He repressed the urge to run his fingers through the tresses cascading over her shoulders and down her back—shades of brown that tangled and twisted in girlish locks and mingled with warm honey highlights as if the sun itself had kissed her head.
Get a grip. What was he thinking? He should grab the ring and walk out the door. Find a quiet, lonely spot in the middle of a field, or beside a lake, and bleed his thoughts and feelings and emotions onto paper. Like he had the past three years. He’d filled books with poetry during this time.
Instead he reached out and prevented the ring from leaving her finger. “Don’t.”
Creases formed on Magnolia’s forehead while a smile tugged the corners of Davis’s mouth. “I’d like to see how it looks on a woman’s finger.”
He slid the ring back into place. The action tugged at everything inside him. Lifting her hand, he brought it closer to his face. His thumb inched across hers, the distance barely noticeable. But for Davis, it seemed a mile. He breathed in deep. Her skin was even softer than he’d imagined.
“So it’s true?”
Her eyes widened further. “What’s true?” Her voice carried the slightest tremble, her eyes a hint of— Fear? Or was that a challenge in her fixed gaze?
Magnolia tipped her chin ever so slightly.
Definitely a challenge. He thought so. She didn’t seem the kind of woman to be plagued by fears of any kind. He liked that quality.
Davis gave her hand a light squeeze. “That you’re as good as I’ve been told.”
She lowered her gaze for a moment, and his world slowed in motion—every action heightened, lengthened, granting him the opportunity to experience each one far longer than the rush that normal life afforded.
Incredible.
“Thank you, Lord Rathbone. I will take that as a compliment.”
“Please, call me Davis.”
Her gaze questioning, she tilted her head. “Are you sure? It seems inappropriate.”
“Only if I hadn’t requested it, Miss Blume.” He allowed his smile free reign, something he hadn’t indulged himself the pleasure of in quite some time.
“Then you may call me Magnolia, if you like.” A smile touched her lips. “Or Maggie, as my friends and family do.”
A female friend. It had been a while.
“I would like that.” Very much.
Seemingly aware that he still held her hand, and that her colleague stood staring at them, Maggie freed herself from his hold. She turned and placed her hand on the counter behind her, glancing over her shoulder at him. “So, do you like what you see?”
Oh yes, I do. Far too much.
Davis stepped up to the glass counter. From below, items of jewelry cried for his attention, the piece that Maggie had fashioned screaming the loudest as it sparkled beneath the bright lights overhead. But only one thing held his gaze—the delicate French-manicured hand that wore his mother’s ring. Perfectly.
“You have truly surprised me, Miss— Maggie.” He motioned toward the ring with his eyes. “That has turned out far beyond my expectations.”
Her lips parted, exposing yet another flawless aspect of Magnolia Blume as a grin stretched across her cheeks. Thirty-two flawless aspects to be exact. Not that he could count them, but with teeth so perfect, the tooth fairy had no doubt long forgotten her address.
“What have you called this masterpiece?”
“Called? I— Um…”
“You haven’t given it a name? Surely something of importance was your muse when you crafted this, for it has turned out vastly different from your first designs. I can tell that you finally put your heart and soul into this ring.”
Maggie drew a breath, and held it. “Garden of Love,” she spurted, averting her gaze.
“Garden of Love.” Davis trailed a finger over the diamonds. “A fitting name, epitomizing the reason I’d commissioned this piece. I imagine there’s quite a story behind the name.” A current love, perhaps. The thought churned his gut.
An awkward silence filled the room.
The doorbell tinkled. Thankfully. Both Davis and Maggie looked around as another patron entered, drawing the attention of the shop assistant who set about attending to the customer’s needs.
“Do you have plans this weekend?” The question tumbled from Davis’s mouth against his better judgment that told him to spend the rest of his days penning poetry. But he couldn’t let it end with him walking out of her store, never to see her again.
Maggie’s head snapped back in his direction. “No.” She eased the ring from her finger. “I’d better get this packaged for you.” She turned to go then stopped and pivoted. “Why?”
