Petals

six

▫▪▫

"My lady, I know this may seem peculiar to you, but I must ask you something," Adrian said as he handed her a cup of punch. He reached inside his jacket for something.

Lorraine blinked and her nostrils flared momentarily. If the insolent clod proposed, she'd clout him on the head, finishing school be damned. But rather than a velvet box, Adrian proffered a note to her, written on a single piece of plain paper.

"This was sent to me from a lady I'm searching out. I suppose you could call it a game between her and I," he informed a confused Lorraine. "The handwriting is almost an exact match for yours and I was wondering if you might be she, or if not, if you could tell me who she is."

Lorraine scanned over the two short sentences and didn't know whether to laugh or faint.

'Don't be a cad. I'm not jealous.'

She recognized the writing instantly, of course. What she didn't understand was the meaning behind it all. A game, Adrian had called it. Lorraine wasn't sure that it was that at all. The one who wrote it would never engage in such 'game.'

And he thought that she, Lorraine Barclay, probably the only young girl in the entire ton who had sworn (to herself, at least) never to get married, was the one who had sent him this? What nonsense. She didn't have the time or the patience for such ridiculous pursuits. Lord only knew what kind of correspondence this was in the first place.

Annabelle, you featherbrained twit. What in Heaven's name have you been up to?

Annabelle. Annabelle Carina Bradford. Sweet, timid Annabelle had sent dashing, honourable Adrian Morey, heir of the Earl of Dunlap, a note, calling him a cad. What was the world coming to?

"I'm sorry, I can't help you," Lorraine told Adrian, pushing the note back into his hand. "I have to go now."

Turning, she hurried back into the ballroom and spotted Annabelle graciously backing away from a beaux-besieged Melanie. Lorraine rushed over, linking arms with Annabelle and moving away, pretending to whisper some gossip of universal importance into her ear. They left the ballroom, strolling down the hall. When they had reached the safety of an alcove, Annabelle sighed with relief, releasing Lorraine's arm and sinking onto a window seat.

"Thank God you came, Lorraine," she breathed. "I do hate it so when Melanie gets me to dance with her own admirers. It feels rather like cast-off clothing."

Annabelle had not forgotten that Lorraine had disappeared with Adrian onto the terrace; she just didn't wish to be the one who brought up the matter. Indeed, she'd rather the matter didn't come up at all between them. Or that there was no matter whatsoever. From the look on Lorraine's face, however, there did indeed seem to be something.

"How could you call him a cad, Annabelle?" Lorraine demanded in a hushed, but slightly harsh, voice.

Annabelle blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Adrian. Adrian Morey. You called him a cad."

"How - how did you know?"

"I saw the note, Annabelle."

A flush stole up her neck, heading for the roots of her hair. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed." Lorraine heaved a sigh and sat down beside her friend. "What on Earth are you doing, Annabelle?"

"Nothing! I've stopped, I swear. That note was the last I sent him."

"Why did he think you were jealous?"

"Because I was upset with him after he paid so much attention to Caroline Humphrey at Hadyn's ball," Annabelle sniffed.

Lorraine grimaced and sighed again. "Start at the beginning, Annabelle, and pray to the heavens above that I won't advise your parents to send you to live in solitude for the rest of your life, when you're done."

Half an hour later, Lorraine knew everything and was wearing an unreadable expression that could have meant anything. Restlessly, Annabelle waited for her friend's conclusion. Several things crossed Lorraine's mind, including a variety of ways to strangle a person, courtesy of her father's hostler. In the end, however, she remembered Adrian's earnest expression and rolled her eyes at the whole ordeal.

"Send him another bouquet, Annabelle," she advised her friend. "You've let the poor oaf suffer enough."

"But that will make me look weak."

Lorraine snorted. "You don't have to forgive him right away. Just send himsomething. Berate him for bothering me, for not trying harder to find you, anything. Take pity on the man; he really does want to find you."

"That's the problem," Annabelle grumbled. "I don't want him to find me."

"Yes, you do."

"Don't be childish, Lorraine."

"If I can't be childish, then neither can you. Send him another message or I'll tell him who you are."

"You wouldn't!"

"Is that a challenge?" Lorraine inquired, beginning to stand.

"No! No!" Annabelle pulled her friend back to the window seat and heaved a resigned sigh. "Fine, then. I'll send him another bouquet, but you must promise never to tell him who I am."

Lorraine grinned, satisfied that she had gotten her way. "But of course."

▫▪▫

Adrian could barely believe his eyes when he saw the bouquet of pink geranium and petunias.

'Explain your actions.'

He didn't really care that the petunias symbolized anger; the Lady had contacted him. A note attached to the bouquet read 'Lorraine Barclay' and Adrian couldn't help but smile to himself. So the Lady was jealous yet again, it seemed - not that he would repeat the mistake of mentioning it this time. No, he would simply explain that he was looking for her. Of course, she might object to that as well, but she could hardly argue that curiosity was a crime. And besides, she was the one who had resumed the correspondence.

He had given up all hope the night before, when he had found out that Lorraine was not the Lady. The note had been the last clue he had had. He had lain awake in bed for hours, going over every detail of the correspondence, every bit about the Lady that Jack had accidentally let slip. Still, he had found nothing new.

Now, however, he still had a chance at finding her so long as the correspondence continued.

Casting a glance over the edge of his mother's tome, Adrian studied Jack as the boy played with Chaucer, who seemed delighted at the lad's return. It was possible that he could glean some information from the boy, however insubstantial, especially now that Jack was less wary of him. However, if he realized what Adrian was doing, he might inform the Lady, who might revoke the correspondence again. No, best not to risk it.

Adrian sighed. It would have been nice to know just a bit about her, seeing as she could easily find out anything about him.

Within the hour, he dispatched Jack with a bouquet of purple hyacinths and a note, which read, 'I'm only trying to find you.'