by Dee, Bonnie
Miss Gardener might help him acquire plants for the greenhouse, but that was all. Better to forget the way her bright smile lit his dark spaces. Time to stop imagining how that fiery hair that Guy pretended had burned him would feel like to the touch. Soft as the skin of her hand, no doubt. He imagined glossy tendrils sliding between his fingers and sparkling blue eyes regarding him with affection. Such a sweet dream must ever remain a fantasy.
Heaving a glum sigh, Will changed into night attire then settled into an armchair to read. An old favorite, The Life of Galileo beckoned him, but instead, he studied one of the new volumes he had purchased: The Science of Horticulture. Regardless of whether he contacted Miss Gardener or not, he had promised Mother to refurbish the conservatory. At least one corner of his barren house would be filled with vibrant life.
Chapter Four
As Rose paid her supplier for the day’s delivery, she considered what she would do when winter came. The price of hothouse blooms was exorbitant. It would be wonderful if she could raise at least some flowers in a glass lean-to or cold frame behind the building. But she could not afford something like that, even if her landlord or the zoning laws permitted it.
She walked from the delivery door into the shop, head down, lost in a daydream in which flowers were plentiful and always in perfect bloom.
“Pardon me, Miss Gardener,” a low male voice interrupted her thoughts. Though she had heard only a handful of sentences spoken by that voice, she already recognized it.
Rose offered the speaker a welcoming smile. “Good morning, Mr. Carmody. How may I help you today?”
He remained near the door, careful not to take her by surprise again and far away from any obstructions, holding his hat in hand. “I am here for two reasons, Miss Gardener. One is to procure a bouquet. The other is to discuss a proposition.”
His second statement put her on guard. She had been propositioned by groping tossers in her old neighborhood and by lads at the dance hall where she and the other boarding house girls would go on a Saturday evening. Even gentlemanly customers had sometimes murmured scandalous invitations.
“I will gladly assemble a bouquet for you,” she replied primly. “What sort of flowers?”
“Lilies, if you have them. Or anything. It doesn’t matter. What I’m mostly interested in is your advice on the renovation of my conservatory. I’ve hired a glazier to repair the panes, but I know very little about plants and their needs. I had hoped you might come to my house to observe the progress of the restoration and make some suggestions on what flora I should choose.”
Come over indeed. As if she were the sort of woman who would stop by a single man’s house. Although, Carmody had been very courtly while treating her thorn wound. She rubbed the spot, recalling the feel of his warm hand cupping hers. The slight tingle there must be from the healing process.
It was certainly serendipitous that Mr. Carmody should request her advice on a topic she’d been considering mere seconds before. It felt like some sort of message from on high.
“Since you mention the subject, Mr. Carmody, I was just now thinking of indoor gardening and how it might be managed in our cold and overcast English winter. However, I must warn you that I am no expert on growing plants by any means. I depend on a book I bought to educate me on the subject: The Science of Horticulture.”
Her visitor’s eyes widened. “I recently purchased the same volume and was just reading it last night.”
She laughed in delight. “Perhaps we might study together and exchange our thoughts on what we learn. I would be pleased to have a fellow botany enthusiast with whom to discuss plants.” Rose blurted the invitation without thinking of how it might sound.
Carmody paused. Perhaps he thought her offer too forward. But then he replied, “Yes. I would be amenable to that at any time that would be convenient for you. Also, I would greatly appreciate your view on the repairs to my conservatory.”
“I would enjoy seeing it very much, but I should not visit a bachelor’s home without a chaperone.”
“Of course not.” He dropped his gaze, adjusted his spectacles, then peered at her with bright eyes. “Perhaps if both your friend and mine were present, it would be suitable? I shall arrange a dinner party and viewing of the work in progress.”
“That would be all right. Whenever you wish to arrange it, I will—”
A customer arrived to interrupt her thought. Rose turned her attention to the woman in a blue gown and matching plumed hat, which Rose recognized as one of Hattie’s. “Good day. Welcome to my shop. May I help you with anything in particular?”
