Page 97 of Stolen By the Duke of Ice
“My dear Dahlia, I think you must learn to mind your own feelings as well.”
“If I think only of myself, I risk not being able to take care of others. I love them, so I must put them first.”
Peter was no longer certain that she was still talking about her book nor of Mary and Claire. His mind found the answer.
She thinks of her parents.
“And those who care for you must do the same for you in return. You will not lose them if you say no, not the ones that really matter.”
Again, Peter did not know when or how it happened, but he found that he held Dahlia’s hand in his.
His solemn words had her looking at him then she cast her gaze at the fire. They both sat in silence.
“Dahlia, what happened two nights ago?”
As if on cue, her cheeks reddened. She pulled her hand away.
“Will you not tell me?” he prodded.
Peter was not sure what it was he asked, indeed what it was he wanted, but he felt that he needed to hear her answer.
‘I—I must…”
She looked at him, a plea for understanding. For an instant, tears shimmered in her eyes, but then she stood up abruptly and moved away from him. “Excuse me, I must—I must go.”
Dahlia rushed out of the room as tears stung her eyes. She ran blindly, anywhere, as long as it took her away from Peter. She could handle many things—indeed had handled them before. But to be rejected by one’s own husband, to be found so lacking that being cast aside was inevitable, was too much for her to bear. Everyone had their limits, and she, apparently, had found hers.
And here I am. Dahlia. Alone, not unwanted but not quite wanted either.The cold air stung her nose. She was standing outside in the snow with no protection from the cold. Not wanting to go back to the castle, she ran until she reached the hothouse.
The warmer temperature was like an embrace. Funny how old habits never died. When she was younger and pining for her absent parents, Dahlia lost herself in her imagination. Books and dolls as playmates gave her another world where she was not alone, where she was not lonely.
And now, here she was again, looking for solace and companionship among flowers. Moving deeper into the hothouse, she inhaled their fragrance. Would that she could just stay here and not face the world outside. Here in their world where they had their own language.
She touched the rose blooms.
Red rose, deep love, romance and passion. Yellow, friendship and cheerfulness. White, loyalty, everlasting love.
What more could she want? It started as a chuckle, but soon, Dahliah found herself with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“You cannot refuse it now.”
Peter stood beside her, pushing the handkerchief in her hand.
Chapter Twenty
When Dahlia took his handkerchief, Peter felt inexplicable relief. He watched her now as she wiped the tears from her eyes.
Giving her a moment, he stepped back and laid her cloak and gloves on a nearby table. When he had realized that she ran out of the castle and into the winter cold without here winter wear, Peter had rushed to follow her, taking with him the garments.
Going to her again, Peter spoke in a soft voice.
“Dahlia, please tell me what is wrong.”
He was surprised when she instantly turned around.
“Oh, Peter, do you really not know?”
They looked at each other with sad eyes. Outside the snow fell, looking as if it would never end.