“We’re hosting our annual Spring Ball this Saturday. I’d be honored if you would be my guest.”
She clamped her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can I think about it, and let you know?”
Think about it? Most women would jump at such a social opportunity. Then again, Magnolia Blume was not like any other woman he’d ever known.
“Of course. As long as you let me know by tomorrow.” Perhaps the ring would entice her to accept his invitation. “The reason I commissioned that ring will also happen at the ball. Just saying…”
She smiled and walked to the other side of the counter they’d leaned on. “I will let you know. I have your number.” Stooping, Maggie opened a drawer, pulled out a white ring box and placed it on the glass surface. “I’ll be back in a second. I need to fetch the certificate I issued this morning from my workshop.”
Davis watched her disappear behind the door she’d walked through only minutes before. Lord, is this from You? I’d vowed to devote my life to You, to reserve my feelings and emotions to paper. But I’m not sure I can walk away this time. It had to be providence that Jonathan met her sister in that London restaurant. Knowing of Davis’s plans for the stone he’d inherited from his father, his friend was quick to tell him of Magnolia Blume’s talent.
He turned his thoughts from Maggie to the one the ring had been designed for. He had no use for the diamond, and Mother would love what Maggie had done with the precious stone. This ring certainly should cheer her up. Anything to help her forget that awful day when Paxton chose to claim an early inheritance and leave. Nobody had heard a word from him since. One year today. His little brother certainly had gotten more than a bee in his bonnet Spring Day last year.
Maggie’s reappearance drew him back to the present. A far more preferable place.
“All ready.” She placed the certificate on the counter and with care, pushed the ‘Garden of Love’ into its dark velvety bed. Her fingers brushed over the diamonds. “I’m sad to see it go.”
“Would it make you feel any better if I told you it’s destined for a great lady?”
Her nod wasn’t convincing.
“I do hope you’ll consider attending on Saturday. We start the festivities at noon. Come casual. Levens Hall has plenty of guest rooms where you can freshen up and change for the evening ball. You’re welcome to stay overnight, if you like. In fact, I’d prefer it.” What was he thinking, asking her to stay? She’d probably never come now. “What I mean is that I wouldn’t want you taking the hour’s drive home late at night.”
Maggie shook her head. “My sister, Poppy, lives in Ambleside. I can stay with her. Or I can drive on home—it’s not that much farther.”
“Poppy? Another flower?”
She waved her hand in the air before closing the lid on the ring box and packaging it in a white monogramed gift bag, black tissue paper hiding the box beneath. “It’s a long story, starting with great-grandma Blossom. My parents thought it would be cute to name us after flowers, too, especially in the light of our surname and Dad’s vocation.”
“Us? How many of you are there in the Blume bouquet?”
“We’re seven sisters.” Maggie giggled as she shook her head. “Blume bouquet. I like that.”
As if she hadn’t heard that line before. But she was gracious enough not to say so.
/> “All with flower names?”
“Yes. First came Poppy, then me, Rose, Holly, Lily, Heather, and finally, our baby sister, Clover.”
“No doubt you’re the prettiest flower of them all.” Seriously? Were his old ways coming out so soon? He should change the subject. Fast. “What does your father do?”
“He’s a horticulturist. Has numerous nurseries all over Cumbria that supply markets and florists across England.”
“Not ‘A Blume in Bloom’?”
Her head bobbed up and down. “Yes. You’ve heard of his flowers?”
Heard of them? He used them all the time. At least he had. For far too many years, far too many women. They were the best flowers around. He’d always insisted his florists sourced his orders from ‘A Blume in Bloom’.
“Who hasn’t?” Davis’s gaze roamed the length of Maggie. “His flowers are all exquisite.”
A blush rushed to her cheeks. Grabbing the gift bag, she headed for the till. “Should we sort out the damage?”
