Lost in Lavender
Patricia Kiyono
A Christmas Bouquet novella
Dingbat Publishing
Humble, Texas
LOST IN LAVENDER
Copyright © 2018 by Patricia Kiyono
Published by Dingbat Publishing
Humble, Texas
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are entirely the produce of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual locations, events, or organizations is coincidental.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About the Author
Also by Patricia Kiyono
Dedication
While I love flowers, I know very little about them. I can name perhaps a half-dozen general varieties, and I have absolutely no ability to care for them. So when Dingbat Publishing announced this Christmas Bouquet series, I had to do a lot of research, because both my main characters work with flowers.
My paternal grandmother would have been the perfect resource for this project. She cultivated the most beautiful blossoms in our suburban neighborhood. Every day, she’d spend hours caring for her wide variety of plants, weeding, watering, and talking to them as dear friends.
Grandma came to America from Japan as a young bride in the 1920s and learned to assimilate in an unfamiliar culture, providing for her family as an artist, painting exquisite oriental designs on furniture. During the Great Depression, when she lost her job, she took in laundry and other menial work to provide for her invalid husband and young sons. She made many friends who protected her family from hostility and distrust during wartime. She loved to paint, knit, and sew, and she had a thirst for learning, especially about languages and travel.
I spent many happy hours at her side, learning from her, and I think a lot of my hobbies and interests stem from my time with her.
Miss you, Grandma.
Chapter One
James Benton paused mid-step, realizing the street he was on came to an end rather than taking him out of the village. Somehow he’d veered off the high street. Or maybe he’d missed it altogether. He did a slow turn, scanning the buildings around him and frowning as if he could somehow browbeat them into telling him which way he needed to go.
His father had allowed him the use of the family’s townhouse in Highgate, but with a limited staff, and he couldn’t afford to hire an additional footman to act as his guide. At least not until he’d managed to find a well-paying commission. If he could secure the position as landscape gardener for the winter garden at Nettlebloom, it would provide a sizable boost to his career — a career at which he was determined to succeed, despite the disapproval of his noble parents.
Today he would present his proposed plan for the garden to Lady Stormont, one of the most influential members of the Royal Horticultural Society. He had an appointment to meet her at Rosebriar, the Stormont estate. When the butler’s directions had failed to get him there, he’d stopped at a bookstore, where the kindly proprietor had drawn a map.
He pulled the sheet out of his pocket once more. The gentleman had told him he’d have no trouble finding it. But for some reason, James had trouble finding anything. Focus on the map. In the center, the man had drawn a square, representing the statue in the center of town. James didn’t remember seeing a statue. Where had he gone wrong?
He inwardly cursed at his inability to follow simple directions. He’d managed to graduate from Oxford, finding his classes with the help of his classmates. Yet he couldn’t wrap his mind around the difference between left and right. He stepped aside to let the people behind him pass, and looked back. Perhaps he should try to find his way back to the bookstore, but he didn’t see the shop’s sign. Had he made a turn or two since leaving the shop? Perhaps the gentleman across the street could help him—
“Look out!” A shout pierced through his thoughts and he froze, stopping just in time to let a carriage pass him by.
His mother and sister would have chided him endlessly about his near-miss. Fortunately he was alone, though he scolded himself for his carelessness.
He glanced to each side before crossing the busy street. Satisfied he’d be safe this time, he stepped off the walkway. But his eyes refused to focus on the gentleman he’d intended to ask for help. Instead, he spied the most exquisite flowers he’d ever seen. A cluster of roses, so perfect, so life-like, they had to be real. But the flowers were attached to a woman’s bonnet. Flowers as decorations on bonnets weren’t particularly unusual, but these were so flawless he had to take a closer look. If they were real, he had to find out where they’d come from. If they were hand-made, he needed to discover the material and compliment the artist.
And so, being the horticulturist he was, he followed the hat.
The hat’s wearer, however, had no idea she was being followed, and thus didn’t cooperate with his undertaking. She walked as if she were on a mission, her stride taking her quickly down the street. James never took his eyes off the hat, absently bumping people along the way, and probably causing a few to turn their heads in consternation at his rudeness. Not until he’d nearly knocked over a baby carriage did he focus on anything but the hat. When he reluctantly paused to apologize to the distraught nanny, he nearly cursed aloud to discover the hat and its wearer were no longer in sight.
She couldn’t have gone so far in the few seconds he’d turned his head. Perhaps she’d walked into one of the shops on this street. Something inside told him he needed to find her.
The first business was a pipe and tobacco shop. Definitely not a place the wearer of such a fine hat would go. Next to it was a book shop. That was a possibility. He entered and glanced about quickly but saw no flowered bonnet.
