Page 99 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
“But where shall we read? We have not yet chosen a new Garden of Hesperides.”
“But that is the best news!” Mary said. “We no longer need to be skulking about when we read your book, do we? Peter has changed his mind about it.”
“But that was part of the fun,” Claire complained. “Now we just have an ordinary reading club.”
“I am not sure ordinary reading clubs have their members as their book characters though,” Dahlia teased.
“Yes!” Mary and Claire exclaimed happily.
“Shall I begin?” Dahlia asked.
When they nodded, Dahlia settled on Mary’s bed. Mary and Claire found comfortable positions around her and with expectant faces, prepared to listen.
The minutes passed. Dahlia could see from their varying expressions which parts they liked and which parts they were not quite satisfied with—the latter being particularly about their characters.
But the twins were, above all things, gently bred ladies, and so years of maidenly upbringing entailed them to wait until Dahlia had finished. As soon as she did, they both launched into questions, suggestions, and complains.
“She seems too bold, I think wielding the gun made her seem arrogant as well; how would she have known to use a gun anyway?”
“But Claire, you were the one who?—”
“Maybe, make her use a rapier instead?”
“I feel that she seems far too sophisticated for her age; can anyone really be a master at her age?”
“But Mary, for people to be in awe of her talent, she would have to be?—”
“It could just be a natural talent. Maybe she could?—”
Dahlia’s mind was in a whirl. She saw the twins in character, she saw the Duke of Snowdon, she saw his bride in her mind, and they—all of them—were unhappy.
“Stop!” Dahlia held up her hand. “Please, stop.”
Mary and Claire stared at her, surprised.
“While I appreciate all your advice, I must put my foot down this time. These,” she pointed at the book, “do not feel like my characters anymore. And I find that I just cannot accept that; it makes me unhappy.”
Dahlia looked at the twins, both of whom had remained silent. Calling on a newly found courage, Dahlia continued in a firm voice, “I shall be returning the story to its original premise, to its original characters.” Then softer, she added, “I very much value your opinions, but I cannot write a story just to please and appease you both. I must write it for myself as well.”
My dear Dahlia, I think you must learn to mind your own feelings as well.
Peter’s words gave her the courage to stand her ground. Perhaps she had given too much and asked for too little. Well, she would start now.
“I shall understand if you feel that I have disappointed you.” Dahlia’s voice broke. “I shall miss your friendship, of course, but you will have to put up with my presence for just a little while longer since I shall be leaving soon.”
“Oh, Dahlia, we’re so sorry,” Mary said.
Mary and Claire flung themselves at her, their arms wrapping around Dahlia and surprising her.
“We did not mean to make you feel unhappy. We are so ungrateful! You write us such a good story, and we try to tear it up with our ideas.” Claire almost sobbed.
“You—you are not angry?” Dahlia asked, surprise and confusion in her eyes.
“No! Of course not,” Mary replied.
“Not even annoyed?”
“What we are isashamed. Making our dear sister feel that way,” she added. “Will you forgive us?”
