Benedict pinched his brow, wondering if it might be more efficient to patronize another florist, before deciding to humor the man.
“She is quick of wit. I often bite my tongue to keep from laughing in her presence, usually at my expense. Her intelligence— She tries to hide it but cannot help herself and it slips out. She was overlooked, and I am fortunate she wasn’t snatched up before I found her. Is that?—”
“It’ll do,” the man said. He pondered the wall for a moment before spinning around to Benedict. He held a white flower, a stem dotted with other white blooms, and some greenery.
“Camellia,” he said, lifting the large white bloom. “For admiration. Honeysuckle for the bond you are forming. And ivy—a steadfast attachment.” With every new addition, Benedict’s discomfort grew. He bit it back.
“I’d like it delivered to this address,” Benedict said as he reached for the pen and parchment atop the counter. “Please include a note requesting the first two sets at the ball.”
“No,” the man said, still fussing with the bouquet as he wrapped the vine between blossoms.
“I beg your pardon?”
“First and last set. To begin the evening basking in her presence and to carry the memory of her off to sleep.”
Benedict’s desire to protest gave way to recognition that the man was entirely correct.
“Fine.”
“Very good, sir.”
Benedict spentthe next few hours in the boxing saloon. The following morning also saw him there, until he had to dress.
Repeatedly, Benedict assured himself that Eliza had received the bouquet with delight. Still, he could not help but ruminate on how she received his message and if she would agree to the sets.
It was truly absurd. Never had Benedict worried over his reception with a woman—let alone for something so frivolous as dance.
He shook off the self-doubt as he fussed with his cravat in the large, cracked mirror.
“You look very handsome,” Bella said as she stepped into the room. She brushed her hands along his shoulders, whisking away imaginary fluff. “You have been busy.”
“I have a match in two days. Have you forgotten?”
“No, of course not. Were you training with West?”
“Not today, no,” he said, unwilling to reveal his argument.
Bella and West got on like oil and water, and the litany of complaints she would set at his friend’s feet were unlikely to improve his mood.
He turned toward her. “What do you think?”
She looked him up and down. “I suppose you’ll do.”
“Is Mrs. Frances acting as chaperone this evening? Or am I?” he asked, referring to the widow Bella occasionally employed. The woman was all too willing to accompany Bella, providing the appearance of propriety while also allowing Bella the freedom she desired.
Benedict knew he ought to care more for his sister’s reputation. But she’d never expressed a desire for marriage; quite the opposite. She claimed to be on the shelf. The shelf and whether ladies were on it wasn’t something Benedict concerned himself with either. Regardless, Bella could more than manage any situation she found herself in, but he would play the part of protective brother if needed.
“She wished for an evening out. She is downstairs.”
Benedict glanced at the clock. “Has Norton hailed a hack?”
“So eager,” she teased.
“I’ve requested the first set with Eliza. Missing it would hardly encourage affection.”
“It is good to see you keen to assume your duties tonight.”
“Shall we?” he asked as he offered her his hand. Duty hadn’t come into his mind. No, the only thing in his head had been Eliza, waiting by the wall as couples danced before her—him nowhere to be seen; her eyes down-turned and expression closed off.