When he came to the third shop, his heart leaped for joy. There, in the center of the showroom, was the beautiful white bonnet with the most exquisite cluster of pink and yellow roses. He pulled the door open and strode in.
He longed to reach out and touch the blossoms, but just then, the hat came off, treating him to a view of the most glorious head of hair, the color of gold.
“Oh! I didn’t realize you’d followed me in. May I help you?”
Help him? He blinked, realizing the owner of the glorious hair had turned around, and he stared into an equally magnificent pair of wide blue eyes. The soothing scent of lavender assailed him, and all his worries drifted away. His mouth opened to respond, but the words refused to form and his mind went bla
nk.
“Are you looking for a hat as a gift for someone?”
“Er… a hat?” Belatedly, he took stock of his surroundings. Ladies’ hats of every color and style covered the walls and the window box. Through the window, he read the shop’s sign: Davison’s Millinery.
The woman frowned. “Are you in need of a physician? You seem… troubled.”
Troubled? Right. He hadn’t yet uttered a coherent response. She probably thinks I’m daft.
Remembering belatedly his appointment, he shook his head. “No. That is, I don’t need a doctor. I— I need… directions.”
Her expression cleared. “Oh! Yes, of course. I know this part of Highgate quite well. What is the address you’re trying to find?”
“Ah, I’m not certain of the address, but the estate is called Rosebriar.”
Her brows dipped, and she peered at him curiously. “You’re very nearly there.”
“Er, yes. I understand it’s nearby, but if you could point me in the right direction? I seem to have lost my way. I understand Nettlebloom is also a very short distance, and I don’t want to arrive at the wrong estate.”
The woman smiled, and his spirits lifted in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. “Yes, of course,” she replied. “I imagine it can be confusing to visitors. The two estates are adjacent. Nettlebloom is directly north of Highgate, and Rosebriar is to the east.”
North, east, south, west. If only those words meant something to him. His teachers had finally given up in frustration. “Er, would you mind terribly… pointing out which way I need to walk in order to reach Rosebriar? I’ve gotten myself turned around and … forgotten which way is east.”
The lovely head tilted, and he realized he needed to explain. “I have an appointment with Lady Stormont, and I’m already late…”
The woman laughed. “Lady Stormont is hardly punctual, so I can’t imagine she’ll mind that you’re late.” She stepped back to the doorway and pointed. “The high street is in that direction. Turn left, and follow the high street out of the town limits, and the road will take you directly to the gates of the estate.”
One turn. He could do this. If he could manage to remember…
The woman must have seen his uncertainty. “Come with me,” she said as she reached for her cloak. She led him out to the high street and turned so they both faced east.
“Stay on this street. If you don’t turn, you’ll reach the gate at Rosebriar.”
He thanked her and went on his way, curious about his reluctance to leave.
Chapter Two
Selina Davison watched the gentleman make his way down the high street. He was an interesting blend of conflicting qualities. He dressed well, but his clothing was older and worn. His voice was cultured, and he used proper grammar, but seemed unable to follow simple directions. She’d had to look up to speak to him, and his powerful build had seemed to fill the shop, but he moved gracefully.
Satisfied he would find his way, she returned to her shop. The bell above the door would notify her of customers entering, so she continued into her workroom. The shop was small, but it was enough for her tiny business, including the showroom, a private sitting room with a fireplace, and a workroom where she kept supplies and a large table on which she created her custom hats. A bedroom above the shop allowed her to live there. It was just off the high street, close enough for discerning customers, but without the exorbitant cost of the more fashionable addresses.
At one time, she’d been able to afford almost anything she wanted. She’d worn the latest fashions, and her biggest concern had been navigating the rules of society and not embarrassing her mother-in-law. But all that had ended when her beloved Richard and his mother had been killed in a carriage accident. The estate had gone to a distant cousin, who’d promptly informed her she was no longer welcome at Milton House. His wife didn’t want to share her home with another woman, so she’d been given one week to pack up and leave.
Thanks to her widow’s dowry, she’d been able to purchase the aging but well-built townhouse, and with hard work and her connections, she’d been able to turn her flower-making hobby into a profitable enterprise. Several friends, indignant at her treatment at the hands of her husband’s nephew and his wife, had been instrumental in her success. They’d purchased her hats, worn them everywhere, and spread the word about her shop.
She’d just put the finishing touches on an order for the following day when the doorbell rang and she went into the showroom to greet Betsey Hannigan, one of her oldest and dearest friends. The young duchess held firm to her loyalty to Selina, making weekly visits to the shop. She usually arrived at closing time, bringing tasty treats for an excellent tea.
