Page 92 of A Season for Scandal

I burst out laughing, and his own mouth pulled up. “I deserved that,” I said.

“And more, I’m sure,” Oliver agreed. And then he bent to kiss me again. Softer, this time. His hands cradling my face.

“I have something for you,” he said when we finally parted. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small black leather jewellery box.

“What is this?” I asked, taking it from him.

“Look and see,” he said, nervous again.

I opened the box and gasped. Nestled inside, on a bed of black velvet was a ring. Its delicate gold band was made of two entwined vines, and they wrapped around a flower made of glittering yellow stones. “You … made this?” I managed. “You made this for me?”

He nodded, colour high on his cheeks. “I know in the language of flowers that marigolds mean grief, but I have to agree with your mother on this one. I think they are the loveliest thing in the world. To me, Marigold means only joy.”

There was a lump in my throat, and my eyes glazed dangerously.

“Don’t you dare,” he murmured.

I blinked hard. “I don’t know what you mean,” I sniffled. Then I found myself being thoroughly, ruthlessly kissed once more.

“Oh,” I said breathlessly. “That is certainly one way to make me stop crying.”

“I shall have to remember that,” Oliver said. “So that I never run out of handkerchiefs.” He looked down at the ring box still in my hand. “Well, Bloom?” He quirked a brow. “Shall we stop pretending to be engaged and just get married?”

“What a romantic proposal.”

He smiled then – the full, dazzling smile that made my head spin. “Marigold Bloom,” he said, taking the box and pulling out the ring. Casting the box aside, he took my hand in his, slipping the ring on to my finger where it fitted exactly. “I don’t really like anyone. But I love you. Will you marry me?”

“Perfect,” I whispered, and then his mouth was on mine, and I didn’t say anything else for several very interesting minutes.

“We have a lot to talk about,” I said afterwards, as we sat side by side on the sofa.

“I know,” Oliver said. “Your business, your family…”

I swallowed, nodded. “I have an idea that I would like to discuss with you.” I cleared my throat, suddenly nervous. “Mrs Finch told me about your plans for Lockhart Hall.”

“And do you approve?”

“Wholeheartedly. I thought about what you said about gardening being healing. I wondered if there was a way to make the garden an important part of this sanctuary: a place to heal, emotionally and physically.”

“I like that.” Oliver nodded. “I like that very much.” His fingers twined with mine, his thumb brushing lightly across my knuckles.

“And about my family…” I hesitated. “We will have to find a solution.”

“Together,” Oliver said firmly. “We will make this work together. We can talk to your family and find an answer that suits everyone. I promise you that we will not leave them in the lurch; I promise you that the business you built will not suffer. I am not here to hold you back, Bloom. I am here to help you grow. We are going to be partners in this. Partners in life. That is what my mother and father never had, but I won’t have anything less between us.”

It was the best thing he could have said. “I would like that,” I murmured, resting my head on his shoulder. I smiled. “You know, I think I can tell you the exact moment I fell in love with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” I turned, peeped up at him through my lashes. “I believe it was the moment I first saw your horribly overgrown gardens.”

And Oliver Lockhart threw his head back and laughed.

EPILOGUE

“What if they hate me?” I asked nervously as Oliver and I stood outside Bloom’s two days later.

“Of course they won’t hate you,” Oliver scoffed.