“Must we?” He grinned as he reached into his Scott Morrison bespoke jeans, his best acquisition on the last trip he’d taken to the States. He pulled out his wallet, opened it, and handed Maggie his Platinum credit card.
She swiped the card through the machine, debiting his account with the agreed amount. He would’ve hated to see the bill if he hadn’t supplied the raw stone.
Retrieving his coat from the coat stand close to the door, Davis slipped into it before wrapping his fingers around the thin rope handles of the gift bag. “See you Saturday, perhaps?”
“Maybe.” Maggie tucked a thick lock of hair behind her ear then reached toward him, her hand coming to rest on his arm. Pity the thick cashmere stood between him and her touch. “Could I ask you something, before you go?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Who recommended me to you? I’d like to know who to thank. This has been an amazing opportunity, and an honor.”
Davis held her gaze. “I tell you what, Maggie. Come to the Spring Ball, and I’ll reveal everything. Then you and I can discuss the inspiration behind your design.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“Is that a yes?”
She merely smiled. “Happy Spring Day, Lord Rathbone.”
Returning her smile, Davis exited the jewelry store, the doorbell tinkling at his leaving.
It certainly is.
Chapter Two
Maggie pulled her BMW i3 to a stop outside her sister’s Ambleside home on the outskirts of Waterhead Bay. The five-bedroomed Victorian house, situated on the northern banks of Lake Windermere, was far too big for one person. But Poppy said it was a bargain—an investment—and that one day when she sold it, she’d make oodles of money. Maggie always thought her sister should keep it, rather…fill it with a husband and oodles of children. At least, that’s what she’d do.
The blue front door with its welcoming arched entrance flew open.
“Maggie! What a surprise.” Poppy bounded outside.
Maggie waved as she shut the car door. She tightened the pale pink scarf that complemented her angora pullover, blocking out the crisp morning air, and then scurried across the gravel driveway toward Poppy. Her over-the-knee wedge boots covering her skinny jeans kept her legs warm. “Hope you don’t mind me stopping by unannounced. I tried to call last night.”
“I’m sorry. I was out scouting houses in an area with the most abysmal cellphone signal. I only got home late.”
“Hence the pajama-look at eight in the morning? Thought that wasn’t like my on-the-go sister.” Maggie ruffled Poppy’s PJ pants, and then wrapped her arms around her big sister—only by one year Poppy always reminded. “Golly, I’ve missed you. We really do need to get together more often.”
Poppy scrunched her face, her look pained. “I know. I’ve been so busy at work, the property market in this area is suddenly booming, but that’s no excuse not to make the half-hour drive. Would you believe I even have a mountain listed to sell? I mean, who will want to buy a mountain they can do nothing with because it’s part of the Lake District National Park?”
“I heard about that. I love that mountain.”
“So do I, it’s one of my favorite places to go walking, when I get the time.”
“So you have to sell it?”
“Yes.”
Maggie gave a half-laugh. “Good luck on that one.”
“It’s not going to be easy.” Poppy blew out a huff, her breath barely dissipating before a grin filled her face. “But it’ll carry a hefty commission.”
The gravel crunched beneath their footsteps as they made their way across the drive toward the house. Bending over, Maggie picked up a small stone and hurled it with all her might toward the water lapping the far end of the lawn. The stone fell way short and bounced across the golf-green-perfect grass, coming to rest near a bed of bright yellow daffodils. She loved this time of year, all the flowers coming into bloom. “Missed. Again. By a mile.” She slipped her arm into her sister’s as they stepped off the driveway and strolled up the path.
“I understand about not having time, Poppy. I’ve been busy, too.”
“Business booming? I see you got a new car. I like it. And the silver and black suits you.”
Maggie grinned. “It’s electric.”
Flinging her head back, Poppy laughed. Her long chestnut-colored hair dangled midair for a brief moment. “Typical Maggie—always doing your part for the environment.”
She gave a slight shrug. “A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do. This is God’s world and we need to take care of it. And yes, business has been good, but that’s not the reason I got a new car. It was just time.”