“Good afternoon, your grace.”
Betsey sniffed. “To you and my friends, I’m still Betsey. When someone says ‘your grace’ I expect to see my husband’s mother.”
Selina suppressed a smile as she closed the curtains on the shop window, signaling the close of business for the day. “I understand. What news do you have for me today?”
“Two things. First of all, I wanted to tell you about the hat you made me last week — the one with the pink dahlias. Lady Stormont stopped me to ask where I got it. I gave her your name, and she said she’d be calling on you. Isn’t that exciting?”
Selina beamed, both at the news and at her friend’s exuberance. “That’s wonderful, and thank you for recommending me.”
“Oh, and that’s not all. The Royal Horticultural Society is sponsoring a winter garden on Lord Godolphin’s estate. Lady Wentworth called a meeting of the Highgate Garden Club and invited Lord Godolphin to attend so we can find out what the gardens will be like.”
Selina failed to understand how that bit of information would have anything to do with her. She no longer belonged to the Garden Club, or any other club. “How nice.”
Betsey’s enthusiasm continued. “Don’t you see? This is your opportunity to gain more business!”
“How does the Garden Club meeting mean more orders for me?”
“Because, dearest, these are the ladies who need your lovely creations. When they visit the new garden, they’ll want to look their best. They’ll need new hats to wear. And they’ll want your hats. Don’t you see? They need hats with the lovely flowers only you create, because you’ll make them coordinate with the gardens. If you attend the meeting with me, you’ll know ahead of time what kind of flowers to put on your hats, and you’ll be known as a trend-setter.”
Betsey’s idea had merit. By learning ahead of time what kind of blossoms to make, she could be ahead of her competitors. But attending the meeting presented a new problem.
“I haven’t been in any sort of social situation in almost two years. I have nothing suitable to wear. And what would the ladies think of me — a common working woman — presuming to sit with them?”
“No one would dare say a word against you!” Betsey’s expression was fierce, and Selina loved her for her loyalty. “You’re a dowager countess and have every right to be there. Everyone knows how your husband’s cousin allowed that arrogant wife of his to demand that he set you out on the streets, with only a week’s notice. You didn’t even have time to grieve! Disgraceful, that’s what it was.” Her expression softened. “Don’t worry, Selina. You will be welcomed. In fact, I added your name on my response, stating that you would attend as my guest.”
Selina was nearly convinced. It would be lovely to dress up again and have tea with some of her old friends. She could pretend, just for an afternoon, that the past few years had all been a terrible dream. But a new problem occurred to her.
“It’s a wonderful idea, but as I said, there’s nothing in my current wardrobe appropriate to wear to the meeting.” Though she hadn’t purchased or worn any new gowns, she took note of the fashions her customers wore. If Richard’s mother could see her current wardrobe, she’d be scandalized.
“Borrow one of my dresses,” Betsey countered.
“That would work,
if I weren’t six inches taller than you.”
“So add an extra flounce or lace at the hem. I’ve seen that on some of the new designs in Ackerman’s Repository.”
“I couldn’t do that to one of your dresses. Besides, people wouldn’t expect me to be wearing the latest fashion.”
Betsey set her hands on her hips and cast a stern look. “Selina, are you trying to end our friendship?”
Her friend’s vehemence took her aback. “Of course not!”
“Then stop trying to prevent me from getting my way. I want you to be there to hear about the new gardens, and I mean to make it happen.”
It appeared her friend had already made up her mind and had worked out all the angles. Still, she wasn’t about to wear one of Betsey’s dresses, even with alterations. The smaller woman’s style was much too flamboyant. “When is the meeting?”
“In three weeks. I’ll bring my carriage and take you there.”
“All right, I’ll go. But I’ll take care of my own dress.”
Chapter Three
Thanks to the milliner’s re-direction, James arrived at Rosebriar, Lady Stormont’s estate, exactly one hour late. He always gave himself more than enough time for travel, but he could never seem to find the correct location on the first try. His internal compass, as his father used to say, was damaged. He always needed to ask for directions. Several times. And not the “turn left, turn right” sort of directions. Left and right had never seemed to make sense to him, let alone north, south, east and west. He needed someone to point his eyes in the direction he needed to walk. And then he needed to avoid distractions that might lead him in another direction.
As the woman at Davison’s Millinery had promised, the gates to the Stormont estate appeared not long after he left the village outskirts. Thankfully, the walkway to the house wasn’t too long — less than a mile. But he’d already been walking for almost two hours, and he looked forward to sitting.
Lost in Lavender (A Christmas Bouquet Book 1) Page 1
