“You should then.”
“Yes, perhaps I shall.”
“And you, Dahlia? Do you play the instrument? Or any other?”
“Yes, the pianoforte too, to a degree.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means that I was taught to play the pianoforte, but I never became terribly proficient.”
“Then perhaps practice sessions are in order—that is, if you’d like them.”
“And shall you be teacher or audience, Your Grace?”
“Both, I imagine.”
She smiled warmly at him, and he smiled back.
When Mrs. Smith returned, it was with two other seamstresses. They worked efficiently, Mrs. Smith conversing pleasantly with Dahlia.
When the cloak came off, the dressmaker begged for a little more of Dahlia’s patience as she promised to return shortly.
“Have seat while you wait.” Peter gestured to the chair beside him.
“Thank you, I had forgot what a chore getting fitted was.”
“I thought most females enjoy acquiring new clothes?”
“We enjoywearingthem; the measuring, the pin-pricking and the endless turning, we most certainly do not.”
Peter frowned and scanned her from head to foot. Concern was written on his face.
“Have you been pricked? Why did you not say anything? Mrs. Smith should?—”
“No, please, Your Grace! I did not mean that Mrs. Smith turned me into a pincushion.”
The conversation made Dahlia recall an incident with Celine and Helena many years ago involving pincushions and apples. She started laughing—to Peter, seemingly out of nowhere.
He watched her as her laughter turned almost uncontrollable, tears streamed down her cheeks.
Not a little amused, Peter took out a handkerchief and presented it to Dahlia, which she accepted gratefully. A few moments foundher finally in control of her mirth. She wiped her eyes and drew in a deep breath.
Peter looked at her, a question in his eyes.
“Perhaps you would like to share what had you rolling with laughter?”
“Oh, no, I think I’d rather not.”
“Dahlia, you cannot expect me to accept that answer, not after I just witnessed you almost run out of breath from whatever it was that you found extremely funny.”
Her laughter threatened to return again, and Dahlia covered her mouth and took deep breaths. She considered telling him.
Well, why not? It is not as if Celine and Helena will ever know that I told him the story.
“Very well, but in return, you must tell me a funny story of your own experience.”
Peter paused then nodded.
