The Flower Seller ( WAYHAUGHT)

Chapter 23

It was a strange experience pushing Alice's pram through the park, Nicole noticing the looks from others taking their afternoon stroll. Alice was in her element, a white bonnet perched on her head, her chubby little hands gripping the side of the pram as she took in the world. "Do you think we have time to visit your parents?" Waverly asked, adjusting Alice's bonnet, which had begun to slip over her eyes.

"It's rather a long walk," Nicole replied, nodding at two women who smiled at her. "Do you think others assume Alice is mine?"

"She is. For now. I wonder where Wynonna was going?"

"Wherever she was heading she believed she was keeping Sherlock out of trouble."

"As if we could. You know, that's why you're not like him. I have complete trust in you."

"Not Sherlock?"

Waverly placed her hands on the pram's handle, Nicole removing hers. "Sherlock fails to see the danger. I sometimes wonder whether he doesn't see himself as immortal. Like Blackwood."

Nicole pondered those words. Could it be Blackwood and Sherlock shared the same belief in being invincible? She stopped suddenly. "The fights. Why didn't I see it?"

"What about them?"

"Why did he allow himself to be beaten to within an inch of his life?"

"Because he's Sherlock," Waverly replied. "Who other than Sherlock really knows why he does what he does? Alice no. Thumbs do not go in the mouth. Only babies do that."

"It's not the way he operates. I think he wanted to send a message to someone. Who?"

"Blackwood?"

Nicole shook her head. "Who would need to know he was incapacitated?"

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I. But, he...Sherlock never does anything without a reason. So there's got to be a reason."

"If we have children, I shall take them here every day," Waverly suggested.

Nicole fell silent.

They continued their walk to Nicole's family mansion, her mother thrilled to see Alice. Nicole knew she took after her father, rather than her mother, even though she adored both. Her mother was the quintessential debutante, the belle of the ball, the beauty everyone admired, gravitated towards like moths to a flickering candle. She knew her father adored her mother, forever buying her little trinkets of jewellery much to her mother's amusement. She had caught them on many occasions dancing without music in his library, wrapped in each other's arms, whispering, laughing.

From an early age she witnessed the gentle love they shared for each other, which flowed out to her and Freddie. Her mother always said she was the gift she most wanted from Nicole's father, not realising what that meant until she saw Alice in her mother's arms, fussing over this little cherub, who clung to her chest as if she were her own mother. Tea was served, a cup of milk provided for Alice, and biscuits, which Nicole's mother took great delight in feeding little pieces at intervals to the adorable child in her arms, talking to her all the while, as Nicole remembered her doing when she was a child.

Nicole's father entered the conservatory a little after four, kissing his wife on the forehead, bowing to Alice. "I must say she's a delight," he said, turning to greet his daughter, and guest. "She will make a fine engineer."

Nicole's mother laughed. "She will be a fine ballerina. She has the sweetest of temperaments. Like our own daughter."

The heat rose in Nicole's cheeks. "There's still every chance I could perform a pirouette," she informed, earning her the laugh she was seeking.