“Why?”
“Because there are over a hundred pieces.”
She stopped, pivoting on her heel to face him. “Over a hundr— That’s a lot of trimming. Must take your gardeners forever.”
Davis chuckled. “We keep them rather busy.” He stepped through the entrance to the topiary, and his riding boots crunched on the gravel pathway lined by neatly trimmed low hedges of Japanese Holly. On the far side of the topiary, the walls of Levens Hall peeked out behind the tall, shaped greenery.
For a while they strolled in silence, Maggie clearly overwhelmed by the beauty of the gardens. Davis himself never tired of walking through the topiary, gazing at the variety of green geometric and abstract shapes. His favorite cuts were the four peacocks, the King and Queen chess pieces, and Queen Elizabeth and her Maids of Honor.
“I love that top hat shape. Makes me want to climb up there and hide my head inside.” Maggie’s laugh filled the afternoon air.
“Strange, that same thought has crossed my mind many a time. You know what they say about thinking alike.”
“I know. But on the contrary, Davis, fools, too, never differ.”
“I doubt that either of us are fools, Maggie.” Although I’ve certainly acted like one on far too many occasions. But as long as I’ve learnt something along the way and not been stupid enough to repeat my mistakes these past few years, I guess the experiences were not wasted. Davis always pacified himself with ‘as long as I’ve learnt something.’ Truth was he’d rather have not made the mistakes in the first place. He wouldn’t make them this time. God would help him. He was his strength and shield, the fortress he ran to when temptation beckoned. The old Davis would’ve been behind some tall hedge already, plucking the petals from this beautiful bloom.
He pushed the thought from his mind. He would not think about Magnolia Blume in that way.
“Tell me about the design, Maggie, and your inspiration for your ‘Garden of Love’” He swept his hand through the air, motioning to the shrubbery surrounding them. His eyes followed the movement before he settled his gaze on her. “I’d like to know all about it.”
Maggie hesitated for a moment. “My design? My inspiration?” Bringing her hand to her mouth, her eyes widened. “Where do I start?”
“At the very beginning. I want to hear it all.”
*
All? There were certainly things she would not reveal. Like the fact that Grandma Daisy had taught the Blume girls much about life, and love, but that neither Magnolia, nor her sisters, had been able to put into practice Grandma’s teachings regarding the latter. Except for Lily. And that hadn’t lasted long. A cold tombstone, and the cutest one-year-old ever, were all Lily had left of her brief marriage to Connor Dempsey. Still, her sister was ecstatic the day she found out she was expecting a boy. Despite pressure from Mom and Dad, she remained adamant to name her son after his late father, thereby breaking the Blume naming tradition. Just as well, for there really weren’t any flowers suited to a boy’s name. Given the opportunity, though, their parents would’ve found something appropriate—or more like inappropriate—to name their grandson.
Davis cleared his throat, drawing Maggie’s attention. He dug his hand into the left pocket of the blue blazer he wore, the shade a dark reflection of his eyes. Thin black stripes checkered the fabric, matching his hair. What would it feel like to run her fingers across the top of his head and through those ebony waves?
Producing the box that Maggie had packaged the ring in, Davis flipped open the lid. Her creation sparkled in the sunlight like a blossom filled with morning dew. The sight would’ve been lost to a rainy day, and she shot a prayer of thanks to heaven for the clear spring day.
“Perhaps if you try the ring on again, as you had whilst making it, you’ll remember the inspiration?” He smoothed his chin with his thumb. Crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. Was he hiding a smile?
Her gaze narrowed, and she adjusted her handbag straps on her shoulder. “Maybe it would help.” She’d love to feel that ring on her finger once more.
Davis indulged her whim, his eyes demanding an answer to his request. She’d have to oblige.
“The flower-shaped design in its entirety is a tribute to my great-grandmother, Blossom. She left a legacy of amazing women. The round-cut center stone symbolizes my grandmother, Daisy.
“The eight pear-cut diamonds surrounding the center stone—the petals to the bloom design—depict my mother, six sisters, and myself.” A smile played on her lips. Dad would have corrected her, calling it a Blume design instead.
