Rose Gardner's Florist Page 4

  Hattie choked on a sip of tea as she laughed. “I believe you would.” Then she sobered. “I must admit, I don’t actually worry about putting my trust in him. What I fear is losing my freedom. I own a shop, work every day, and have my own flat to retire to. No matter how forward-thinking Guy’s views on female emancipation, I fear I might become simply a wife with expected duties. Perhaps he will wish me to work less and devote more time to running our household. As for children, I’m not quite sure—”

  “That you are ready,” Rose completed her thought.

  Rose recalled how her mother had scolded her for refusing the Goggins boy at age sixteen. His dad’s a butcher. You’ll never have to pluck another bleedin’ chicken unless it’s for your own stewpot. Chances like this don’t come along every day, girl. Soon you’ll lose that pretty face and figure, and end up wed to some mangy fellow who drinks away his paycheck. Mum had shot a long-suffering look at her husband.

  Although Rose had been fond of the lad and certainly enjoyed kissing him, she was wise enough to know she was not in love with him. Choosing to marry must mean a great deal more than finding a way out of the cannery, she had known even at a young age. Lifelong commitment required a great deal of sacrifice.

  “I understand,” Rose continued. “Our friend Mr. Hardy must simply remain patient until you are ready to commit to a date.”

  Hattie nodded. “That is precisely what I want, but recently whenever we are together, even if he doesn’t mention the subject, I feel it in the air between us. Soon I must address the issue, for we can’t go on like this forever.” She paused. “And I do want to marry him and share a home. I truly do, but…”

  “You aren’t quite ready,” Rose repeated.

  Hattie smiled widely. “You do understand. Thank you for listening to my fears.”

  “That’s what friends do, and I will always be here to share your troubles with you.” Rose changed the subject. “Now, tell me, what sort of gown is appropriate to wear to a fancy dinner party?”

  “I will find you something in my closet, for we are of a like size.” Hattie eyed Rose critically. “I’ve just made the sweetest, smartest hat that would suit your hair and complexion perfectly.”

  Hours later, Rose returned to her shop with a beaded blue gown in a box, a pair of satin slippers to match, and a tiny feathered creation to top off the ensemble. As she climbed the stairs to her flat, she considered what Hattie had told her about Carmody.

  He might be a kind and respectful gentleman as Hattie had said, but in Rose’s experience lads who liked her looks always pushed for more. They could not seem to keep their hands to themselves. Hattie was a bit naïve if she believed Carmody would remain content with polite friendship. He likely craved something more physical than conversation.

  It was up to Rose to decide if she cared to give it to him. A part of her imagined those large, competent hands gliding over her body and thought that she might like to.

  Chapter Six

  As Rose rode the tram across the city to attend the WSPU meeting the next evening, anticipation and nerves over the upcoming supper party waltzed together through her brain. Tonight’s meeting should distract her from her excitement and fears. Rose had offered to supply floral arrangements to the proposed Women’s Parliament, and already envisioned them. But a sub-committee must discuss every detail of hall decoration as if it were as important as the rally and march itself.

  Once again, the dark-haired woman from the other night slipped into a chair beside her.

  “Miss Violet,” Rose greeted her. “I’m very glad you decided to come back. Are you feeling any better?”

  The girl seemed embarrassed by her teary state during their first meeting. “I apologize for my outburst. I wasn’t feeling quite myself.” Her modulated tone reminded Rose of a cello solo she’d heard once in a park pavilion concert, lovely, but with an undernote of melancholy that touched the heart.

  “Allow me to introduce myself again,” she continued. “My name is Candace Sweet. I felt the need to hide my identity, but I wish to be honest with you, Miss Gardener.” Doe eyes regarded her with uncertainty.

  “You may trust me with your true name. No suffragette would ever reveal who they may have seen at one of the meetings. There could be dire consequences for some. Many are here despite their family’s disapproval. I fear driving away my customers should they learn I support suffrage. We all do what we must and aide the cause within our capability.”