The woman shot a look between Rose and Mr. Carmody. “I will browse while you finish serving your customer.”
“After you, Madam,” Carmody said. “I must choose an appropriate bereavement note.” He stepped toward the display.
The flustered woman required several centerpieces for a tea she was hosting that very day. “I completely forgot about flowers. There’s nothing to cut in the garden, and now, I’ve left it so late I haven’t the time to arrange them myself. Could you make four centerpieces and deliver them before two today?”
The close deadline seemed nearly unachievable. Still, Rose could not bear to turn down any order. “Pink roses and white gardenias,” she repeated the woman’s request. “I have both on hand.”
After her harried customer had left, Rose exclaimed aloud, “What have I done?”
Mr. Carmody replaced the card he pretended to study. “Will you be unable to complete the order in time?”
“I should be able to, but not with interruptions from customers. Guy is right. I need an assistant, if only for a few hours each day.” She recalled to whom she was speaking. “Never mind my worries. Let me make your bouquet.”
“There is no special occasion. I’ll buy them another time. You must begin filling that order. Might I offer to watch the store for you? I am not experienced, but I believe I could greet customers and do my best to help them.”
She couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d offered to get down on his knees and scrub the floors. “I couldn’t possibly ask such a favor of you.”
“You wouldn’t want to disappoint a new customer. It would be bad for business.” He studied her with translucent eyes which shaded toward leaf-green in the light. “You are a friend of Hardy’s and therefore a friend of mine. Allow me to help you as he would.”
Rose dipped her head, his keen gaze making her feel unaccountably shy and shaky. Of course he had no inappropriate designs on her, but was merely looking out for her on his friend’s behalf. “I would greatly appreciate your help. Thank you, Mr. Carmody. I will work as quickly as I can, and if you need help with a customer, you must summon me from the back room.”
“I certainly will.” He gave a small bow as naturally as breathing. The men in Rose’s life did not bow. She didn’t come from that sort of people. His courtesy and the way he looked at her through the clear glass shield of his spectacles made her shaky, trembling feeling grow.
Now she was the one with inappropriate thoughts! Banishing them, Rose bustled around the shop collecting flowers, the strong fragrance of the gardenias nearly overwhelming the equally powerful scent of roses. Perhaps the pairing was too fragrant for a tea table, but they would certainly look beautiful together.
At her worktable, Rose placed four shallow ceramic bowls with a metal frog in each. She stripped leaves and thorns from stems and placed each bloom. The arrangement grew from sparse into an explosion of pink and white blossoms anchored in green ferns. As she examined the first finished centerpiece, a glow of pride filled her. Her flowers were every bit as artistic as Hattie’s couture creations. Not bad for a factory girl who only dreamed of creating something so lovely as she plucked an endless line of dead chickens in a cannery.
Rose peeked through the curtains into the shop. There were no customers, so Mr. Carmody had taken it upon himself to prune dead bits from the potted plants. Unaware of her watching, he moved with considerabl
y more grace than usual, circling and snipping assuredly. What had made an educated, titled, wealthy fellow like William Carmody so insecure? It was a puzzle, and Rose dearly loved solving those.
As if feeling her gaze, Carmody began to turn. Rose retreated behind the curtain, heart bumping a trifle too fast, and returned to her work.
Sometime later, four almost perfectly matched arrangements stood in a row. After admiring them a moment, she went to telephone her delivery man. God bless Guy for insisting on installing the wondrous invention in both her business and Hattie’s. The modern tool made life so much easier.
In the shop, Rose found Mr. Carmody besieged by customers. She joined him in serving the rush. For the next twenty minutes, flowers flew out the door, the full buckets diminishing and orders for arrangements “like the attractive one in the window” rising.
