Petals

fourteen

The male mind views matters rather simply. It does not consider its past failings as any reason to delay its present happiness. It does not consider how things done for the contentment of itself and those it cares for, might look from the emotional standpoint of others. And most of all, it quite often possessed the tendency to believe that the words 'I'm sorry' are all that is needed to worm one's way back into a lady's favour.

So it was that Annabelle received a bouquet of yellow loosestrife the next day. It was not brought by Jack this time, but by a Dunlap footman. Annabelle sighed when the maid brought it into her room and set it on the mantel.

'I am sorry; let us forget our quarrel.'

The maid hovered, waiting excitedly for Annabelle to ask who had sent the posy, but was instead dismissed with a wave of the hand. Disappointed, she left.

Annabelle sat on the bench at the foot of her bed and gazed up at the bouquet. Adrian was apologizing. Did he mean it, or was he merely saying it to get back into her good graces? And why was he pursuing her in any case? He didn't wish to be engaged to Adeline - fair enough. Everyone was due the right to dislike someone. But why Annabelle? If he wanted to a fiancé, there were plenty girls amongst the London ton who would gladly wear his ring.

Jealousy reared its head, but Annabelle quickly shoved it away. It wasn't relevant at the moment. He was pursuing her. Her. Annabelle Carina Bradford.

Did she want him to pursue her? Annabelle wasn't sure. He was handsome and the heir to a title and a respectable fortune. He seemed kind. He had been concerned about her health. He neither wanted nor expected a wife with no mind of her own. All in all, he seemed a good match, but there was a world of truth in what Melanie had said the night before.

Human beings rarely enjoy being thrust into situations they have never expected they would be in; Annabelle was no exception. Certainly, she had always wanted to be in her current position, but what if it turned out that it was not all she had dreamed it would be? What if Adrian wasn't all she had dreamed he would be? She had heard too many stories about just such occurrences not to be wary. Naïve young girls, blinded by the grandness of titles and money and fancy words, would find out too late what monsters they had given themselves to. Annabelle had no intention of being one of those girls.

In comparison to that, marriage to a man who simply wanted heirs or money seemed a blessing. At least in such a union, she would not have any expectations to be dashed.

Standing, she paced over to the mantel and gently touched one of the small, yellow blooms. A wind slipped through the open window and brushed against her cheek in a similar carress. Looking out the window, she gazed at the garden below.

She would send a bouquet in response. Openly this time, never mind what society might say. Perhaps if she cast some questionable shadow on her reputation, Adrian would abate this chase. But what to send?

Several choices flitted through her head. Aconite. Cockscomb. White columbine.

Annabelle ran over the choices as she descended the stairs and made her way to the garden. Finally, she stopped before a stand of anemone.

'Your charms no longer appeal to me.'

She did not bother with sheers, but plucked them by hand, hardly noticing the sap that ran down her fingers and palms. When she had enough, she went into the garden shed and tied them with a bit of ribbon. Taking a card from her desk, she wrote a note to Adrian, thanking him for the flowers. It was cold, impersonal, as if they were no more than casual acquaintances. At the bottom, she simply put 'From Lady Annabelle.'