Rose Gardner's Florist

by Dee, Bonnie

  Rose held her breath, feeling as if she witnessed a private moment.

  “It may seem of little consequence to an outsider, but my gardening club is everything to me. Being awarded a prize from the Royal Horticultural society for my hybrid was a dream come true.”

  Her ladyship appeared to shake off a dream and resumed her brisk manner of speaking. “Have you not noticed the rather large parcel standing in the corner?”

  In fact, Rose had not, being far more concerned with this important meeting with her prospective mother-in-law. Now she looked toward the spot Lady Carmody indicated. Indeed, there was a parcel wrapped in brown paper resting on the flagstones.

  “Open it.”

  Rose did as she was bid. Treating the gift with as much care as if it were a bomb, she carefully untapped the paper and pulled it open to reveal a small rosebush. She opened the paper further.

  “Samuel watered the root ball before wrapping it in burlap, but the sooner you get them in the ground, the better,” Lady Carmody advised.

  Rose knelt to more closely study the leaves and spied one tiny bud still green and barely erupted. “Is this it? The Lucinda May?”

  “No. It is a venerable variety the locals grow, one that will remain contained and not take too much space. As I mentioned, I am keen to save heritage roses from extinction. I pray this bush will serve to remind you of the importance of maintaining some aspects of our past.”

  Rose looked up at the woman, whose voice trembled and eyes glistened. “Yes, your ladyship. I will remain mindful of the Carmody heritage and preserve it to the best of my ability,” she pledged.

  “Good. Now, let us plant that poor uprooted bush. If you choose a spot, I will help you.”

  *

  A while later, with his parents gone and the quiet of the conservatory broken only by the wind pelting raindrops against the panes, Rose and Will settled together on a chair he’d dragged in from the library. It was sufficient to accommodate two, so long as they sat very close together.

  Rose rested her head against Will’s chest, listening to the rain and to her beloved’s even breathing. “What did your father have to say?” she asked presently.

  “Very little. It was obvious Mother told him to have a talk with me, so he did it begrudgingly. He told me marrying a strong-willed woman was both a great blessing and a splinter embedded in one’s heart for life. He suggested I save putting my foot down for only the most important occasions. That was the sum total of his advice.”

  She laughed. “Would you put your foot down some day? What if I don’t care to obey your commands?”

  “Then I imagine we will find a solution midway between our opposing points of view. Civilization demands it. What about Mother? Did she give you too much trouble?”

  “Actually, no. I think you were right and she doesn’t despise me. I would even venture to say she believes I am a good match for you. The last thing she said before we rejoined you and your father was ‘Continue to make my son happy and I will embrace you as a daughter.’ Isn’t that sweet?”

  Now Will chuckled. “When you meet Penny, you should ask how that works for her. My sister and mother have had rows that sent the dogs slinking from the house in fear.”

  Silence fell once more. Rose idly measured the length of her hands against Will’s, then entwined their fingers together. It had been nearly three weeks since they had secured Candace’s freedom and become unofficially engaged. Will had promised a ring of Rose’s choice when she was ready to shop for one.

  “Would you read a chapter of Pan to me?” Rose requested after a bit. “I adore the sound of your voice.”

  “Given that sort of compliment, how can I refuse?”

  Rose climbed out of the comfort of her seat and went to get the book. After she had settled herself again, she removed Will’s glasses and polished them on his pocket handkerchief before placing them on the bridge of his nose. “There. Now you’re ready to begin.”

  She kissed his mouth, a little peck at first, and then something deeper and longer, before cuddling against him once more.

  Will opened the book. “Nana had something in her mouth which proved to be the boy’s shadow.” He read a whimsical scene between Mrs. Darling, a respectable matron, and the family dog, who acted as her children’s nanny.

  Rose giggled at the description, and as Will continued on, she kept smiling because her happiness was so complete.

  That sign announcing Rose Gardener’s Florist had once been the pinnacle of her pride and joy. Now she had added on something—someone—who made her life even richer and fuller. Surely no woman in the world could be as perfectly content as she.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “We have put in several good hours of work,” Rose announced as she stepped away from the worktable to view the floral arrangements for the event.

  “I will go to the venue and oversee they are delivered safely, giving you ladies sufficient time to dress and prepare,” Will promised.

  Rose went to wash her hands at the sink. Her sleeves rolled to the elbows made him want to stop her and pepper kisses over her pale forearms, but there was no time for any sidetracks on this important day.

  “I am very excited. This is a once in a lifetime event. Hattie is quite nervous, this being her first time,” Rose said. “I presume you’ll meet Guy there.”

  Will nodded. “He’s been awaiting this date with great anticipation. No doubt he’s already pacing. I’ll quickly wash up and change into the suit I’ve brought along, if that is all right.”

  “Certainly. You may use my room, then drive on ahead, but first…” She threw her still damp arms around his neck and met his mouth in a long, passionate kiss. “Surely a moment’s delay won’t make a difference,” Rose whispered.

  She clung to him as Will lifted her and seated her on the table amidst the detritus of stems and leaves. The fragrance of crushed blossoms rose around them as he kissed and touched her until his cock demanded he lay her back on the table and carry out its natural mandate.

  Bad form. He would remain patient until the wedding night. That was what they had both decided, but it was becoming harder and harder to wait.

  At length with his hair in wild swirls from Rose’s fingers plunging through it, and his glasses knocked askew, one arm bent, Will dragged himself back from temptation.

