Page 17 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
Dahlia, coming out of her musings, realized what her friends were alluding to. She jerked her shoulders in contradiction.
“It isn’t like that at all with Peter.” Her countenance fell as she said the words. “Unfortunate circumstances have broughtus together and left both of us with little choice in the matter. Ours is to be a marriage designed to pacify theton, to save my reputation, and to maintain his.”
Tears appeared briefly in Dahlia’s eyes, only to disappear as she wiped them quickly away.
“We are to be married on paper only. I dare anyone to find anything romantic in that.”
“It cannot be as bad as that,” Helena said softly.
“I suppose it could be worse; I could be in love with him!”
Her friends looked at her, their expressions a mix of indecisiveness and disbelief.
“You needn’t fear!” Dahlia exclaimed. “He is the most obnoxious man I have ever met! How he infuriates me! He acts superior—well, one must admit that heissuperior to most men—but to lord it over everyone! And he thinks he can just look at me with those eyes and that I will blindly agree to everything that he says! Infuriating man!”
Celine and Helena, still listening to their friend, shared a knowing look.
“And hear this, as a final touch, he has forbidden me to continue writing!”
Both her friends gasped at this. Dahlia, finally securing the reaction she wanted from them, continued, “My writing! The only real thing that is completely mine, and he has taken it away from me.”
“But that is absurd!” Celine’s hands fisted on her lap. “He cannot control you! And for him to expect you to give up your talent is plainly cruel!”
“And what a talent, indeed! Oh, Dahlia, you have such a gift, to be able to write about love is no mean task. Penelope Lovelace’s words made me feel… things! Oh, I cannot explain it, but surely you understand me,” Helena said, hands on her chest.
“I-I have never told either of you this, but it was actually Penelope Lovelace’s—your writing that led me to understand my own feelings towards Rhys. I ought to thank you. You gave me clarity to know my own heart’s desires. And so, thank you, Dahlia.” Celine wiped at the corner of her eyes.
Dahlia was moved by her friend’s words. She never sought validation for her work, but to hear such accounts about the effect of Penelope Lovelace’s work was like a balm to her sorrows. She smiled tearily at her friends, wiping at her own eyes.
“I thank you; your words mean the world to me.” Then she continued, letting out a long sigh, “But what am I to do? Those are his terms: we will marry, and I will give up my writing.”
“You could not have agreed to that, Dahlia, have you?” Helena was indignant.
“I seem not to have a choice in the matter.”
“But–but you must be allowed to do what makes you happy; it isn’t as if it will do him further harm! Everyone already knows anyway!” Celine stood up and paced the room.
“Perhaps if you explain to him how important your work is to you and how good you are at it; he will understand and let you continue?” Helena asked hopefully.
“There is no chance of that happening, Helena.”
“This is ridiculous! You are a grown woman; you haven’t hurt anyone with your writing—well not really anyway. Why must you not be allowed to pursue it?” Celine walked back to her friend, the sympathy and outrage in her eyes, indeed, in both her friends’ eyes, lit a fire within Dahlia.
For the first time that day, someone—two people, in fact, were ready to support her. She felt a lightening in her heart. Perhaps something could be done; perhaps there was still a way. She must find some form of happiness in any way she could.
Celine put her hand over Dahlia’s, and Helena leaned over and rested her head on Dahlia’s shoulder.
“It’s only on paper after all,” Dahlia began softly then she smiled widely at her friends. “Not set in stone.”
The next morning, Dahlia found herself calling for breakfast to be brought up to her chambers. Indeed, she had no inclination to have the morning meal with anyone.
“The morning paper, M’Lady,” said Biddy as she laid the neatly folded periodical beside the breakfast tray. “Should I have John purchase the other publications as well?” she asked carefully.
Dahlia sighed and put down her teacup.
“I thank you, but no, Biddy. This one is quite enough.”
“M’Lady,” Biddy started, “Benson told us that he spoke to you last night before—before the incident. I’m so sorry to be causing you pain, M’Lady. Believe me, that is the last thing I want but?—”
