Harred removed some coins from his jacket pocket and handed them towards the woman. “Will you have them delivered to Lord Cuttyngham’s townhouse in Mayfair? They are for Lady Octavia.”
The woman walked over to a table and picked up a piece of paper. “Would you care to send a card with the flowers?”
“Yes, I think that would be appropriate,” Harred said.
“What would you like the card to say?”
Harred’s mind seemed to go blank. He hadn’t sent flowers in many years and he was out of practice. He didn’t want Lady Octavia to believe he intended to pursue her but he did want to bring a smile to her face.
A thought occurred to him. “Will you deliver two bouquets of flowers to Lord Cuttyngham’s townhouse?”
A line between the woman’s brow appeared. “Two, sir?”
“Yes, one for Lady Octavia and one for her mother, Lady Cuttyngham. She is rather ill,” he explained. He hoped that Lady Octavia would appreciate his gesture and that she wouldn’t think it was too presumptuous of him.
The woman’s eyes held understanding. “I will be happy to do so,” she replied. “That is most thoughtful of you.”
He reached back into his jacket pocket but the woman puther hand up. “You have sufficiently paid for both bouquets. But we still do have the matter of the card, sir.”
“Yes, the card,” he muttered. Blasted card. What could he write? And why did it matter what he wrote?
The woman held up the quill. “I daresay that you are overthinking this. What is your first thought as to what you should write?”
Harred bobbed his head. “You are right. Please just inform Lady Octavia that I enjoyed our dance and I am glad that she didn’t trip.”
“Very good,” she said. “And your name?”
“Lord Kendal.”
The woman signed his name and asked, “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“No, but you have been most helpful.”
“This lady must be rather special to you since you want everything to be so perfect,” the woman mused.
“We are just friends,” he rushed to correct. Although, he hoped that Lady Octavia would consider him a friend because he considered her one.
As he departed from the flower shop, he realized that he was smiling.
With a needle in her hand, Octavia sat in the drawing room as she tried not to die from complete and utter boredom. She pondered if one could truly die from boredom. She was beginning to suspect that it was possible. After all, she had been working on the same reticule for hours and she needed a break, desperately. Would her aged companion even notice if she just fell over and lay still on the floor?
“What is wrong, dear?” Mrs. Harper asked.
Octavia lowered the needlework to her lap and wonderedif her companion was more astute than she had let on. “I don’t think I can do one more moment of needlework,” she admitted.
“You just need a change of scenery,” Mrs. Harper suggested. “Perhaps we should adjourn to the parlor?”
Much to her disappointment, she had been wrong about her companion. Mrs. Harper was just as oblivious as she always was. “I don’t think that will help.”
“Shall I ring for a tea service to be brought in for us? Tea has always seemed to calm your nerves before.”
“It is not nerves.” Octavia leaned forward and placed her needlework onto the table. “I think I will go read in my father’s study.”
Mrs. Harper went to rise. “I shall come with you.”
“No!” Octavia exclaimed, putting her hand up. “I mean… er… if it isn’t too much of an imposition, I would prefer to read on my own.
“Very well, I could use a nap anyways,” Mrs. Harper said as she returned to her seat. “I will wait for you here.”
