Rose Gardner's Florist (The Providence Street Shops #2) - Bonnie Dee Page 0,13
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.”