Page 64 of Wicked By Design

Mr Flowerdew looked faintly disturbed at the notion of urgency where flowers were concerned.

“White and pink sweet peas?”

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Damian said politely, refraining from shaking him and reminding himself this man had the power to stop Celia from crying. “White and pink sweet peas.”

“Ah.” Mr Flowerdew nodded sagely and walked off.

Damian watched him for a moment before realising he was supposed to follow. He hurried in the man’s wake through regimented rows of vegetables and flowers to a bed with a sort of tent of sticks. Greenery scrambled up the sticks, punctuated at intervals by flowers. Many of them white, some pink. Damian’s hopes rose.

“Lovely things, sweet peas,” Mr Flowerdew mused, reaching out to stroke a blossom with surprising tenderness, for his hands were rough and work worn. “Not too much to look at half the year, mind, but worth the trouble when they flower. The fragrance is the sweetest thing on this earth, if you ask me. Stick your nose in there and take a whiff.”

Unwilling to do anything that might put his order of sweet peas at risk, Damian obligingly bent and filled his nose with the scent. It was every bit as lovely as the man had described.

“I knew Lady Cecilia would want these. Tol’ me they were her favourites, she did, but the dowager, her gran, she wanted sommat grand instead. Knew the lady wouldn’t like it, but not my place to say, was it?”

Damian sighed. “No. But it is mine. Do you think you could make me a bouquet? Lady Celia is rather overwrought, and I’d like to take them at once.”

To his dismay, the man shook his head. “Nah. Can’t do that.”

“Can’t?” Damian repeated, bristling. “Now look here—”

“Not if you want them to be perfect for the big day,” the fellow said amiably. “I ain’t got enough to make two bouquets, but you tell the lady, tomorrow morning I’ll send up the most perfect selection she ever saw in her whole life. My word on it.”

Damian let out a breath. “Mr Flowerdew, I don’t know how to thank you. Ah, perhaps—”

He reached into his pocket, but the man pulled a face.

“Don’t go insulting me, my lord. I do what I do ‘cause I love it, and I’ll give the lady the best I got, ‘cause I take pride in the things I love.”

“I can see that,” Damian said, taking the time to look around at the garden. It was orderly and rather perfect, and so very peaceful. He wondered if perhaps Celia would like to come and look around. It might make her feel better.

“You know, people think roses are romantic, and they’re beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but they’re all glamour. Sweet peas, you have to get close to, you have to look carefully, and then… ah, and then the scent and the simple perfection, that’ll steal your heart, it will.”

Mr Flowerdew reached out and broke off a perfect stem, offering it to Damian. “Take that to your lady and tell her not to fret none. Mr Flowerdew will make it right.”

Damian nodded and reached out, offering his hand to the man who, it seemed to him, had diverted a crisis. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, and hurried back to Celia.

He found her in the same pretty parlour, standing and staring out of the window. The sea, he realised, remembering what she had said about loving the view, about how it made her feel calmer.

“I come bearing gifts,” he said, holding the pretty flower aloft like a conquering hero.

She turned to look at him and blinked. “Oh, Damian. What have you got there?”

“A sweet pea,” he said, a little deflated that she wasn’t happier. “Mr Flowerdew couldn’t give me more now, for there are not enough, but he promises you will have a perfect bouquet of white and pink sweet peas tomorrow morning, upon his honour. And I’ll tell you, love, his honour is not to be undervalued. A proud fellow is Mr Flowerdew.”

Celia swallowed.

“You spoke to Mr Flowerdew?” She looked rather startled.

Damian frowned. “Well, obviously. What else was there to do?”

She was pale, her eyes still watery with tears but at his words they brimmed, one spilling down her cheek. “Oh. Oh, Damian, that… that’s….”

She pressed her hand to her mouth, smothering a sound that sounded horribly like a sob before turning away from him again.

Damian frowned. He looked at the sweet pea in his hand, feeling somewhat foolish. Not knowing what else to do, he poured a glass of water and stuck the bloom in the glass.

“Well, crisis over, then,” he said hopefully.