Chapter 4
“Iwas so honored that Her Grace chose my shop to procure flowers for the wedding!” the shop owner said excitedly. “She is quite particular about her own flowers, so I was surprised to receive word about this.”
He laid the assortment of flowers he had bundled in his arms out on the long table. Helena gave him a polite smile.
“Well, we are so relieved that you could honor our request,” she replied politely. “We were planning on using the flowers from the Winterbourne Estate. However, with the early frost that hit last month, we were woefully disappointed to find them wilted.”
“A pity. Well, whatever you need, we will be happy to provide,” the shop owner answered readily. “Even if what you desire is not here, we would willingly go in search of it. So please. Take your time to look and smell around, and let me know what you would prefer.”
Helena thanked him again and did her best to turn her attention to the wide array of gorgeous flowers.
Her mind was still on her conversation with the Duke, and though she tried to push it away, his sudden interest after a full day of ignoring her just seemed odd.
Why would he care so much about her discomfort?
Especially after treating her as if she did not exist?
She shook her head at her silent questions and told herself it did not matter. She just needed to get through the day.
Helena took in the blue, purple, and green hydrangeas, the white and purple gladiolas, the rainbow assortment of roses, lilies, and tulips.
They were all so very vibrant and gorgeous.
A spark of longing shot through her as her eyes lingered on the hydrangeas.
They were her favorite, and what her mystery beau had once sent her along with every letter.
She could not pick those, though, surely.
Not flowers that would remind her of him.
She shifted her gaze away from the dusky blue flower and toward the lilac sprigs, picking one up instead of the hydrangeas.
She let out a hum of delight as she inhaled the scent of its petals, a deep sense of calm washing over her.
“I adore lilacs,” she sighed, holding it back to stroke her fingers lovingly over its delicate petals. “We certainly need some of these.”
Behind her, Evander chortled. She bristled as she turned around, brow raised.
“Do you have something to say, Your Grace?” she asked.
He raised a single brow as he swept his gaze over her in a dismissive fashion.
“Is that your choice?” he asked.
“What is wrong with it?” she felt uneasy under his gaze. It was as if he could see through her mind, her heart, the fake engagement—everything.
“So you and Jeremy are fond of each other?” he asked, and Helena instantly looked away.
“Of course… of course we are. We are very good friends,” she replied, her tone defensive.
“So you know him well?” Evander asked, reaching around to pluck the sprig of lilac from her fingertips.
“Obviously,” she all but hissed.
“Hmm,” he hummed, twirling the lilac in his fingers. Then she gasped as he tossed it to the side.
“Excuse me!”
“Then you should know that Jeremy detests lilacs,” Evander cut her off.
“Detests them?” Helena frowned. “Why would he have such strong feelings about them? They are only flowers.”
“Not quite. The smell, the look. They remind him of death.”
That gave Helena pause.
“Why death?” she asked.
Evander’s hard expression softened, if only a little.
“Lilacs were his mother’s favorite flower. They were laid on her casket as she was put to rest.”
Guilt swept through Helena. She had not known that. In fact, she realized, Jeremy had never shared anything but silly quips about his life. He never once shared something sorrowful or serious.
“Oh,” she murmured, looking down at the discarded flower on the floor.
She reached down and picked it up, twirling it in her fingers. She truly loved their scent, and it was a gift to have them so late in the year and out of season. In addition, the arrangements were supposed to be a symbol of them coming together to make a beautiful bouquet, so perhaps…
“Well, what if our wedding could give the flower a new meaning?” she asked, looking over the assortment for a flower that would best represent her betrothed. “Turn something that was once sad into something happy?”
She picked up a deep purple tulip and held it up to the lilac.
“And you are this something new that can create such a drastic transformation?” Evander asked, plucking the tulip from her hand.
“Would you stop taking away every flower I reach for?” she testily asked. “And what if I am? What is so wrong with that?”
“Nothing is wrong with that if it is true,” the Duke countered, picking up a dusky blue hydrangea and holding it out to her. “But you could at least pick one flower Jeremy likes.”
Helena hesitated for a moment, then accepted the flower.
“Jeremy does not like tulips?” she asked.
“He finds them tacky. Even I know that,” the Duke answered, his left brow perking as he looked her up and down again. “Jeremy prefers white lilies, but only if they are calla or stargazer. Anything else will not do. I am very surprised that he would leave something like that to chance.”
The taunting way he spoke had a surge of panic moving through Helena’s veins.
Did he somehow know that their wedding was a ruse?
That they were not in love and just good friends trying to survive a difficult transition together?
Helena drew her bottom lip between her teeth and began to nibble on it, wondering what she could do to move away from the topic.
“Well, since I cannot pick anything right, Your Grace,” she said after a moment. “What do you like?”
The Duke scoffed as he turned just enough so she could see the side of his face where his scar ran down from temple to jaw.
“What I like does not matter. I will not be the one marrying you,” he replied.
