by Annie Seaton
Lizzy kept herself very busy.
Every morning on her way to work, she went to visit Mrs. MacPherson, collecting the lunchbox for lunch in the park.
But there were no creeping hands on her thigh and no gentle welcoming kisses on her cheek. She tried to get back to enjoying her solitary life, with Wesley as her best friend. He was polite and friendly but kept a wary distance.
After five sleepless nights, despite the best sleeping potion she could brew, Lizzy came to a decision.
On Friday morning, she visited Mrs. MacPherson at her cottage. Tapping gently on the front door, she surprised the elderly woman in her nightgown.
“Why Lizzy, what are you doing here? It’s Friday, you don’t work at the library today.” Her little hands fluttered anxiously. “I can make your lunch, if you have a minute or two to wait?”
Lizzy took Mrs. MacPherson’s hands gently between hers. “Relax, Mrs. Mac. No work today. I called in to ask you a favor.”
The old lady let out a breath and put her hand to her head. “Why, I thought I had mixed my days up. You had me worried my memory was going even more! Come away in with you, lass. I will make you a nice cup of tea.”
Settled at the table in the dining room, which was crowded with old ornaments and knick-knacks, Lizzy smoothed her hand over the lace crocheted tablecloth on the table.
“Now what’s this favor, young lady?”
“I was hoping you would ask Wesley to bring something over to me, when he mows your grass this afternoon?”
“Something?” The old lady’s face wrinkled in confusion.
“Like bread or muffins, or a pot of herbs. Anything will do.” Lizzy cast her gaze down to her hand plucking nervously at the cloth. Looking up again, she was surprised to see the smile on the old woman’s face.
Mrs. Macpherson’s eyes were brimming with mirth. She clapped her little, wrinkled hands together in excitement. “Oh, is this a plot?” she asked with a little giggle.
“If I ask Wesley to come over, he will know I am up to something.” Lizzy smiled at Mrs. MacPherson. “And I do want to surprise him.”
Reaching over, her old friend patted Lizzy’s arm. “Leave it to me. I will be delighted to help out.”
Wesley walked around the back of the house, clutching a pot of catnip. Mrs. MacPherson had insisted he take it straight around to Lizzy’s cottage before he went home. He was damned if he wanted to go there; it was hard enough having lunch with her every day. Lizzy was kneeling in her herb garden, her back to him, singing quietly to her flowers as she dug in the soil.
The sun was slipping behind Mt. Silverton. Lizzy did not seem to notice the purple clouds of a summer storm swirling in from the east. Wesley had parked his motorcycle out on the road, ready for a quick escape. He walked quietly across her lawn, intending to leave the pot on her back porch.
His skin glistened with perspiration from mowing the large lawn, and his heart skittered in his chest. He was uneasy being at Lizzy’s cottage.
He watched as she planted a row of sweet peas against the trellis at the back of the herb garden. If he hadn’t already loved her, he would have fallen for her in that moment.
A silver halo shone brightly around her head, the setting sun shining on her hair. She stood, and as she turned to face him, the slim curves of her body were outlined through her sheer gown.
“Not the most sensible gardening clothes.” He handed her the catnip. “There’s a storm coming, too.”
Lizzy took the catnip from him and ran her fingers lightly up his perspiring arms.
“Catnip from Mrs. MacPherson?” She smiled sweetly up at him. “How appropriate. Used to captivate your lover and capture his heart forever.”
“Expecting the singer back are you, Lizzy?” Wesley asked gruffly when his heart dropped.
“No, Wesley, I’m expecting you. I have made my choice.” She looked up at him, her eyes locked with his, and his world stood still.
He stepped forward and spoke her name. “Lizzy?”
The trees sighed in the wind.
“Yes, Wesley?”
“What are you doing?”
She reached out, took his hand, and led him into her cottage. The smell of lavender and roses surrounded him as they walked into the kitchen.
Dozens of candles flickered in the soft light and he caught the faint sound of violins in the air. Lizzy led him wordlessly upstairs into her bathroom and stood beside a huge bath. It was filled with steaming water, crushed lavender, and rose petals.
Still without speaking, she stretched and lifted her silk robe over her head and stood naked before him.
She leaned over and tested the water temperature with her hand, silver hair falling across her face.
“Just right,” she smiled and walked over to him. “You need a wash, Wesley.”
At a loss for words, he allowed her to reach over and undo the snap on his denim shorts.
She brushed her lips against his chest, hooked her thumbs in each side of his shorts and boxers, and dragged them down over his hips.
She smiled when his magnificent arousal sprang out and pushed against her soft skin.
She stepped away and lifted one naked slender leg and slid it into the fragrant water. She held her hand out for support as she swung her other leg into the water and then sat down in it.
The water barely covered her pert little breasts. He watched as the rose petals stuck to her translucent skin.
He stepped into the bath and sat opposite her.
“Wesley, I learned to be alone over many years, but I loved you from the first day I met you. I loved you as a friend and a brother. You became as essential to me as the air I breathe, and over the years I ignored what you came to mean to me.”
His heart was pounding, and his love for her was swelling out of his chest.
He reached for her, but she put up her hand.