  “It was quite difficult for me to get away, and it comforts me to know others face the same challenge,” Miss Sweet confided.

  The chair of her committee interrupted their conversation. “Miss Gardener, will you be able to get as many as five dozen white and red roses?”

  “It may be difficult,” Rose replied. “Refrigeration is the issue. Has anyone access to a large icebox?”

  For the next twenty minutes, discussion over refrigeration, renting chairs and hanging bunting wore on until finally the meeting ended.

  Rose’s new friend touched her elbow lightly. “Miss Gardener, might we speak privately?”

  “Of course, Miss Sweet. My shop is but a tram ride away.”

  “I haven’t much time. I must return home before I am missed.” She watched the dispersing suffragettes and whispered urgently, “But if I do not talk with someone I shall go mad. I have no one in whom I may confide.”

  Rose recalled her heartfelt conversation in Hattie’s kitchen the previous evening. Such unburdening was vital to a person. “Whatever you tell me I will hold in the strictest confidence. Have you come here by cab? We might walk together to the nearest stand.”

  “I would appreciate that very much.”

  Out on the street, the WSPU members dispersed in various directions. The fashionable neighborhood was well-lit by electric street lamps. Rose and her new friend passed from one pool of light to another as they strolled. Miss Sweet’s constraint had returned, and Rose finally prompted her to speak.

  “Is it a problem in your family?” She recalled Jennifer Pruett’s difficulties and how Hattie had aided her. “An unwanted match perhaps?”

  “Something of the sort, although no offer of marriage has yet been made. But I feel he is on the brink of it, and I don’t know how I may reject him or his … attentions. He is the only thing close to family that I have.” Miss Sweet bit her lip. “Oh, this is so difficult to say.”

  “Whatever you tell me, I will not judge you.” To set Miss Sweet at ease, Rose offered her own history. “I come from Spitalfields. I improved my speech and manners and found better employment, eventually opening my shop. But I forever hear my family’s voices saying I’m not good enough, that I’m acting above myself, that I will be found out and my enterprise will fail. A dear friend convinced me I am worthy of being where I am today, yet sometimes those childhood voices are louder. Trust me when I say I will listen to you with an open mind.”

  Miss Sweet had stopped walking. Light illuminated half of her face. The rest was cast in shadow. She swallowed before speaking.

  “My guardian took me in after my parents died of influenza when I was very young. Since my return from school in Paris, he has begun looking at me with….” She shook her head. “That is not quite true. Even before I left for school at age thirteen, the feeling that he observed me in a peculiar way began. His gaze was not at all polite or paternal. Do you understand?”

  “I have an uncle who would give me that sort of a look. Nothing came of it beyond some too familiar pats on the backside, but I do understand. Has this man made any improper suggestions?”

  Candace shook her head. “But I feel it is only a matter of time. He assures me I needn’t worry about having a debutante season because he already has a husband in mind for me—a mature man who will guard me, guide me, and attend to all of my needs. The implication is that he is referring to himself.”

  Miss Sweet pressed her palms to her stomach as if illustrating the spot from which her suspicions rose, or attempting to s
uppress queasiness. “I am almost twenty. If I can but hold him off until I reach the age of majority, I will gain control of my inheritance and my freedom. But I feel quite certain this man will not allow that.”

  “He desires you and your fortune,” Rose said.

  Miss Sweet nodded. “Every instinct tells me to run away before I am backed into a corner and cannot escape. But without a reference, it would be difficult to gain employment. My godfather has always paid for my needs, and never allowed me more than a little pocket money. I have saved a little, but am still as financially helpless as a child. Much as I would love to be brave like the suffragettes who go to prison for their cause, I don’t know if I could survive on my own without a penny.”

  “Living in this world ain’t… isn’t easy,” Rose agreed. “I worked at a factory since age ten. Even with my whole family pitching in, life was hard.”

  Partly because Mum drank away what was due to the landlord and Dad bought beer rather than bread.