Helena glowered at him as she caught the dismissive note in his tone.
“I know you are not the one marrying me! I was just trying to have a polite conversation!” she hurled back. “All I did was ask for your opinion.”
“Because you are not comfortable with the one concerning Jeremy and what he likes,” he shot back, a mischievous grin taking over his chiseled lips.
Helena’s scowl grew deeper as her grip on the flowers’ stems grew tighter. She wanted to take the array and whack him over the head with it, duke or not!
“You did not have to accompany me if you did not—” she started to seethe, but before she could finish her sentence, the shopkeeper approached them again.
“Your Grace, it has been a while, and I wanted to see how you were finding the flowers,” he said pleasantly, clasping his hands together.
A while?
How long had she been arguing with the Duke of Redgrave?
“Ah, yes. We will take the white stargazer lilies and, even though Jeremy might not love them, I think the blue hydrangeas will suit you the most,” the Duke stated before Helena could respond.
Helena looked back up at Evander, shocked.
She loved the scent of lilacs and did find their flowers quite pretty, but hydrangeas?
Particularly the blue ones? Those were her very favorites.
She loved how the tiny flowers bunched together into a big flower ball, making one large one; how they reminded her of little pillows she always dreamed of lying down on and snuggling into.
How did he know that?
“Excellent choices,” the shop owner praised. “Her Grace has already sent the number of bouquets she would like, so now that you have picked your flowers, I have all that I need. We will have the sample arrangements sent to Winterbourne Estate for you to choose in a day or two.”
“Thank you,” Helena managed, though she scarcely heard her own voice. Her thoughts were still snagged on the hydrangea turning slowly between her fingers.
How could he have known?
“Come, Miss Robinson.” The Duke was already at the door. “We are not yet finished.”
The heavy door began to swing closed again as the Duke made it out to the street, and Helena ate away some of her frustration by giving it a hard push so she could follow him. Aggie was right behind her.
“Go on then, say what you want to say,” he goaded as they walked toward the modiste’s.
“Say what?” she snapped, glaring up at him.
“What you are thinking. Your expression is already saying enough for you, and I assume you have been holding that lecture in for a while now, Miss Robinson,” he replied in the same goading fashion.
Helena gritted her teeth at his condescending tone and let out a frustrated sound.
“Why are you like this?” she all but snarled. “The first time we met, you looked at me as if I were some demon and remained utterly silent! Then, suddenly, when you do decide to speak, you choose to mock me at every possible turn! Why? Why are you being so… so…?”
“Uncooperative?”
“I think I was looking for the word insufferable. You are such a—”
Evander stopped and turned so suddenly that Helena nearly collided with his chest. She caught herself a breath away from him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his great frame, close enough that she had to tip her head back to hold his gaze.
His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched as if he were struggling with something. Then, to her complete surprise, he reached for her.
Helena went rigid. In all the long hours since they had met, this man had not once laid a hand on her.
He had withheld it from the carriage, from the step, from every courtesy a gentleman owed a lady.
And now his gloved fingers slid slowly into her hair, grazing the shell of her ear, and every furious word died in her throat.
She could not breathe. She could not move. She could only stand there, as his warmth wrapped around her like a held breath, his face close enough now that she could see the storm-gray ring at the edge of all that pale blue.
“What are you…”
Then Evander pulled back, taking his body heat with him, and held up a tiny hydrangea petal.
“You had a petal in your hair,” he stated, smirking. “It was bothering me. Almost as much as my presence seems to bother you.”
Helena stood in puzzled silence as he placed the petal in her palm, then turned to walk toward the modiste’s on his own. She remained there for another long moment, now more confused than ever about the man she had been paired with.
“Come along, Miss,” Aggie gently urged. “It looks as if it is about to rain. You do not want to be on the street when the clouds let loose.”
Helena looked up, and sure enough, what had started as a sunny, clear day was now overcast by threatening-looking storm clouds. She shook the petal out of her hand as if it were poisonous and entered the shop.
Helena held the door open for Aggie, but her maid remained on the street.
“Aggie?”
Aggie looked hesitantly up at the clouds.
“It is quite the storm that is brewing, Miss,” Aggie answered. “I fear we may not have time to complete our errands. Perhaps I should run quickly to the bakery and stationery shop while you attend to your fitting.”
Helena was instantly uncomfortable with the idea, but before she could say so, a boom of thunder erupted from above, followed by a harsh streak of bright yellow lightning.
“I will be quick,” Aggie promised. “And will come back to you posthaste. The modiste is inside. Surely this would maintain propriety for the few minutes I am gone?”
Helena worried her bottom lip, still unsure, but when another crack of thunder sounded off, she quickly agreed.
“Hurry, Aggie, I do not wish for this day to be any longer than it needs to be,” she said in agreement.
Aggie gave her a solemn nod, then moved hastily down the street as the wind picked up and turned cold.
Lord, give me strength to get through this day.