Page 100 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
Their dear sister.
Dahlia felt a lightening in her heart. Whatever came out of this situation with Peter, Dahlia now knew that she would take these young ladies’ friendship with her. Perhaps more than friendship, for they called hersister.
“Whatever happens, whatever Peter says, we shall remain sisters,” Claire said defiantly.
“Just because our brother cannot see what he has in front of him, does not mean that we cannot either. For we can! We seeyou, dear Dahlia,” Mary said, now crying in earnest.
“Mary, why must you cry?” Claire said, sniffling.
Dahlia hugged the twins as close to her as she possibly could. When she was young, she had imagined what having sisters would be like. Fun, exciting, wonderful, those were her imaginings.
Belonging.
That was what she felt now. And to Dahlia, that meant the world.
After dinner, the castle residents passed the night as they normally did in the sitting room. But something was different tonight. Peter could feel an energy between Dahlia, Mary, and Claire that had not been previously there.
They all sat together on the settee by the fire. Dahlia in the middle, each twin on either side of her, their heads resting on her shoulder. They read a book together, not Dahlia’s but one pulled out from Dahlia’s own collection. Currently, Dahlia was reading to the twins, but with her arms wrapped around their shoulders, it fell to Claire to hold the book up and Mary to turn the pages.
If Peter had been a painter, he could not have asked for a more perfect subject. With the dancing of the fire, the shadows of the night, and their smiling faces, Peter knew it was a picture that would stay with him.
Playing the pianoforte, Peter heard little of their reading. He yearned to be with them. How could he deny the pull in his heart? For tonight, he would not. He loosened the chains around his heart.
He got up and took the seat opposite them.
What if you slept
And what if
In your sleep
You dreamed
And what if
In your dream
You went to heaven
And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower
And what if
When you awoke
You had that flower in your hand
Ah, what then?
“Coleridge?” Peter asked.
“Yes,” Dahlia confirmed.
“That is beautiful,” Mary said.
“I think it sad,” Claire sighed.
“Why sad?” Dahlia asked, turning her head to better look at Claire.