  “You should have your inheritance,” Rose declared emphatically. “Why should you abandon it to this snake? There must be a way to state your case in court.”

  Miss Sweet exhaled and turned so shadow completely obscured her face. “If there is, I haven’t the wherewithal to hire legal counsel. I don’t know how long I can stall Mr. Merker, but I fear a wedding will take place before my twenty-first birthday. Should I refuse, he would find a way to drive me to the altar.”

  “I wish I knew of some way to help you. I will try to think of something, but meanwhile, you may visit me at my shop any time you wish to talk, or if you are in fear for your safety.”

  Tears welled in Miss Sweet’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook as she pressed her hand to her mouth to hold back a sob.

  Rose rested a hand on her back. “There now. You’ll be all right. Together we will find a way. I have a friend who might recommend a solicitor.”

  After regaining her composure, Miss Sweet spoke again. “You cannot know how much it means to me to have a friend to talk with about such a personal matter. My schoolmates at Madame Brodeur’s Académie are scattered far and wide, nor is this a topic I could have discussed with them. We were sheep taught to be obedient, pleasant and polite, perfect young women preparing to become perfect wives. Any one of those friends would advise me to listen to what my guardian suggests, for he must have my best interests at heart.”

  “Bollocks! Those girls sound like bleedin’ idiots.” Rose lost her polish entirely.

  Miss Sweet’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Then she began to laugh, a soft chuckle which turned into a gale of laughter verging on hysteria.

  Rose grinned. “Feeling better?”

  Her new friend gasped for breath. “Yes, I do. Much better. Thank you, Miss Gardener. Your descriptive words express everything that is in my heart in such a refreshingly honest manner.”

  A cab had stopped at the stand where they waited. Rose impulsively drew the young woman into a swift hug. “If ever things become too dire, you must promise to come to me for help, Miss Sweet.”

  “Please, call me Candace. I think we’ve moved beyond formalities, don’t you? Thank you again for listening to me.”

  “We women must support each other, for those louts who blunder around trying to control our lives never will.”

  Candace waved goodbye and stepped into the waiting taxi.

  Rose watched the vehicle drive away. She had not expected the evening to take such a strange turn. Candace’s story had certainly served to drive trifling worries about a dinner party from her mind. She might not know the girl very well, but sharing a familiar feeling of belittlement had bonded them. Rose had found a kindred spirit in the soft-spoken young lady with the sad brown eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  Will studied the dining room table. The only new thing upon its surface was an arrangement of fresh flowers, purchased from another florist since it would be strange to have Miss Gardener make the centerpiece for a party she attended. Every other item was ancient, from the linen tablecloth and napkins to the silver plate, china, and glasses featuring the Carmody family crest. Even though the cutlery and glassware were polished to a shine, the overall impression was old-fashioned and dull.

  Nearly all the furniture in the townhouse was a century old. Will had done little to modernize, beyond installing electricity and converting the room adjoining the library into an annex for more books. The idea of refreshing the décor hadn’t occurred to him until this moment, when he observed the place as Rose might when she arrived in less than half an hour.

  Will had dressed earlier, but hurried to his room to review his reflection in the dressing room mirror. Like Guy, he eschewed the services of a valet, so he stood alone, gazing at himself and realizing there was little he could do to change his looks. He had tamed his wavy locks with a wet comb since he couldn’t bear the slick feeling of hair oil, and already his hair flopped about at will. Why hadn’t he sought a barber for a trim?

  At least his suit was new. His tailor had been thrilled to outfit him in a modern double-breasted suit jacket with narrow lapels. Will appeared more like stylish Guy, and less like some hermit uncle emerging from an attic in a decade-old jacket.

  He forced himself to draw his shoulders back. Guy had advised him to take advantage of his height rather than slump to hide it. “Ladies love a fellow who appears confident. You wish to make a good impression on Miss Gardener, don’t you?”

