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He had the inane idea that the wind might blow and take his heart along with it, like dandelion seeds. He felt as though the world were making a wish on him.

A wish for love.

He lifted his head and met Lavinia’s eyes. Bluer than the sea, and deeper.

He cleared his throat and glanced at his mother, who had cupped her chin in her hand. Her eyebrows were lifted well above the frames of her spectacles.

“I discovered a new dandelion species in Kyncastle.” He felt oddly shy, with Lavinia and his family gathered so close. “Somehow—Father didn’t collect it. I’d hoped I could bring you the journal with my published description, but it won’t be out until July.”

His lungs felt hot and tight. He went up to his mother’s chair and took her hand, so thin and cold.

“I named it for you,” he said. “Taraxacum hedrae.”

Slowly, his mother’s eyebrows lowered. Her eyelids curved down as her smile lifted her lips. It was that expression he’d been observing these days—bittersweet. Her hand tightened on his.

“I wanted to press a good specimen for you,” he said. “I didn’t find any, though, when I was just in Kyncastle.”

“So Muriel brought a plant.” Kelyn walked to the hatbox and lifted it. “She brought you a plant to press and give to your mother.” She passed Neal the hatbox, then turned to Lavinia. “That was kind of you.”

“But didn’t she come from London?” Jenni folded her arms. “What’s the distribution of Taraxacum hedrae?”

Jenni thought too quickly. She never left him enough time to develop a strategy. He sighed.

“I doubt it grows in London,” he admitted. He didn’t want to say it and hesitated, too long. Lavinia’s face was already falling.

He looked into the hatbox. “This isn’t Taraxacum hedrae.”

“The purple spots, though.” Lavinia started forward, shoulder pressing his side as she studied the plant. “There.” She pointed.

Where to begin? It wasn’t even close.

“Give it here,” said his mother. “I believe I am the intended recipient.” She took the hatbox from Neal’s outstretched hands and settled it on her lap. She addressed Lavinia. “You brought this all the way from London?”

A rhetorical question, but Lavinia nodded.

“Why a hatbox?”

“I don’t have a vasculum,” said Lavinia. “I am interested in botany, but I only learned of my interest recently. I have learned several things about myself only recently.”

She took a breath. “For example, that I would rather have a daisy wrapped around my finger than wear a duke’s diamond.”

She fisted her hands and crossed her arms, fists shoved beneath her biceps. She’d begun to tremble.

“When Neal told me about the dandelions he’d named for you, I knew. I knew how much it meant, how much he loved you. And I knew that I wanted to live that kind of life.”

Tears spilled over her lashes.

“A life where love is common as weeds,” she whispered. She looked around at them, the members of his family, all staring back at her. “You’re so very lucky.”

Her eyes locked on his. She smiled, a smile that lit her like summer sun.

He had promised her they would make their own luck. Dammit, they were starting now. If he kissed her, Perran, Jory, and Jenni would never let him live it down. The teasing would be pitiless.

If he didn’t kiss her . . .

But there was no world in which didn’t kiss was an option.

He pulled her against him, slid his fingers into her hair, sought her lips. They parted beneath his, full and soft and salty-sweet. Her face was wet with tears but she laughed into his mouth. Surprised again. He liked to surprise her. Right then and there, he made it a goal to surprise her every day.