In nineteenth century London, it's not considered proper for a young lady to send flowers to a healthy, eligible young bachelor. But when Adrian Morey receives a bouquet with a challenge, he can't help but be intrigued. His curiosity only grows as t...
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Adrian was beyond nervous as he paced the breadth of his room again and again. After receiving the Lady's message that morning, he had not waited until the next day to reply, but immediately searched his mother's tomes for a suitable response, taken Jack to the florists and sent the boy home with a bunch of blooms known as love-in-a-mist.
'Your message is ambiguous; what do you mean?'
What could she have possibility meant by her last bouquet? He wasn't fickle. If anyone fit the description, it was the Lady herself. First she told him she fancied him, and next she refused to tell him anything about her. Never mind the fact that she had made it known from the beginning that she wanted to remain anonymous. She was the one who had started it all.
Adrian growled in frustration and threw himself into a chair. When the familiar knock came at the door, he surged back to his feet, flew out of his chambers and down the hall. His feet pounded on the stairs and he flung open the door before Oliver had even reached the entranceway. Adrian looked down at Jack, then behind him, then all around, but found no sign of a bouquet.
Fear curled in his belly. Was it over, then? Had the Lady sent Jack here in an act of so-called mercy, to put Adrian out of the torture of waiting and sentence him to a lifetime of wondering?
"She just sent ye t'is, t'is time," Jack said, holding out a small, folded piece of parchment. "Guess she was in 'oo much o' a 'urry t' 'ink o' a flower."
Adrian had the letter in his hands and unfolded before the boy had finished talking.
'Caroline Humphrey.'
It took a moment for the words to sink in. The Lady was not Caroline; he had already decided on that. Or was she? He slanted a glance at Jack, who had stepped inside and was whistling for Chaucer. Perhaps Caroline was not as simple as he had taken her to be. Perhaps last night had been a very well played out act.
"Do you know who Caroline Humphrey is?" he asked casually, eyes watching Jack's reaction closely.
No blush. No narrowed eyes. No sign of an Adam's apple. The boy glanced up at him, innocent as anything. "Ain't she the 'augh'er o' the Duke o' Haydn?"
Adrian sighed. "Yes."
But she's not the Lady.
So what did the note mean? Adrian thought over the last few bouquets, imagining it as if it were a flowing conversation, not a jerky, awkward correspondence made up of blooms and mystery.
'Why are you so fickle?'
'Your message is ambiguous; what do you mean?'
'Caroline Humphrey.'
Adrian didn't know whether to groan or laugh. He couldn't believe he hadn't realized it as soon as he saw the note. Grinning, he read the two words there again. The Lady was jealous!
