Rose Gardner's Florist (The Providence Street Shops #2) - Bonnie Dee Page 0,17

with a copy that you may draw on to your heart’s content,” he promised. Her enthusiasm for the project ignited his own fervor—not only for the plan but for the planner.

Miss Gardener walked around the room, examining the rotted wood tables, then stooping to gather a handful of soil and allowing it to sift through her fingers. “Do you prefer plants with a strong fragrance or something more muted? I was considering night blooming jasmine. They have a powerfully sweet odor, which some find cloying. But the white blossoms would be lovely in the moonlight contrasted against the dark green leaves of the orange tree.”

Her face would be lovely in the moonlight.

“I’m certain it would be beautiful. Whatever you wish to do, I concur.”

“But it’s your conservatory. I want to make certain you enjoy sitting here, perhaps reading a book on a small bench.” She turned slowly. “Can you imagine frost on the panes, a cold wind whistling outside, as you enjoy an abundance of greenery on a winter’s night?”

“I can feel it exactly as you’ve described.” A nearly forgotten memory resurfaced and he found himself sharing it. “I recall sitting on the ground playing with marbles while my mother tended her roses. She still raises hybrid varieties, some of which she created herself.”

He touched the rickety table. “She would hum off-key as rain beat against the glass. On the ground, I aimed my marbles and distinctly remember the soft, satisfying click as one connected with another, sending it shooting off. I had quite forgotten that snug and perfectly content feeling.”

Rose made a soft hum of appreciation. “That sounds heavenly. I wish I had had such a fond memory from my childhood.” She glanced around as if wondering how the place had fallen into such disrepair. “So, your mother is an expert gardener.”

“Yes. She personally oversees the garden staff at Carmody Hall. Roses are her particular passion, and one of her varieties placed in a national competition.”

“Why would you not simply ask for her suggestions on what to plant?”

Why indeed? He scrambled to invent an answer. “My parents prefer living year-round in the country, so they offered the townhouse to me. My elder brother Rupert, who will inherit the estate, is not at all interested in London society and agreed with this decision. As much as I adore Mother and admire her green thumb, I wish to make my own decisions about this house.”

“It is your home now.” Rose nodded. “But the house is quite large for one person. Do you never feel lonely here?”

She did not seem to consider the impertinence of the question, another example of her pure honesty.

“I am often so involved in my reading I could be anywhere on earth and not notice what is around me. I am a solitary person by nature. Yet, recently when I put my books aside, I become aware that the once soothing quietness seems arid and empty.”

Embarrassed by his revelation, Will studied a beetle crawling across the floor.

“One may feel such loneliness even in a crowd,” Rose replied. “I come from a very loud family living in a very small space. There was never a lack of people nearby, yet I often felt as if I lived on an ice floe, such as Admiral Peary describes in articles about exploring the far north. In the midst of chaos, I felt utterly alone. It wasn’t until I met Miss Glover that I found a kindred spirit. She was my mentor as well as employer, and is now my dearest friend.”

“I cannot imagine anyone as friendly as you feeling lonely. You are a bright, shining soul who attracts everyone around her like a flower draws honeybees.”

A wry smile twisted her lips. “That is kind of you to say, but you haven’t met my family. With them I am considered an outsider, an ‘odd duck’ as my mum often said. Their interest in me extended as far as the money I brought home from my job. Mum assured me I could never succeed in owning my own business.” She stopped speaking, ducking her head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’ve spoken too freely. You couldn’t possibly be interested in my family woes.”

“I am!” Will exclaimed. “I am interested in everything about you, Miss Gardener. Although I am quite hopeless at expressing my thoughts, I must tell you I wish to know you better. I pray you won’t find my attention off-putting.”

Prolonged silence followed, so thick one could spread it like marmalade. Will wished