Page 71 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
Dahlia grinned at him. She curtsied and walked away to meet Mrs. Baker and to tend to her flowers.
Peter stood and watched her; the single stem of a pink rose still held in his hand.
Peter lay in bed that night. It had been a long day for him; along with his usual duties, he had wrapped up the finer details needed to complete his business with Matteo. Despite his visit being, technically, a business visit, he wanted his friend to have time for leisure as well. And so, to lessen their work, he had done most of it ahead of time.
Work, his business dealings, and the management of the estate were constants in his life. The dukedom was given to him, not by choice but by birthright. And so, he had worked hard, harder than was necessary, certainly harder than what people expected of him. He knew they watched and waited for any weakness—especially in the beginning. These people whom he called his peers. The same peers that took advantage of his father’s weakness and unravelling.
They shall never have an opportunity to do the same to me.
Was it a wonder that he trusted very few? Matteo was among those. To trust was to give another control over part of his life, and Peter preferred the control to be mostly his.
After dinner, he had, as promised, played for Dahlia and his sisters.
He had quite enjoyed himself. For certain, the castle had not heard such ruckus in a very long time. He had shrugged off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, loosened his cravat, and tackled the pianoforte as he had never before.
And he had danced with Dahlia. To be sure, he danced with all three of them, but it was the dance with Dahlia that he most certainly enjoyed.
“What a shame, Your Grace,” Dahlia said as they took to the floor, the twins watching them demonstrate the correct steps in the quadrille.
“What is?”
“You spent so many hours frowning darkly at us poor debutantes when you could have been dancing with us instead, for you do it beautifully.”
His playfully surly reply had Dahlia laughing. After that, he had partnered which each twin as Dahlia played for them.
She rates her skill too low; Dahlia plays the pianoforte quite well.
He scratched his head; if Mary and Claire were this excited now about their first season, what would they be like upon the actual time?
“A quicker tune if you please, Peter.”
“Peter, I am in need of a male partner.”
“I am dreadfully, sorry Peter, I had not meant to step on your foot!”
“Will you allow us to waltz, Peter?”
Exhausted after many rounds of practice, refreshments were called for. It was nearing midnight when they quieted down, exchanging stories and opinions in soft voices.
Good god, how shall I survive the season? It is a good thing that Dahlia is here. Females!
He frowned.
But she soon will not be. Certainly not during the twins’ first season. Certainly not after Christmas.
The thought depressed him. How was it that she so quickly became a part of their daily lives? Even the household staff now deferred to her for decisions; rarely did they ask him about household matters anymore. Mary and Claire adored her. They were always whispering and giggling together.
Mary and Claire, I am glad to see them come out of their shells.
He knew that it was Dahlia he should credit for that too. Dahlia who thought herself not enough, who thought herself not beautiful. He scoffed. Not beautiful, indeed.
Sitting up, he picked up the rose that she had accidentally thrown at him earlier that day in the hothouse. Running the bloom against his fingers, he saw her as she was surrounded by roses, a single rose resting against her red hair.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
Looking at the vase of pink roses on his bedside table, Peter knew that that was her doing as well.
“Mischievous.” He grinned. “My first bouquet of flowers.”
