Page 90 of A Season for Scandal

“Important matters?”

“Well, I don’t know if you’ll consider the fact that I am in love with you to be an important matter, but I certainly hope so,” Oliver said, in the same tone one might use to comment on the state of the weather.

“In love with me?” I repeated, stunned.

“Yes.”

“You,” I said, pointing at him, “are in love withme?” I gestured at myself.

“My God,” Oliver groaned, his head dropping back and his eyes closing. “This is to bewe are in Parisall over again, isn’t it? You are an intelligent woman, so I know you understand the words I am saying. Yes,Iam in love withyou.”

It was this very cranky, very Oliver declaration that finally broke through to me. “I think I need to sit down,” I said distantly.

“Oh, by all means.” Oliver gestured to the armchair behind me, and I sank into it, my head a whirr as joy and panic crashed together in a wave that threatened to upset my sanity.

“Well,” Oliver said after a moment, “is there anything you would like to add to this conversation?”

I looked at him and saw that, despite his offhand tone, he was watching me, his expression decidedly nervous.

“I—” I began, but there was a knock at the door. I leaped to my feet. “That will be the doctor,” I said, rushing to the door and letting him in. “I will give the two of you some privacy.”

And then, coward that I am, I hurried out into the hallway.

“This conversation isn’t over, Bloom,” I heard Oliver call after me. I couldn’t decide if it was a promise or a threat.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Rather than returning to my room, I headed out to the gardens again, a place where I could be alone and try to untangle the events of the last few hours in my own mind.

It was … rather a lot, I thought as I wandered aimlessly through the crowds. There had been several attempted murders; we had reunited Oliver with his long-lost sisterandapprehended two dangerous criminals. Yet the thing that had me utterly off-balance was Oliver’s declaration.

He was in love with me.

“He is in love with me,” I said it aloud, as if testing it out. The words were like honey, sweet and golden on my tongue. “Oliver Lockhartis in love withme.”

As I let the idea sink in more fully, I began to appreciate what it meant. Oliver didn’t care where I was from. Or maybe that was wrong; Oliver did care, and headmiredit. Oliver wouldn’t break my heart or leave me for a better prospect. He said that he loved me, and I knew that it must be true. Not only because Oliver wouldn’t lie, but because he was so careful about admitting that he cared for other people. That was no surprise really, given his past, but it meant that his grudging declaration felt, to me, as demonstratively romantic as a lengthy sonnet. More so, actually, because I would have no patience at all for a man spouting poetry at me. Daisy would be disappointed.

Daisy. I came to a halt in front of the fountain.

Just like that, the dreamy smile was wiped from my face. What about my family? I could hardly leave them behind to fend for themselves. And Oliver Lockhart of Lockhart Hall wasn’t going to want to take over a flower shop on Oxford Street. Our lives were utterly incompatible.

Then, of course, there was the Aviary to consider. They had invested six months in training me. I cared about them, and I believed in them. I could hardly leave them. I didn’twantto leave them.

Dropping on to a bench, I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. The sun was warm on my face and left shadows dancing behind my eyelids.

Someone sat down beside me. “I had a feeling I would find you here,” Mrs Finch said.

Opening my eyes, I found her observing me with steady amusement. I was glad somebody was having a nice time.

“I wanted to check on you,” she said, “now that everything has been tidied up and our adventure is at an end.”

“Thank you, but I am fine,” I said, while she spread her skirts out neatly.

Mrs Finch fixed me with a piercing look. “I can only assume that Oliver Lockhart has just declared his intentions.”

I started. “Have you really inherited gifts of clairvoyance?” I asked. “How do you know these things?”

Mrs Finch laughed, the picture of relaxation. “In this case, I’m afraid one doesn’t need to be clairvoyant to see what is happening between the two of you. It is – I hate to inform you – patently obvious to everyone with eyes. The boy adores you.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you adore him too. So I wonder why you look as though you are about to attend a funeral.”