  “We’d better hurry. Wouldn’t do to be late for this occasion,” he reminded her softly.

  “You’re right. Of course, you are right, but oh, Will. I think we might have to set our wedding date soon, for I don’t know how much longer I can bear this longing.”

  He preened at her confession. How could he not feel a little smug and manly at such words? Lifeblood, like a great engine, throbbed in him, and it wasn’t only to do with passion or lust. There was so much occurring now in his formerly staid existence. A river of energy rushed through what had once been a desert.

  Rose was the font from which it sprang.

  She loves me, and one day soon I will stand at an altar and watch her approach me up the aisle.

  *

  The venue was beautifully decorated with bunting enough to swaddle St. Paul’s Cathedral, and Rose’s enormous sprays of flowers brought life and color to the room. Every seat was filled, the rustle of clothing and the murmur of several hundred voices carrying on whispered conversations the only sounds in the hushed room.

  Rose leaned toward Hattie, who was gazing wide-eyed at every detail. “Are you ready?”

  “I believe so. I never thought I’d arrive at this point, but yes, I do believe I am ready for it.”

  “Good.” Rose squeezed her hand. “I’ll be right beside you, sisters-in-arms so to speak.”

  Hattie nodded.

  An organist began to play, and the crowd rose as one to sing:

  Rise up, women, for the fight is hard and long,

  Rise in thousands singing loud a battle song.

  Rise is might, and in its strength we shall be strong.

&nb
sp; And the cause goes marching on.

  When their anthem, sung to the tune of “John Brown’s Body”, was finished, Mrs. Pankhurst took the podium and began the rally. The Women’s Parliament of 1907 had begun.

  Rose looked at Will sitting on her other side, his expression intent as he listened to the rousing speech. She wondered what he felt. This was not truly his fight, even though he, like Guy, supported the cause. There were only a few men sitting amidst a crowd of hundreds of women. The men would show their solidarity here, but had been asked by the suffrage leaders not to participate in the march to Parliament.

  Will must have felt her gaze for he looked at her and smiled. His breath brushed her temple when he leaned to whisper, “It is a brave thing you are about to attempt. Are you certain you won’t allow me to walk with you in case things get out of hand? I want to be there to protect you and we both know how good I am with fisticuffs now.”

  She shook her head. “I love you for asking, but you know this is a walk we must take alone.”

  He did not insist or try to further convince her that he knew what was best. He did not act as if she did not understand the possible consequences of her actions. For those things, Rose loved him all the more.

  Anticipation and dread vibrated through her as the stirring speech came to a climax. After attending meetings and planning bold moves, Rose was now about to take action. Her reputation, her body, perhaps even her life, might be at stake before they entered the great halls of Parliament to force the statesmen to hear their plea for the vote. A march of almost four hundred women would not be ignored by the police, who might arrest them at any point along the walk.

  Rose noticed Guy holding Hattie’s hand, offering his strength and solidarity. Hattie had contributed to the movement through only donations until now. Entering the front lines of the fight was a courageous move for the cautious woman. Meanwhile, Candace sat quietly on Rose’s left, her gloved hands folded primly in her lap as if she attended a church service. The young woman had more grit than Rose had imagined upon their first meeting. She would not falter and since her guardian had legally released her, there was no one to stop her from having her say.

  From the dais, a resolution was passed to condemn the omission of women’s suffrage from the King’s Speech, and a motion made to take the resolution to the Prime Minister.

  Mrs. Pankhurst ended the rally with a cry, “Rise up, women!”

  A roar of “Now!” and “Hear, hear!” shook Caxton Hall as the assembly rose as one.

  As their row emptied to join the procession, Rose turned to Will. “I love you very much. I wish I could invite you to walk with me, but…”

  “I understand. I will be there to bail you out of jail if the need arises.” He hugged her so fiercely she could hardly breathe before letting her go. “It is a long walk from here to Westminster Abbey, and there may be stones thrown along the way. Protect yourself.”

  Rose nodded. Tears filled her eyes as she filed into the aisle and linked arms with Hattie and Candace.

  The marchers emerged into bright sunshine, resuming the refrain, Rise up, women, for the fight is hard and long. Rose spotted one very tall man keeping pace with the march while weaving past the reporters and onlookers lining the route. From a distance, Will caught her eye and gave her a nod, encouraging her onward.

  The End

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: The Women’s Parliament actually took place on February 13, 1907 at Caxton Hall, concluding with a march to present their case to Parliament. I moved the date for dramatic purposes in my story.

  From “Today in London suffrage history, 1907: the Women’s Parliament ends in scuffles at Parliament” [https://pasttenseblog.wordpress.com/2018/02/13/today-in-london-suffrage-history-1907-the-womens-parliament-ends-in-scuffles-at-parliament/]:

  “When the first contingents reached the green beside Westminster Abbey, the police announced that the procession could continue no further. The women refused to halt. As they went forward, mounted policemen began to ride through their ranks, in an attempt to break up the march, and constables on foot seized women and shoved them down side streets and alleys [sic]. The struggle continued for several hours, as bedraggled women hurled themselves again and again against the police. Fifteen women managed to reach the lobby, where they were promptly arrested.”

  By 10 p.m. the melee had ended. For the first time, arrests had not been confined to a handful of WSPU leaders – fifty-one women had been arrested in addition to Charlotte Despard, and Sylvia and Christabel Pankhurst.