She stretched out her hand for them both to see the jeweled item better. “And there you have it, my ‘Garden of Love.’”
“That’s really special. Family is important.”
Magnolia couldn’t stop her eyes from widening a touch. Hopefully he didn’t notice. She really hadn’t imagined him a family man. Rather, a wealthy playboy who came and went from the manor house at his whim, leaving his poor mother to worry every night over whose bed he was sleeping in.
“I love what you’ve done with the emeralds—they look like leaves peeking out behind the petals. A great touch.”
“Thank you. They remind me of my baby sister, Clover. She’s a chef, and Grandma is the inspiration behind Clover’s love of the culinary arts.” For which they were all eternally grateful, although at times their hips protested.
Her eyes misted. Grandma was truly the center of their lives. She’d always be, even after she’d gone. Thankfully, Grandma had no intention of dying yet. She still had too much living to do, she always said.
“Clover! That’s the one. She lives in London, right?”
“Yes. You know my sister?”
“Yes— well, no. Not really. My best friend, Jonathan, met her at a restaurant he was dining at. The Silver Spoon.”
“That’s where Clover works. She’s the head chef.”
“I believe she’s really talented. Your grandmother must’ve taught her well.”
Maggie grinned. “She did.”
“Thanks to Jonathan being seated at the chef’s table, he and Clover got to chatting during and after dinner. That’s how I came to learn of your Cumbrian jewelry business.”
“Now it makes sense. Clover’s always been a fan of my work. It’s rather embarrassing how she’s forever singing my praises to strangers.”
Davis’s gaze bored into Maggie’s. “Well, I’m glad she did, otherwise I might never have met you.”
A shadow enveloped Maggie as she stepped beneath an enormous hedge arching from one side of the pathway to the other. She stopped and placed her hand against the verdant wall to admire the ring one last time.
Davis stood close behind her—too close—and pointed at the ring, touching the three gold arum lily-shaped leaves that cupped the eight diamond petals. He had really nice hands. Well-manicured. They would’ve been lovely to hold while they strolled through the gardens.
“Tell me about these,” he whispered.
Goodness, there was that trembling inside again.
“18-carat gold,” Maggie began.
“I know that. What I want to know is the meaning behind these three flower-shaped leaves.”
Maggie drummed up annoyance—could be exactly the distraction she needed. Did he want to know everything? Next he’d be asking what the inspiration was behind the round band holding the ring on her finger. Of course, there was no inspiration for that—just practicality.
And did he have to stand so close? She couldn’t think straight with his warm breath on her neck. She’d tell him what he wanted to know, and then hightail it out of this garden.
“Those are my favorite part of the design—the finishing touch.” She ran her fingertip along the edge of each leaf, naming them as she did. “Faith. Hope. Love.”
Davis mimicked her action, giving his own interpretation of the three golden leaves. “Father. Son. Holy Spirit. A beautiful touch, indeed.”
He knew the triune God? Would this m
an never cease to surprise her?
*
They should leave now, before he lost all resolve and held her captive against that arched hedge, tasted the sweetness of her full, pink lips.
Davis stepped back, his chest rising and falling with each breath, and then pivoted before she noticed his increased ardor. This was the second time in the last half-hour that he’d teetered on the brink of undoing almost three years of change. By God’s grace, and sheer willpower, he’d not fall prey to his old ways again.
Drawing in a long breath, he let it out slowly, his heightened emotions receding like the tide with the delayed release. “Come, we don’t want to be late for lunch.” He hastened his pace.
“Hold on,” Maggie called from behind.
Davis stopped, allowing her to catch up.
“Here. You’d best put this back where it belongs.” She held out the ring.
It is already where it belongs. The thought was ludicrous, and yet, nothing felt more right.
Avoiding her gaze, he cupped his hand around the ring then dropped the precious piece into his jacket pocket. If he looked into those beautiful blues right now, he’d lose all self-control and kiss her.
