Page 13 of If a Lady Lingers

“Do you always do that?” she asked, pointing her spoon at his empty bowl of ice. “Find amusement in such little, everyday things?”

“Always. That’s what life should be about—finding delight in the ordinary bits that everybody else takes for granted.” He shook his head. “Not in big fancy parties or galas. Not in all those things most men waste their time on like expensive horses, drink, gambling, beautiful women—”On a second thought… He cut himself off and couldn’t stop from winking at her. “Well, perhaps beautiful women.”

Her eyes flared, and Whitby feared he’d gone too far with that compliment…until a delicate blush pinked her cheeks, and she shyly dropped her gaze to her ice.

Good Lord, she was simply lovely. His heart somersaulted for her.

“I don’t think I could be like that,” she confided to her ice.

“Sure you could. Anybody can.” He folded his long legs beneath him as he turned toward her on the blanket. “It’s just a matter of how a person chooses to look at the world, you see. I choose to see it as a grand adventure, every part of it just waiting to be explored and every new experience just waiting to be tried at least once.” He grinned. “Well—maybe twice.”

She laughed. The soft sound drifted to him on the breeze and warmed him as much as the sunshine.

“See? Look at this.” He plucked a little wildflower from the grass beside the blanket and held it up. It was a small, inconspicuous bloom not even half an inch wide and in the most common shade of yellow. “Most people wouldn’t even notice a little bitty flower like this. They’re too busy looking for large peonies, fragrant honeysuckle, thorny red roses—”

“I don’t think anyone looks for thorns,” she interrupted.

“Lots of people, actually.” He let solemnity capture him for a moment. “Seems that some people love nothing better in life than to encounter thorns.” Then he flashed her a grin. “Iam not one of them.”

She gave him a private smile that melted his insides. “Not at all.”

“The point is that no one notices a little flower like this, when it’s perfectly beautiful in its own understated and simple way.” He turned the flower in his hand as he studied it. “How amazing this little bitty is...how wonderful to find such unexpected prettiness and take delight in it.” Unable to stop himself, he reached across the blanket to present it to her. “A posy for a Daisy.” His voice dropped, and he stole a caress of her arm as he lowered his hand away. “A rare beauty for a rare beauty.”

She arched a brow and corrected, “A common weed for a common woman.”

“Not at all.”

He crawled across the blanket to sit beside her. In the golden sunlight that fell onto her shoulders, she was more than lovely. She was breathtaking. Not because her features were beautiful, although they were, but because he knew how lovely she was inside, how brilliant and creative, how loving.

But all he could find words to say was, “You’re special, Daisy.” Her eyes widened at that affectionate admission, and worry pierced him. Had he overstepped this time? So he added with a grin at himself, “After all, I don’t have picnics in the park with just anyone.”

She relaxed, her slender shoulders easing down as the tension seeped out of her.

He seized the moment and reached over with his spoon to steal what was left of her ice. She fended him off with a quick parry of her spoon that would have done a fencing master proud.

But then she admitted a bit tentatively to her ice as she stared down at it, “So are you.” She whispered, “Special, I mean.”

Happiness bubbled inside him. For once, he was at a loss for words. So he reached over to steal her ice again.

This time, she didn’t stop him.

He shoved the cold spoon into his mouth and bit down hard on it to keep from blurting out how much she meant to him. Deuces, she was grand! Oh, he’d known since the day they’d met how special she was, how completely wonderful. But he’d had no true idea of exactly how much. She was sweet, kind-hearted, selfless when it came to her family, devoted to her work—brilliant at it, in fact. And for this afternoon, she was all his. He didn’t want to lose a moment of it.

He scrambled to his feet, snatched up what was left of the bread, and held out his hand to her. “It’s time.”

That declaration made no sense, he realized, yet she put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “For what?”

His fingers tightened their hold around her hand as he gazed down at her. Her green eyes were big and bright, her lips parted in anticipation, and at that moment, he promised himself that someday she would love him.

His lips twisted into a smile. “To feed the ducks. Come on!”

He pulled her after him, away from the blanket and down to the water’s edge. He broke the small loaf of bread in two and handed her half. Already the park’s resident ducks had noted their intentions and were making beelines straight for the bank where they stood. Daisy laughed, broke off pieces of bread with her fingers, and tossed them into the water where the waiting ducks dove after them to gobble them up.

“They’re behaving as if they’re famished,” she commented and tossed another piece of bread.

“Of course they’re hungry.” He did his best to keep a straight face. “After all, they’ve been up since the quack of dawn.”

She shook her head at that pun, knowing better than to encourage him by laughing.