  “I don’t intend to impress her. I only seek her advice on the best plants for the conservatory. This dinner party is to ensure her visit will be properly chaperoned.”

  “Ah, I see, so you wouldn’t be at all tempted to kiss her if the opportunity arose,” Guy had teased.

  Rather than slap the smirk off his friend’s face, Will had kept quiet.

  But a seed once planted would grow, and ever since those words were spoken, his active brain envisioned various scenarios that might end in a kiss.

  He settled his spectacles on his nose, for he couldn’t see well enough to get by without them, and stared at himself again. His eyes were enlarged and the glasses only brought attention to his big nose. The man in the mirror shook his head. Hopeless. No kisses would ever be coming his way, so he might as well erase such imaginings from his mind.

  With only minutes before his guests’ arrival, Will sat in the drawing room with the compendium on horticulture opened to a random page. His stomach flipped when the doorbell rang, and he listened to Reardon welcome his guests.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, he resumed staring at the book as if fascinated. His pulse raced, but he waited until Reardon announced the guests before setting the book aside and rising to greet them.

  “Welcome! So good of you to come. Do sit down.”

  Hardy handed off a bottle of wine for Reardon to pour them an aperitif. “Happy to be here, old chap, and looking forward to seeing the improvements on the conservatory.”

  “Your home is charming,” Miss Glover said. “Thank you for the dinner invitation.”

  Will was already at ease with the woman who had transformed Hardy from an aimless bachelor into a purposeful man. Hattie’s smile helped settle his nerves.

  But then he looked at Miss Gardener and his wits fled completely. She was stunning. A deep blue gown made her eyes even brighter. The bodice framed her neck and shoulders, modest yet emphasizing her curves. Her high-piled red hair sported a charming concoction of blue netting and a few feathers. If he could nuzzle just at the corner of her jaw where sparkling earrings dangled, all his dreams would be fulfilled.

  He gulped and spoke, “Your dress is most becoming, Miss Gardener.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carmody. I feel rather a sham. I will admit I have never been to a fancy dinner party before.”

  How could one not fall a little in love with a woman so unabashedly honest, a curious mixture of confidence and insecurity? He wanted to say he was happy to host her first such event, but couldn’t thin
k of a way to say it without sounding condescending. So he simply nodded mutely.

  Luckily, Reardon interrupted the silence with the tray of glasses.

  After the butler withdrew from the room, Guy raised his glass. “A toast to old and new friendships, and to unexpected changes that bring great reward.”

  “Well said.” Hattie regarded Guy with such a pure expression of love that Will felt as if he witnessed a private moment. He looked away and met Miss Gardener’s gaze. She winked at him, uniting them outside the lovebirds’ private bubble.

  Will swallowed too fast and choked on his wine.

  “Have we time before the meal to view the conservatory, Mr. Carmody?” she asked. “I very much look forward to seeing it.”

  “Of course.”

  Will led the way toward the back of the house, already making excuses for the work in progress. “The glazier has begun his work so the panes are smeared with putty, but he will clean them before he is through. Next week a free-standing radiator will be installed. Beyond that, I require your assistance, Miss Gardener, for I’m certain you will be better than I at creating an attractive design.”

  He looked at the lovely woman walking beside him, a waft of her perfume teasing his senses.

  “You give me too much credit. I am only beginning to learn about the varieties of plants that thrive in a greenhouse. You could find an expert to better advise you.”

  “No! That is, I prefer to work on the project with another novice. I wouldn’t want someone who takes over the project. Besides which, I admire your eye for design.”

  “Indeed,” Guy backed him. “You are the woman for the job, Rose. Isn’t she, darling?”

  “Absolutely,” Hattie agreed. “She will help you create a veritable Garden of Eden.”

  They passed through the library annex, and Will opened the double doors leading into the conservatory. Muted sunlight shone through smudged glass panes outlined in weathered wood. The replacement panes were much clearer than the older ones, but at least the ceiling and walls were intact once more.