“Sh–shouldn’t you put that back into its box? You don’t want it falling out of your jacket and getting lost.” Maggie huffed as she tried to keep up with him.
“I will.” Bending in his stride, he plucked a leafy stem from the closest bush. A kaleidoscope of butterflies, hidden at first from sight between the leaves, took flight.
Davis brought the stem closer and breathed in its fragrance, immediately wishing it was summer so the bush could boast its long blue blooms. Anise hyssop. The delightful licorice aroma assailed his senses. They were already at the herb garden? Had he walked that fast? He slowed and turned to Maggie, tapping the leaves against his hand. Cleanse me, Father. Purge my heart and I will be white as snow.
“Ouch.” Davis cast the stem aside and brought his thumb to his mouth. He’d forgotten the plant not only attracted butterflies, but bees, too.
“What’s wrong?” Concern washed over Maggie’s face. Could it be that she cared about him?
“Bee sting.”
Her breath hitched. “You’re not allergic, are you?”
He shook his head, wishing for a moment that he were. If he went into anaphylactic shock, would her first instinct be to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? His lips twitched with a masked smile. He’d certainly need no adrenaline injection if that were the case—her lips on his would be enough to wake the dead.
She clasped her chest. “Thank heavens.”
Maggie set her handbag down on the pathway and took his hand in hers. She examined the site of impact and the tiny sting still impaled in his skin, and scraped a perfect French-polished fingernail across the stinger until it came free. Already the area began to itch and swell.
“You can be thankful you have a bee sting removal expert so close at hand.” A smile played on her lips and in her eyes. “I’m forever removing these from my Daddy’s hands.”
“For that, I am thankful.” Davis held her gaze. He couldn’t help it.
He needed a distraction, and it seemed that God had sent him one.
He brought his swelling thumb to his mouth, hoping the cool saliva would offer some kind of relief. It didn’t. He tried scratching.
Maggie grabbed his stung hand. “Oh, don’t do that. You’ll only make it worse. I should have some hydrocortisone cream in my bag. I usually carry a tube with me because of Daddy.”
Retrieving her handbag, she opened the gold clasp, and her hand disappeared inside as she rummaged through the contents. “Tada!” With a triumphant smile, she held the tube of cream in the air as if it were King Arthur’s magical sword itself. Latching the bag closed, she set it down again and opened the tube. “I’ll rub some of this on. It will stop you from wanting to scratch that infected area. Then we need to get you inside and wash that with some soap and water. A cold compress will help, too, and should ease any swelling.”
His instincts were right—she did care. Nice. Could he read her mind? And she his? If he were still the man he was three years ago, that thought would’ve made him shudder now. But he’d been transformed, his mind renewed through God’s word. Except for the constant overwhelming desire to take her in his arms and kiss her, his thoughts had gone no further. Praise God—he was a new creation. Not anything like the Davis Rathbone society had previously known. They’d be watching him with hawk eyes tonight. Maggie, too.
The feel of her fingers rubbing against his skin as she massaged the cream onto his itching thumb was enough to make Davis feel better. Much better. As Maggie tended his injury, one thought hammered home to Davis. He couldn’t give this ring to his mother anymore. He would talk to Father after lunch.
Chapter Four
With Davis’s hand washed, disinfected, more cream applied to the affected site and a cold compress, Maggie followed him through the mansion to the solarium where his parents were already seated for lunch. The glass walls not only magnified the beautiful weather, creating a comfortable warmth to the room, they offered diners the most magnificent view over the gardens, too. She took a deep breath. Hopefully his parents would be as warm to her, and she as welcome a sight to them.
A silver-haired version of Davis looked up as they entered. “You’re late, Davis.” Although stern, his voice carried no anger. His piercing-blue gaze, so like his son’s, settled on Maggie, and he smiled. Maggie returned the gesture.
“I know, Father, and I’m sorry. Maggie had to do a little nursing here first.” He removed the cold compress, setting it down on the table, and held up his swollen thumb. “I’d forgotten how much the bees love a spring day.”
