“Oh,” she said. “I cannot think how hard that must be for you. But did you tell me that to even the score of secret sharing?”
“Yes,” William nodded. “It is only fair.”
Twirling the flowers, Rachel made to say something but stopped at the last moment. She looked over her shoulder to the house behind them. “I think I should go.”
He laid a hand on her arm. “Before you go, would you please do me the honor of using my name? I would love for you to call me William or Will if you would prefer.”
Her eyes shifted. “I... I will consider it.”
Though the temptation to move his hand and cup her chin, William dropped it to his lap. “Thank you.”
As she moved away, Rachel stopped then pivoted. “You said that there was a meaning to every flower; what is the meaning to this one?”
Taking the ripe opportunity, William said, “I will tell you…if you meet me here for three days at sunset.”
For the first time, a spark of mischief lit upon her eyes. “And what if I find it first?”
He stood. “I would still want you to come. I know more sorrows are resting on your heart. ‘Tis not right for you to bear them alone.”
She pressed the flowers to her heart. “I—I should go.”
Bowing, William watched her go, hoping that she would take his offer to heart. And perhaps she would trust him enough to tell her all the worries that rested there.
And that is not all I am hoping for…but will she feel the same?
OceanofPDF.com
Chapter 4
Training her gaze out the carriage window while she came from church, Rachel thought about the kind offer Mr. Smith—William? —had extended to her the evening before. She wondered if it were right of her to take it up.
“Daughter?” her mother asked. “Why are you looking so pensive?”
“I am just musing over Father Morgan’s message, Mother,” Rachel hated to lie, but she knew that it was one of the few things that would dissuade her mother from prodding more.
“As you should.” Her mother sat back with a pleased look on her face.
Giving her a faint smile, Rachel went back to thinking about Mr. Smith, how he had admitted his struggle with his mind. She never expected something like that to come from him, but then she could see how creative men like him would have an internal struggle.
The carriage trundled into the manor’s driveway just as her mother said. “Rest for a while, and then come down for your sitting with Mr. Smith.”
“Yes, Mother,” Rachel said.
She had decided to keep her conversation short with her parents. It felt nonsensical to keep long discussions with them as they would dismiss all she said. They were set in their ways, and she found herself starting to search for a way out from it. A footman opened the door and helped her mother out before taking her hand.
They entered the bland foyer, and while a maid called her mother’s attention away, she climbed the stairs and headed to her rooms. When she entered, the first thing her eyes landed on the vase holding the three wilting springs of Marigold in it. There was a meaning behind it, but while she did not know what they meant, she treasured them.
Jane came into the room. “Good afternoon, My Lady. May I help you?”
“Yes, please.”
Soon, Rachel was out of her stiff church clothes and in a dressing robe while waiting for the bathwater to be heated. She reached out for one of the flowers, “Jane, have you ever heard about a language of flowers?”
Her maid looked up, “Yes, I have; why?”
“Mr. Smith mentioned it to me, but I still don’t understand much about it,” Rachel said. “And I cannot find any resources to get a clearer hold on it.”
Jane sat near her, “I can tell you the meaning of this flower if you would like.”
