Page 67 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
But no sooner had those thoughts entered her mind then they had been replaced by others.
She remembered how concerned and caring he had been towards her and his sisters—his perceived fear for their health. She remembered how Biddy had relayed his servants’ opinions of him, his sisters’ narrative of their family’s loss and what he had done to cope. And just now, small a gesture as it might have been, she remembered how he had instructed Mrs. Smith to make Lady Trent’s new cape and cloak in a different color.
No lady wants to be seen in the same clothes as another lady of course. A small thing really, but he had thought of it. Even I had not.
She acknowledged that she had been wrong about him. Indeed, he was not the cold, heartless man who needed to be taught how to love, for he already knew how. She saw it in the way he loved his family, even those that he had already lost.
He cared deeply, and by fate, he had been hurt deeply. Because of that, he knew the price of love. Because of that, he had guarded his heart.
And yet, there were times when Dahlia felt that he looked at her differently. Was it just fanciful thinking on her part, or did he seem to have feelings for her as well? Was she the only one affected?
He did care for her, that she was sure of, but could he love her?
Dahlia felt a lump form in her throat.
So, this is what it feels like.
The carriage wound to a stop. They had arrived at Icedale Castle.
“Dahlia.” She felt a gentle nudge.
She did not move, still feigning sleep, for she found that she was not yet ready to face him. Not after such realizations.
“We are home; wake up, Dahlia.”
We are home. Yes. It is starting to feel like home.
And yet… and yet, she must leave it in a just over a fortnight’s time. Away from here and on to the freedom and independence that he promised as a replacement for the love that she had told him she sought. A freedom and independence that she now knew she did not want any longer.
Chapter Fourteen
“Peter.”
Peter looked up from his newspaper. He and Dahlia were the only ones left in the breakfast room. Mary and Claire, having started earlier than them, had finished and excused themselves.
“Yes?”
“Would it be all right with you if I invite my friend, Helena, for a short visit?” She raised the piece of parchment she had been reading. “I have just received a letter from her, and I find that I am quite missing my friends.”
Peter studied Dahlia.
Is she sad here? Has she got tired of our company so soon?
He felt somewhat hurt. He had thought she was enjoying living in the castle and becoming friends with Mary and Claire, withhim. It was illogical, he knew, considering their arrangement and plans. But there it was; he felt it, nonetheless.
“Of course, she is more than welcome for a visit,” he replied, masking his hurt. “Afterall, I only met Lady Helena very briefly after the…”
The wedding.
He wasn’t sure if they should be talking about it. It certainly never came up in their discussions. To be sure, they did not talk about the future either. After he had told Dahlia about the purchase of the house in London, they had never had a discussion involving it again. So, it seemed that they were suspended in the moment. The past and the future were taboo.
He cleared his throat.
“It would be my pleasure to host your friend,” he continued.
He folded his newspaper and laid it beside his empty plate. Having finished some minutes ago, he had stayed to accompany her while she ate.
“Country society is, indeed, not as varied as that of Town—at least it is not like what you are used to, I presume.”
