Page 3 of A Season for Scandal

Simon, on the other hand, did not care for the shop. Or, at least, he did not care for the way I ran it.Like a man. I felt my spine straighten, my shoulders draw back. I wasn’t going to let Simon Earnshaw or anyone else threaten this place.

Suzy, one of our shop girls, waved at me from behind the counter and then returned her attention to the gentleman she was serving.

“I need something that says,I’m sorry I dislike your cat, but I really do love you,” the man said, desperation bleeding into his words.

Suzy’s eyes drifted to me, a smile pulling at her mouth. She knew I’d never be able to pass up such a challenge. “What do you think, Mari?”

I glanced around the shop, pursed my lips. “Bluebells for humility, hyacinths to ask for forgiveness, arrange them with some of the olive branches as a peace offering, and tie it all with a blue ribbon,” I said after a moment. “Oh, and some pink tulips too.”

Tulip.Tulipa.Meaning: I declare my love for you.

Tulip season was always a busy time for us. There were plenty of declarations to be made at this time of year. Like I said, spring was a time for new beginnings.

At least for most people. The sour words rang in my head.

“I’m sure that will do the trick … though I would consider buying a packet of catnip seeds as well.” I gave the man a sympathetic smile. “I think it’s probably a case of love them, love their cat. A gesture like that might go a long way.”

“I think you’re probably right,” the man said with a doleful sigh. “I’ll take the seeds as well.”

“I’ll go and get them for you,” I said, leaving Suzy to put the bouquet together. I stripped off my coat as I moved through to the back of the shop. This was my kingdom – the space where I did most of my work – the cool, shady room with its drawers full of alphabetized seed packets, gardening tools neatly stored, florist’s wire and pins and everything else I needed to grow, arrange, organize the flowers – and the small garden beyond, full of flowers I had grown myself. Running the length of the wall was a long, rough potting bench and in the air the warm, clinging smell of damp earth. A pair of doors opened on to my garden, and I propped them so they stood ajar, letting the spring air inside.

It was a special place. It was also the place that represented my biggest secret. Much as I loved the shop, when I slept, it wasn’t the business I dreamed about: it was wide open spaces brimming with life that I tended and cultivated with my own hands. Not that I ever told anyone else that. Bloom’s was my responsibility, and it was hardly a burden. Wide open spaces were hard to come by in London, and I had never been further from the city than Hatfield.

Any remaining tension fled as I busied myself, grabbing the catnip seeds and delivering them to the customer, then returning to the back with more anemones – holding my tongue between my teeth as I worked to create new buttonholes that would hold better while retaining their air of fragile prettiness. It was good work, work that busied my fingers and calmed my mind.

Pleased with my efforts, I rolled my shoulders and carefully gathered the posies in a trug, taking them outside to Jane, who gave her enthusiastic approval.

“They’ll be gone in no time,” she said, a glint in her eye.

“Ah, Miss Bloom, there you are,” a voice came from behind us, and I saw Jane’s smile drop. It was, I thought, perhaps the very last voice I wanted to hear at this particular moment.

“Hello, Mr Earnshaw.” I pasted on a polite smile as I turned to face Simon’s father, moving a step away from Jane, away from the shop as I did so. I didn’t want him here, even if he had more right than anyone. All my hard-earned calm deserted me at that thought.

Geoffrey Earnshaw was a tall, well-built man. His hair was light blond and thinning, his eyes a dull grey-blue and darting, his skin pale as watered-down milk. He had narrow, grasping hands that I did my best to avoid. He had a reputation for putting those hands where they didn’t belong.

“I understand that you and Simon had a difficult conversation this morning.” The sympathetic grimace he directed at me made my stomach turn.

“I don’t know about difficult,” I said, keeping my tone steady and pleasant, pride kicking in once more. “I am sorry that the engagement has come to an end, but these things happen.”

“How right you are.” He sidled closer. “I must say, I’m relieved to hear that you are taking it so well, my dear.”

“As well as can be expected,” I said stiffly as those bony fingers closed around my elbow and squeezed in what I supposed was a gesture of sympathy. I felt the cold, heavy bite of the signet ring on his finger.

“Of course, now that your situation has changed, you must be afraid our business arrangement with the rent will be affected too.” He purred. “It is a trifle awkward to break off your engagement to your landlord’s son.” He chuckled.

I lifted my chin, refraining from pointing out that I had nothing to do with the engagement being broken and that if anyone should be feeling awkward it was him. “Thank you, but I’m not worried, Mr Earnshaw. Whatever the new terms of the lease are, I’m sure we can meet them. After all, Bloom’s has been in business for over fifty years.”

Mr Earnshaw’s nose wrinkled indulgently, but his hand remained on me. “Oh, Miss Bloom, how well that sounds, but we’re all friends here… We know each other far too well for posturing. I hardly think one can call a flower cart a business.”

I fought not to snap back. My grandfather had worked his way up from selling flowers on the street as a young man to running one of the most eminent florists in London. It was nothing to be sniffed at, particularly not by a mediocre man such as Earnshaw.Hehad simply inherited his father’s shares in a shipping company, and his grandfather’s shrewd property purchases, and then sat back like a satisfied pug and enjoyed the income. Geoffrey Earnshaw had never made a single thing for himself. Well, except for Simon, I suppose, and just look how well that turned out.

“But we’re getting away from my point.” His hand drifted higher up my arm, the touch slinking into a horrible, surprising caress. “What I was trying to say was that just because things are at an end between you and my son doesn’t necessarily mean the business has to suffer. Perhaps the two of us could come to someotherarrangement…”

My head snapped up and I met his eye.

I wished more than anything for the right words. Something pithy and cutting. But they didn’t come.

He smiled, showing off teeth that seemed too big for his face. Unlike his lazy movements, the smile was sharp and predatory. His hand slithered back down my arm and around to my back. It was only a light graze, but I felt it cling to my skin like the trail a slug leaves behind. His fingers splayed, only for a moment, over the base of my spine and flexed. I felt each of his fingertips digging into my flesh.