“Oh, Davis, it’s a good thing you’re not allergic like your bro—” His mother glanced away, running the tip of her finger along the bottom of her eye before her hand wrapped around the glass of water to her right, shaking as she took a lengthy sip.
“Maggie?” His father rose to his feet, and the servant standing behind him moved the wooden high-backed chair out of his way.
“Magnolia Blume.” Davis twirled his hand in the air toward her. “From Keswick.”
The way he introduced her, it was as if his parents should know who she was.
His father’s brows rose. His mother’s face remained blank. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. But surely Davis would have told them she’d designed his engagement ring.
Maggie clasped her hands in front of her stomach, secretly applying pressure. Her bag dangled from her elbow. The thought of that ring and its intentions suddenly left a hollow, sick feeling inside her, the hours to his betrothal ticking away fast.
“Ah yes, Magnolia.” Davis’s father extended his hand to Maggie. When she offered hers, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the top. A charmer, just like his son.
Maggie stared wide-eyed. She was an insignificant pebble, accidentally thrown into this cluster of diamonds. How was she meant to address them? Was it Earl Rathbone? Your Royal Highness? No, surely that was reserved for kings and queens? My Lord? My Lady? What was the wife of an Earl anyway? Earless? Maggie bit back a smile imagining the woman with nothing to keep her glasses on her face—that was if she were to wear a pair.
Oh, why hadn’t she been a better Brit and paid more attention to the nobles. If only Poppy were here—she’d be able to tell her.
She gave Davis a sideway glance. Help?
Davis pressed closer to Maggie, placing his hand in the small of her back. She liked his reassuring touch. Scrap that. Judging by the shivers traveling up her back, she loved it. Oh bother, now she not only had her nerves to deal with, she had the reminder of her growing attraction to this man to contend with, too.
*
“Please excuse my manners. Maggie, allow me to introduce my parents, Lord and Lady Rathbone.” Davis’s hand remained firmly placed. He should have thought this through. Maggie might be clueless to protocol. She was, after all, a com
moner, not a part of his world. Not that it mattered to him. But it would matter to her. Especially tonight when the aristocracy descended upon Levens Hall. Mother and Father, thankfully, would be a little more kind to her than the toffee-nosed masses. Let’s see how you fare over lunch, sweet Maggie.
Maggie tipped her head forward, giving the smallest curtsy. “Lord Rathbone. Lady Rathbone.”
Good start.
After seating Father again, Reginald, Levens Hall’s trusted butler for the past thirty-four years, stepped around the table and pulled out a chair for Maggie. Opposite Father. Reginald gestured toward the vacant seat. “Miss Blume…”
Setting her bag on the oak floor beside her, Maggie sat. She looked up at Reginald with a smile. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome. By the way, your car has been parked on the right side of the manor house, and Jeeves has assured me it’s on charge.”
“She.” Davis chuckled.
Reginald frowned. “She?”
“My car has a gender, which Davis just doesn’t get.”
“Ah. I’ve had many a car like that, Miss Blume. I get it.”
Maggie gazed up at Davis, a smug look on her face.
Davis shrugged than glanced around, about to ask Reginald where the rest of the staff were. Then he remembered. Preparing for the ball. The manor house had been a hive of activity since the early hours. Another reason he’d taken Excalibur and headed for the park.
“Lord Rathbone.” Reginald pulled out the chair beside Maggie for Davis. It was best he sat opposite Mother—she’d certainly be far more questioning of their guest had Maggie been in his seat. Good move, Reginald. You know this family so well. As he should. Employed mere weeks before Davis’s birth, Reginald had walked these floors longer than he, been his close confidant at many a drunken pity party, and wise counselor on far too many romantic entanglements. Reginald hadn’t missed playing those roles, told him so often.
They’d barely been seated when the food arrived.
“So, Magnolia, what is it that you do? And how do you know my son?” Mother sliced to the nitty-gritty as easily as her knife through the veal cutlet.
Love Blossoms: 7 Spring-Fresh Christian Romances Page 49