Rose rejoiced over every sale, although she began to fear she had not bought enough stock. It was difficult to calculate how many flowers would be needed on any given day. Growing things were more trouble than the silk flowers, ribbons and laces at the millinery. Those might go out of fashion but would never fade or decay so one could keep a generous supply on hand.
When the shop was empty once more, Rose leaned against the counter with a sigh.
Mr. Carmody sat down heavily on the stool. “Is it always so busy? How do you manage on your own?”
“Sometimes it is difficult, but I can’t really afford to hire an assistant yet. I cannot thank you enough for your aid today. You stepped in and did precisely what was needed.”
His gaze dropped. “I was happy to help. Were you able to finish your order in time?”
“The delivery man arrived in back while you were occupied. I suppose my customers thought it odd a fine gentleman was assisting them.”
“They did not look past the apron.” He indicated her striped apron which he had donned. It was ludicrously short on his long form. “Anyway, I’m the sort of fellow people don’t notice, which is fine with me as I prefer to blend into the wallpaper.”
“I feel the same way,” Rose said. “I prefer to blend in and remain unnoticed.”
Carmody rose from the stool. “Miss Gardener, I don’t believe you could avoid being seen. Your appearance invites attention. Your hair… and your eyes. You are like…” He mutely waved his hands as if performing a magic trick. “You are a lightning flash.”
Embarrassment etched a scarlet trail across her cheeks. “Oh my! You are too kind. That is the most, er, descriptive compliment I have ever received.”
He wedged his hands into the apron pockets and looked out the window.
Rose wished to soothe his perpetual discomfort. “You could never blend into the wallpaper, Mr. Carmody. Your presence is indomitable. I think that is the word I mean. Strong and resolute. Is that correct?”
“That is how you perceive me?”
“Yes. Absolutely. A rock, someone on whom a person may rely.” She extended her hand, inviting a shake. “Might I consider you a friend, Mr. Carmody?”
“I hope you will, Miss Gardener, for I should very much like to be yours.”
They formally shook, once… twice, before letting go.
“I must leave now, as I have a tutoring appointment this afternoon,” he said.
Guy had never mentioned his friend taught, another facet of this unusual Mr. Carmody to explore. “I pray helping me has not made you late.”
“Not at all.” Carmody met her gaze with piercing eyes and a subdued smile. “Good day, Miss Gardener.”
“Good day, Mr. Carmody.”
Rose watched him leave and touched together the fingers of the hand he had shaken. She assured herself the reason she felt a bit lightheaded and swoony was because she had not eaten any lunch.
What a difference a few hours could make. That morning she had dreamed of a greenhouse and the prospect of designing one had dropped into her lap. She had wished for help in the shop and a courteous man arrived to aid her. Like the fortuitous first meeting with Hattie at the bookstore, when they had spoken of business and Hattie hired Rose as her assistant, what other unexpected turns of events might be in store in this wonderful life?
Chapter Five
The following evening Rose received a thick, cream-colored envelope with her name and address written in fine slanting script—an invitation to Mr. William Carmody’s home for a dinner party and conservatory viewing. Rose brought the message to her nose and inhaled the papery scent of fine stationery, but no whiff of the man’s subtle cologne.
It was not late, so she hurried down the street to the millinery, praying Hattie was at home and not visiting her fiancé. Her friend opened the side door and Rose entered the work room where she had spent so many hours sewing decorations on hats.
Released from its Gibson roll, Hattie’s chestnut hair fell loose around her shoulders. Rose too had removed her hairpins and shook her hair free as soon as the last customer of the day was gone. Only women could know the discomfort one went through for fashion’s sake.
Hattie embraced Rose with affection—the sort of hug that Rose and her sister Arietta had never shared. “Here we are, only a few shops apart, and I feel as if I never see you. We must make a pact to eat lunch together at least once weekly. I could come to yours since I have Margaret now to look after my shop. How are you managing without an assistant?”
Rose removed her hat and gloves. “I had one yesterday. Guy’s friend William Carmody, of all people. He stopped by to discuss his conservatory renovation and stayed to wait on customers while I filled an unexpected order.”
