Page 85 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
“Allow me to assist you and Mrs. Baker.”
“There’s really no need, Your Grace.”
“But I insist, I must be of service.”
“If you must,” Helena replied in a clipped voice.
“It seems that I owe you and apology,” Peter told Dahlia as they watched Matteo and the others, a wry smile on his lips.
“Whatever for, Peter?”
“I will admit that I thought your plan to be completely insensible when you had described it to me earlier today.”
“Insensible?” She put her hands on her hips. “Ye of little faith.”
“And for it, I apologize.” Peter grinned. “Is your forgiveness mine, Your Grace?”
“I shall give it soon, but first you must see the sitting room, so your regrets might feel more sincere!”
“You doubt my sincerity now?” Peter’s brows rose.
“Entirely, Your Grace.”
The laugh that rang across the main hall had Matteo, Helena and Mrs. Baker looking at the Peter and Dahlia. Matteo and Helena looked at each other with knowing looks directed at their friends.
“Oh, Peter look!” Claire hurried to her brother and took his hand.
“Is it not beautiful?” Mary asked him, bouncing on her heels.
Peter searched for the words to describe what he saw—indeed, what he felt. He stopped and stared at what they had created. The whole room seemed somehow different. It certainly smelled different, like the outdoors. Fresh and crisp because of the fir, lovely and alive because of the flowers.
“It is… marvelous.”
He did not know why this tree, with its red and white blooms, invoked such feelings in him. He looked at Dahlia. Why did this woman, this Dahlia Hill—Dahlia Thornscroft, he corrected himself—move him so?
He looked at his sisters, at his home. Not for an exceedingly long time had a feminine touch become so influential to him as hershad been these past few weeks. Indeed, he could not seem to remember a time when she was not there.
She was made to be the center of a family. At that moment, it seemed to him that she was the center of this one.
“Nowyou have my forgiveness, Your Grace,” Dahlia told him quietly, a proud smile on her face.
“Your Grace, I have the items you asked for.” Biddy went to Dahlia.
Handing her mistress a box, Biddy’s eyes widened at the site before her.
“Oh, Your Grace! This is wonderful! Just like you always wanted to do back at Cosgrove!”
“Yes, Biddy. It turned out very well thanks to the flowers from the hothouse.”
“Why did you not decorate Cosgrove in this manner?” Peter asked.
“Well, for one thing, we did not have a hothouse full of beautiful blooms, and for another, the staff could not be spared. My parents always entertain at Christmas; all the staff needed to put their efforts into that.”
Dahlia looked at Biddy with a conspiratorial smile.
“But Biddy and I once tried to do it. Unfortunately, my father found out and was furious that I went out to cut a tree. I was fourteen; you can imagine his anger justified. I did not want to cause him further worry, so I never attempted it again. But that same night, when the adults were all enjoying themselves, Benson and Biddy brought me a tiny tree—Benson was able to cut the top part of a fir tree! It barely reached my hip, but Biddy and I decorated it with ribbons.”
Dahlia opened the box she held.
