Each room they passed was a perfectly preserved monument to the opulence of previous centuries. Antiques he had only ever read about filled every room and crowded every shelf.
When he entered the sunless parlor, a small orange fire at one side did little to dispel the sense of unreality, as though he had stumbled into an enchanted castle untouched by light or time.
Indeed, only when his eyes adjusted to the darkness did Thad realize a thin woman with gray-streaked hair and no smile sat engulfed in one of the room’s tall Mannerist chairs.
He swept a bow at once. “Forgive me, madam. I had no wish to startle you.”
She hadn’t moved an inch. Thad’s heart was the one beating erratically.
When the older woman made no response, he hurried to add an introduction. “I am Mr. Thaddeus Middleton. I’ve come to see—”
“No title,” she interrupted, “but flowers.”
“Er…yes.” Thad knew he should’ve left the daffodils in the gig. “That’s the short and the long of it.”
“Grandmother,” came a breathless voice. “A footman said—”
The older woman’s hand shot out to grab the edge of a curtain, parting the drapery in two.
A blinding shaft of sun streamed through the opening, bathing a bonnet-less Priscilla Weatherby in heavenly, shimmery light. A sign.
Dumbstruck, Thad’s arm shoved the flowers in her direction.
“Marry him,” her grandmother barked.
“I haven’t asked,” Thad stammered.
“He hasn’t asked,” Miss Weatherby agreed, chin held high.
“That is,” he added, lifting the flowers, “we could spend more time together and see where things go.”
“Which is nowhere near an altar,” Miss Weatherby put in firmly, “because we do not have a romance.”
“Quite true,” Thad agreed. His arm was beginning to tire from holding out the flowers. The flowers were tiring, too. They were beginning to rain petals upon the carpet. “There’s no romance.”
Mrs. Weatherby narrowed her eyes. “Why are you here, if you’re not interested in my granddaughter?”
Thad straightened the daffodils. “Excellent question. Obviously I’m interested—”
“—in my parrot,” Miss Weatherby said, as if it was not unusual at all for gentlemen to come calling at a young lady’s door in order to present daffodils to parrots. “Shall I bring him to the parlor?”
“You know I cannot stand the sight of that thing.” Startled, Mrs. Weatherby leaped to her feet as if the parrot would arrive at any moment and blind her with its Medusa-like feathers. “Go, go! Fetch it if you must. I’m to lie down at once. You’ve given me a horrid megrim.”
With that, she fled from the parlor with more alacrity than Thad imagined she’d possess.
“I’ll send up some chocolate,” Miss Weatherby called after her. “I bought the kind you like!”
The only response was the distant sound of a slamming door.
Miss Weatherby let out a relieved sigh. “You made a splendid impression.”
“Did I?” he asked doubtfully. “How can you tell?”
“She’s left us unchaperoned,” Miss Weatherby explained. “There can be no higher praise.”
Or a bigger mistake. Thad lowered the flowers to his side in alarm. He wasn’t at all certain being alone was a wise idea.
“Maids?” he said hopefully. “Footmen?”