“Why? The CO2 emissions of your older model getting to your little hedgehogs?”
“No, silly. Like I said, it was just time.”
Poppy stopped. “Speaking of those little hogs, are you still looking after every wild one that crosses your property?”
Maggie gave Poppy’s arm a light smack. “Leave my hedgehogs out of this. Someone has to keep an eye out for them. Their numbers are declining. We’ve less than a million left in the UK.”
“So you keep reminding me, Maggie. Well, whatever your reasons, I like the car. Can I take it for a spin later?”
“As long as it’s not too much later. I need to be in Kendal by noon. Levens Hall to be exact.”
Poppy’s brows rose. “Levens Hall? Hobnobbing with nobility, are you? Business?”
Maggie shook her head. “Pleasure, actually.”
“Ooh.” Poppy shut the door behind them, keeping the cool air outside, and shuffled Maggie toward the closest couch. “Do tell me more.”
Maggie sank into the three-seater couch and took in the surrounds. “You’ve redecorated?”
“I let Holly loose in here.”
“I love what she’s done. She’s really talented. I need to get her to come visit me for a few weeks. This room—it’s so you.” Maggie’s gaze focused on the bright red poppy oil painting that hung over the fireplace before moving across to the poppy-print scatter cushions and roll-down canvas blinds.
“Duh. Let her loose in your home and it’ll be magnolias all over the place.” Poppy grinned as she hopped onto the corner cushion next to Maggie. She pulled her feet up beside her and hugged one of the poppy prints. “But, I do like it. I would never have dreamed of being so bold as to fill my lounge with my namesake.”
“Our little sister knows what she’s doing.”
Poppy poked her finger into Maggie’s leg. “You’re changing the subject. We’re not here to talk about my house’s makeover. What’s this about Levens Hall?”
Tipping her head back, Maggie raked her fingers through her hair, releasing a sigh to the ceiling. “Where do I start?”
“At the beginning is usually a good place.”
“Right. Well, I’ve no idea how, but six weeks ago I was commissioned to create a work of art for Lord Davis Rathbone.�
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“The Davis Rathbone, Baron of Levens Hall?”
“The one and only. In the flesh.”
“He’s quite a catch.”
“Hmm.”
“Although somewhat of a bad boy, or so I’ve heard—a real ladies’ man, with one failed marriage behind him already. Probably the reason Earl Rathbone of Levens Hall has only bestowed upon him the courtesy title of Baron and not Viscount as he’s entitled to.”
“You know an awful lot about the man.”
“I hear things while showing stately homes.” Poppy laughed. “And I read Life & Times. He is quite a dish, although I’m certain the tabloid photos don’t do him justice.”
They probably don’t. Maggie’s mind wandered back to Thursday afternoon and the feel of Davis’s hand on hers, his piercing blue gaze, and the shadow framing the square jaw and highly kissable lips of the dark-haired nobleman.
“I guess he is rather handsome, and as you say, quite a catch, because that’s the reason I’m headed for Levens Hall. As the designer of his engagement ring, I’ve been invited to the party marking the occasion.”
“Engagement party? Are you sure? I haven’t heard or read anything about that. Rated Britain’s most eligible and elusive bachelor for the past few years, a man like that’s imminent betrothal would’ve created huge media buzz and social chatter.”
“What do you mean by ‘a man like that’?”
“You know, Maggie. His reputation with women.” She leaned closer. “You should be careful, it probably doesn’t matter to him whether he’s promised to another or not.”
Maggie’s jaw dropped open, her wide eyes protesting Poppy’s statement.
Her sister shrank back into the corner of the couch. “I’m just saying…you’re a beautiful woman and incredibly naive for your age. What man wouldn’t want to seduce you?”
“Poppy!” Bile rose at the thought of Davis Rathbone regarding her as some trophy to be won, just to be discarded once conquered.
Love Blossoms: 7 Spring-Fresh Christian Romances Page 47