Page 60 of Finding Love at Roseford Blooms
Lizzie set to work, and, sure enough, the buttonholes were a great distraction. While Bee ate her sandwich and took a well-earned break, Lizzie finished them. And, to her admittedly untrained eyes, they didn’t look half bad. Even though her fingers were still sore from poking, twisting and threading the wire that bound them together, she felt a whole lot calmer than she had when she’d re-entered Roseford Blooms.
‘Nice lunch with Simon?’ Bee asked as she emerged from the back office with a cup of tea for Lizzie, which she placed on the counter.
Lizzie paused, unsure whether to tell Bee what had happened. But the pause itself seemed to be a giveaway.
‘What is it, love? Did you fall out?’
‘Something like that.’ Lizzie slumped back on Bee’s stool. ‘I accused him of something totally ridiculous, and he, quite rightly, has taken offence.’
‘And what would that totally ridiculous thing be?’ Bee asked. ‘Bearing in mind that I’ve heard some mad things in my time, of course.’
‘I accused him of being after my investment for his RoseFest project.’ Lizzie sighed. ‘And he didn’t take it well.’
Bee shook her head. ‘I bet he didn’t.’ She looked curiously at Lizzie. ‘And where exactly did this idea come from? Did it just land in your head, out of the blue, or did someone else put it there?’
Unsure whether or not to disclose her conversation with Georgina, and unwilling to tarnish her sister’s relationship with Bee into the bargain, Lizzie paused again.
‘Was it your father?’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘Nope. Although I wonder, now, if he might have had a part in it. He wants so badly to get me back where he can keep an eye on me. He was pretty put out when I refused to jump to his tune and go to that interview at Howard Harper’s company.’
‘Let me guess,’ Bee said softly. ‘Georgina, in her own careful and subtle way, suggested that Simon might not be all he seems?’
Lizzie nodded. ‘Yup.’
Bee took a sip of her tea. ‘Well, I wish I could say I was surprised, but she’s always been terribly jealous of you.’
Lizzie nearly spat out her mouthful of tea over the box of newly made buttonholes. ‘Georgina! Jealous? Of me? I don’t think so! I mean, what on earth would she have to be jealous of?’
‘Oh, Lizzie.’ Bee sighed. ‘You’ve always been the successful one. You got the best grades, you built a career and a business from the ground up, and you sold it for a tidy profit. Georgina, while arguably the more socially successful of the two of you, settled. Settled for a man she knew would provide for her, a life she thought was easy and a future of nothing but carefully curated boredom. She’s always been a bit of a stirrer, because she’s too fed up to do anything else. Now it looks as though you’re going to make a future with a man who’s not only genuinely very fond of you, but also a lord of the manor, no less, the Jane Austen heroine in Georgina is consumed with disappointment and jealousy. So she played another little game, knowing that, with your insecurities about her, you’d bite. And now she can swoop in, with your mother and father, and pick up the pieces.’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘No, Aunt Bee. It’s not like that. Is it?’ She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Georgina: the careful way in which she’d laid out her suppositions as facts. Beautifully curated facts, as light as gossamer wings, which were actually a tissue of half-formed opinions, manufactured to amplify Lizzie’s own fears: the fear of being used, the fear of being rejected, and the fear of just not being good enough. And she’d allowed herself to become trapped in it all.
‘I have to talk to Simon!’ Lizzie exclaimed. She clanked down her cup of tea on the counter, narrowly missing the stems of the last bouquet that Bee was going to tackle today, and made for the door.
‘Calmly, if you can,’ Bee advised as Lizzie grabbed the door handle. ‘Simon’s not great with unpredictable emotions, as you probably know by now, and, despite it all, he has pride. You need to be clear, but careful with him. And honest.’
‘I will,’ Lizzie said. Suddenly, it all made sense. And the person she needed to see was Simon. She fervently hoped he’d still have the desire to listen to her.
51
Oh, to be as carefree as Holmes the retriever, thought Simon as he watched the dog gambolling up and down the vast green meadow behind the curated gardens of Roseford Hall. To be able to take such pleasure in the simple sights, sounds and scents of the summer afternoon. Holmes might be a pest, and neutering him had done little to curb his escapologist’s tendencies, but he knew what his priorities were, and he wasn’t afraid to chase them.
Right now, Holmes was intent on chasing the white, fluffy tail of a rapidly departing wild rabbit who, catching the scent of the retriever, had made an ill-advised run for it towards the dry-stone wall that bordered the field on three sides. At the bottom of the field lay a patch of woodland, and safety, but the rabbit wasn’t quite there yet.
Simon knew Holmes didn’t stand a chance of actually catching the rabbit, but he kept a close eye on the dog, ready to call him back if it looked as though he was gaining too much ground. In his pocket was a packet of mini biscuit bones, which were Holmes’s favourite treat, and he’d tempt him back with a few in a moment or two. Holmes’s antics were a good distraction, and almost took his mind off the argument with Lizzie. Almost.
He’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been angry and hurt by her accusations. He was only human, after all. He prided himself on his honesty, and, he thought, given the amount of rogues in his ancestry, his integrity. But, he had to admit, perhaps if the roles had been reversed he might have been wary, too. He had no clue how wealthy Lizzie was, but he knew she could afford to invest in his project, if she chose to. He wanted her by his side but as a loving partner, not an investor. He wanted to have her in his future, but not financing it.
He was about to call Holmes to heel when the dog veered off in a different direction, seemingly having forgotten the rabbit. In the distance, Simon caught sight of a figure by the kissing gate that led into the meadow. A familiar figure. A figure with dark hair and, as she drew closer, he could see she had a nervous smile. Lizzie bent down to give Holmes a scratch behind the ears and the dog responded voluptuously to her touch, rubbing his face into her knees and calming instantly.
‘He’s such a tart,’ Simon said nervously as the two of them drew closer. ‘He can’t resist showing off.’
Holmes gave him a disdainful look as Lizzie straightened up again. Sniffing around the ground by her feet, he trotted back to Simon when he saw Simon taking a biscuit bone from the pocket of his jeans.
‘I, er, went to Sarah’s first,’ Lizzie said as she moved through the gate and it closed behind her with a clang. ‘She told me you’d taken Holmes out. I hoped this was where you’d be.’
‘Poor old boy doesn’t get walked nearly as much as he should,’ Simon said as Holmes, having gobbled up his snack, bounded away from them both again, chasing flies and running in a wide arc as a gust of wind ruffled his rump.
