Rose Gardner's Florist (The Providence Street Shops #2) - Bonnie Dee Page 0,11
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 mention 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