accusing her of indifference toward her fiancé and his interests.

“Sometimes,” she said. “But I believe he prefers the solitude. Just himself and his feathered friends.” Her expression was still guarded and slightly suspicious.

“I remember,” Miles said. “Ever since we were lads.” He glanced at his companion, and seeing her brows raise with interest, he continued. “Chatsworth gives every impression that he prefers to be at the center of everything, making people laugh, being the life of the party, that sort of thing. But those of us who know him well...” He paused, motioning between the pair of them with an open palm. “We know it is all for appearances. A facade behind which he hides.”

“Yes.” The suspicion in Miss Miller’s expression was gone now, and she watched him attentively, her curiosity obvious.

“We were at Eton together,” Miles said. “Perhaps you know that.” Seeing her nod, he went on. “Chatsworth used to disappear for hours at a time. Don’t know if anyone else noticed. Lads of that age typically don’t perceive much beyond what trouble we might get away with or whether we would be eating bread and bacon again for supper.”

Miss Miller smiled, but she did not interrupt.

They walked around where Mrs. Yeates was bent over beside the path, examining a plant at close range.

“I used to go off on my own as well,” Miles said. “Although I may seem to you like a titan of academia, the truth is school was very difficult for me.” He gave a wry smile. “I much preferred exploring the riverbanks or climbing trees. And that is where I found Chatsworth.” He couldn’t help but grin at the memory. “The first time, I heard him before I saw him. Funny whistles coming from a thicket as he attempted to imitate birdsong.”

At this Miss Miller gave a fond smile. “He still does that.”

Miles chuckled. “He didn’t see me, so I crept closer, watching as he attempted to communicate with a bird on a branch overhead.”

Mrs. Miller’s smile grew.

“I knew he must wish to be left alone, and I did not want to embarrass him, so I left quietly, walking back the way I’d come. I came upon him a few other times over the years, writing in his little book or looking at the branches through a spyglass, and sometimes he was making the noises—although, they did not really sound very much like birdsong.”

“And you never told him?” Miss Miller asked.

Miles shook his head. “Nor anyone else. Boys ridicule one another over far less. Especially bored boys away from home. They are always looking for a weakness to exploit.” He knew the truth of that far too well.

She was quiet for a moment. “Not only boys,” she said. “Plenty of girls believe anyone perceived as ‘different’ to be fair game for persecution. And not only children.”

Something in her face told him she was far more familiar with this truth than she would like.

He nodded, seeing a commonality in the woman—one that, if he were to look closely, he thought he would see in every person. “Such a phenomenon, I suppose, is not limited by age, nor by gender.”

Just as they reached where the tour group was gathering, the two shared a look of understanding that pleased him very much, not only because Miss Miller was Chatsworth’s fiancée and Dahlia’s cousin but also because in the past year, he’d rarely spoken as openly with anyone. And he liked the genuine quality of their interaction. If Miss Miller could ever forgive him for being a member of the West End Casanovas, he believed they might actually become friends.

Dahlia came to stand beside him, and Miss Miller excused herself to go join Lady Sophronia and the others.

“That was very brave of you,” Dahlia said, a twinkle in her eye. “My cousin is not typically fond of members of the ton . Especially male members. I’m surprised you are still in one piece.”

He laughed, but not because he thought she was making a joke. He could well believe Miss Miller capable of giving him a dressing down. He’d seen her temper before—luckily, it had not been directed at himself.

“She is engaged to a member of the ton ,” he pointed out. “A male member, if you will recall.”

“Chatsworth is an unexpected exception.”

“Well, it may surprise you to know that Miss Miller and I had a lovely conversation. We have quite a lot in common.”

“Indeed?”

Miles nodded.

“Such as . . . ?” Dahlia prodded.

His smile grew into a grin. “Come along, Miss Lancaster. The tour group is leaving.” He started off, pleased that, for once, he had left Dahlia unsure. Let her be curious about him for a change.