“So that is what this dinner invitation is about. I wondered what on earth incited Will to arrange a dinner party. It is so unlike him.”
“Is it? I know scarcely anything about the man and hoped you might fill in some details.”
Hattie’s dimples flashed. “Certainly. Come upstairs where we may sit comfortably, and I’ll tell you what little I know about Mr. Carmody.”
The layout of Hattie’s flat was similar to Rose’s, but the décor was nothing alike. Rose had bought whatever pieces of used furniture she could afford, hiding their flaws under brightly colored paint. Potted plants filled nooks and crannies, covering peeling wallpaper. She adored the homey atmosphere of the first space she had ever called her own. In contrast, Hattie’s formerly Spartan rooms now glowed with muted pastels and elegantly carved furniture in a style called Art Nouveau. Guy’s influence without a doubt, yet the tone reflected Hattie’s taste as well.
Rose sat at the small table while Hattie prepared a fresh pot of tea.
“I don’t believe Will has spoken more than a handful of words to me since we met. But it sounds as if he’s taken a shine to you,” Hattie teased.
“Bosh! He simply wanted to ask what sort of plants to put in his greenhouse.” But of course, Hattie was right. A man didn’t show up on pretexts of buying flowers or asking horticulture questions if he wasn’t at least a little interested. The knowledge gave Rose a tingle of excitement and unease. “So, tell me all you know about him.”
Hattie leaned against the counter. “As you may have noticed, Mr. Carmody is shy, particularly around women. He is very well-read. Guy says the man has more books in his personal collection than there are in the London Library, and may be counted on to answer questions on nearly any topic. A walking encyclopedia.”
“Is he a professor? He mentioned meeting a student.”
“He tutors university students who are struggling with their studies, particularly scholarship students without funds to pay a tutor. He comes from a well-respected lineage. His parents are Lord Horace and Lady Gwyneth Carmody. His elder brother Rupert will inherit the estate, so the family has apparently given Will their London home and the freedom to do as he likes.” Hattie paused. “I believe there is a younger sister, but I’ve forgotten her name. Is this the sort of information you’re seeking?”
Rose nodded, disappointment blooming. She’d known his station was far above hers, but men
tion of an ancestral estate only served to remind her they were worlds apart. Any notion of romance was impossible, other than something short-lived and tawdry. He was not for the likes of her.
Hattie set a cup and saucer in front of Rose and spoke as if reading her mind, “William Carmody is not a cad. He is too gentlemanly to toy with a woman’s affections or make unwanted advances. I believe he is quite lonely and tired of solitude, although he would not say so. Clearly, he enjoys your company and that is sufficient. At any rate, Guy and I will be at hand to ease any awkwardness at this dinner.”
“I could not go without you there.” Rose cradled her steaming cup. “Now tell me, what is happening with your wedding plans? Will you set a date soon?”
Hattie gave her a sharp look. “Did Guy tell you to ask me that?”
“Heavens, no! I only ask because I am interested in your plans. Why? Are you having second thoughts about marrying him?”
Her friend exhaled and leaned back in her seat. “No second thoughts. Of course I want to marry him. I love the silly devil. But something holds me back from setting a date. I’m not quite sure what it is.”
Knowing about the great heartbreak that had damaged Hattie at a young age, Rose guessed she might know the answer. “Do you trust in Guy’s affection for you?”
“Yes. I do.”
“You believe his feelings will not alter and he would never stray from you in the future?”
Hattie’s habitual calm ruffled and she shifted nervously. “He had many lovers before we met. How do I know he would not lapse into old ways some day?”
“Because it is Guy! However he may have behaved before, he is not the same man now. He loves you beyond all reason and would never betray you. I feel that in my heart.” Rose pressed her palm to her chest. “Besides, he knows if he ever hurt you in any way, I’d take a butcher knife to the part of him that did the straying.”