“No, hear me out.” Her eyes were calm, steady, and clear, and if he was seeing right, full of love for him. He had waited a hundred years; he could wait another few moments.
“My family could see it; all our dear old friends in the valley could see it.” Her beautiful face clouded when she spoke.
“If you had wanted to, you could have looked, and you would have known this moment would come. But you loved me so much,” her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears, “you waited and endured the uncertainty of the future.”
She reached out to him. “Wesley, I am so sorry I hurt you. I love you, I have always loved you, and I will love you for whatever eternity we have. If you will have me, I am yours.”
Without answering, he reached over, picked up the soft sponge, and wiped the tears from her face.
Tears of joy mingled with beads of moisture on his face. “No more tears to dim your eyes. You have my heart and soul, forever, my love,” he said.
Wesley washed her reverently and then lay back in the sweet water. Lizzy cleansed the perspiration from his body.
When they were clean and rinsed, he stepped out of the tub and held a warm towel out to her.
He dried her tenderly, and then she led him into her bedroom. He smiled when he saw the plump cushions and rose petals scattered over the pure white sheets. Dozens of white candles lit the small room, and two wine goblets sat on a silver tray beside an uncorked bottle of golden liquid.
“I’m glad you waited for me, Wesley.” she smiled up at him.
Epilogue
A FAT YELLOW MOON hung heavy in the silver sky when the clock struck midnight, and the Beltane holiday began. The strains of a country and western song, plucked on a twelve-string guitar, drifted across the moonlit garden, and the white flowers nodded with the music.
The gathering was intimate. Lizzy’s family sat in two rows next to a small fountain, where water bubbled softly over three tiered bowls filled with white flowers. Their elderly friends sat in a row of silk covered chairs next to the herb garden.
“Isn’t it most unusual?” Mrs. MacPherson leaned over to old
Mrs. McGinty, pointing to the group seated by the fountain. “The whole family has silver hair like Lizzy.”
“And how unusual to have country and western music at a wedding,” replied Mrs. McGinty. “I thought Lizzy hated country and western music.”
Mrs. MacPherson shrugged. “So does Wesley.”
Wesley stood alone in the center of the lawn at the front of a small altar. He stood tall and proud, a white silk shirt billowing loosely over tailored black trousers. A crown of ivy circled his head and his black hair reflected the moonlight. He turned and nodded to Josh, sitting above them on the brick steps by the fountain. The notes of Mendelssohn’s wedding march drifted softly from the guitar while both Mrs. MacPherson and Mrs. McGinty pulled out lace-edged handkerchiefs and dabbed at their eyes.
A collective gasp came from the small gathering when twelve white doves swooped from the trees above in the moonlight, dipping in the fountain before perching on the top bowl.
Two small children stepped from the cottage and walked slowly along the path, strewing white rose petals along behind them.
The music swelled, and Lizzy stepped out behind the children, holding the arm of a tall, silver-haired gentleman. Her face was covered by a sheer white veil, trailing down her back and across the long train of her silk wedding dress. Her small white slippers followed the trail of rose petals to Wesley. The two old ladies dabbed their eyes once again as Wesley held his hand out to welcome Lizzy, his eyes glistening with tears of joy.
Lizzy stood next to Wesley. They turned to the altar and their family formed a circle around them. They made their vows, acknowledging and paying respect to the beauty of life around them. A soft murmur drifted across from the birch tree at the back of the garden.
A young man in a white suit lay back in the tree observing the proceedings below. His bow sat idle next to him. A beautiful woman sat beside him, her legs swinging in the moonlight. A smug smile crossed the young man’s face.
His mother turned to him. “Well, my son, the wager has been won. A satisfactory conclusion for all.”
“I will be in the Bahamas if you are looking for me, mother.” His laugh echoed around the garden as Cupid flew into the silver clouds, his bow trailing behind him.
About the Author
Annie Seaton lives on the beautiful east coast of Australia, where she loves sitting in her writing chair, gazing at the ocean and writing stories. She has always been fascinated by all things historical and has found her niche writing contemporary romance and steampunk, where strong heroines and brooding heroes fight together to make their alternative worlds a better place.
Her debut novel, Holiday Affair, a contemporary romance set in the South Pacific was released in March. The sequel Italian Affair is currently underway. Watch out for the story of Tom and Brianna the sex therapist who spices up his life!
Winter of the Passion Flower was released on the same day! Currently writing the sequel, the adventures of Sofia and her Scottish laird, Annie is already looking forward to the rest of the series.
Blind Lust, a paranormal novella is the third novel published in her first year or writing and is Annie’s favorite story.
Annie lives with her husband, and ‘Bob’ the dog and two white cats, in a house next to the beach in a small coastal town of New South Wales. Their two children are grown and married and she loves spending time gardening, walking on the beach and spoiling her two grandchildren.
When she is not writing she can be found in her garden or walking on the beach... or most likely on her deck overlooking the ocean, a chilled glass of sauvignon blanc in hand as the sun sets.
Visit Annie Seaton at http://annieseatonromance.com
Check out her blog at http://annieseaton.blogspot.com
Twitter @annieseaton26
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/annieseaton26
