Chapter Thirteen

The next day I could not dedicate myself to practice. Instead, I had a very full shift planned at the shop. Since I'd started working at the Aviary, things at Bloom's had been busier than ever.

It hadn't been long before word got out about the new Duchess of Roxton hiring a personal florist, and as I suspected we found ourselves in great demand. Suddenly it wasn't enough to simply have one's personal maid arrange a few vases of flowers around the house – now anyone who was anyone wanted arrangements from Bloom's on display in their hallways, or flowers framing the front door, or spilling from fireplaces in a froth of colour. The designs became increasingly elaborate as society ladies tried to outdo one another in a frenzy the papers had dubbed "The War of the Roses".

I certainly wasn't about to complain.

These days, when a party was being hosted for the ton, there was simply nowhere to go but Bloom's.

Izzy was utterly baffled by this development, never having been considered a trendsetter before (in fact, according to her, before she became a duchess, no one seemed to notice she existed at all, though Max had vehemently protested this). But if there was one thing that talked in this city, it was power – and the Duchess of Roxton had plenty. The second thing that talked in London was money, and the Duchess of Roxton had plenty of that too.

With the payments from the Aviary, we were able to hire another pair of hands, and Daisy had insisted on spending more time on the shop floor as well. "Where the excitement happens," as she put it. Suzy has been training her, despite Grandfather's protestations.

"She's only fifteen!" he had exclaimed.

"I was working in the shop for some time before I was fifteen," I'd replied, trying not to be stung.

"Oh, but Daisy's just a baby," Grandfather had blustered. "She's not as grown up as you were at that age. An old soul, my Marigold."

It was fortunate that Daisy didn't overhear this, or he'd have had two disgruntled granddaughters on his hands. As it was, his answer made something inside me twist uncomfortably.

Still, Daisy did begin to work on the floor and was a quick learner. The business seemed to be running fairly smoothly, but the same could not be said of my garden, which was looking a little unkempt. I didn't like to ask Grandfather to grub around in the dirt, not when his knees sounded like hinges that needed oiling.

Help came from a surprising source in Scout, who had quickly demonstrated both a skill for anything garden-related, and – more importantly – a voracious interest in it. This was something of a double-edged sword: on the one hand, I was thrilled to have accidentally acquired an apprentice who cared so much about the garden; on the other, Scout was not yet capable enough to take over much of the work herself and training her actually took up more of my time.

I was beginning to feel like a doll being tugged in too many directions at once, by greedy, grabbing hands.

This morning, for example, rather than checking on the progress in my greenhouse, I was in the back room poring over the appointment book with Suzy.

"If you take the meeting with Mrs Hildegard at midday, then you should have time to make it to Lady Godalming at three," I said, scribbling notes as I went. "She loved the dinner setting you did last week and she's having guests again on Thursday who she's desperate to impress."

"Changed her mind four times at the last one." Suzy sighed. "Then settled on my first suggestion, once I managed to make it seem like her own idea. But she pays, doesn't she?"

"Oh, yes." I exhaled a little too loudly, looking at the list of figures neatly written alongside each name. "She certainly does. So…" I ran my finger down the list. "You'll take her and perhaps Lady Curtis…"

"Lady Curtis will want you," Suzy pointed out. "She caused a stink last time when you didn't come yourself. We want to keep her sweet. If you recall, she spent a fortune on shipping in all those orchids for her granddaughter's come out, and she's got the engagement party coming up."

"Yes, you're right," I said, rubbing my forehead. "But I don't think I'll have time… Perhaps Grandfather could go. He is the head of the family, after all. And he absolutely loves the Curtises' cook's vanilla sponge."

"And I reckon Lady Curtis has a soft spot for him," Suzy added with a gleam. "All right, I'll ask him."

"I've sent round the new order for Lady Stanhope," I said. "She asked for something dazzling so I went all out, but we should order some more of that pink ribbon she likes."

Izzy's mother was something of an invalid, not leaving her rooms in her lavish townhouse, but her daughter arranged for her space to be filled with flowers, and Lady Stanhope's delight was always so complete that I took pleasure in doing the arrangements myself as much as possible. If I had time I even delivered them, knowing I would be treated to an excellent gossip by the fire – Lady Stanhope seemed to know all the town news practically before it even happened. Izzy credited her with several of the Aviary's major breakthroughs.

"And you've already taken care of the three bouquet orders and laid out the day's buttonholes," Suzy said, consulting the list in her hand. "So that just leaves a visit to Mrs Evans and…"

"A note for you, Mari," Scout said, appearing at the door. She hopped over to the potting table and held out a familiar-looking envelope, slightly grubby at the edges, because Scout's fingers were always soil-stained these days.

Suzy groaned. "Her Grace is summoning you again." She rolled her eyes. "If I had a penny for every floral emergency that woman has had these past six months—"

"You do have a penny for them all, Suzy – we all do!" I grinned. It was an endless source of amusement to me that within the walls of Bloom's flower shop, Her Grace, Isobel Vane, Duchess of Roxton, was seen as the most ridiculous, demanding tyrant in London. When I told her that, she just laughed and said she was used to wearing many masks – one more didn't matter.

I opened the envelope and took out the note.

"I have to go," I said, skimming the contents. "I should think I'll be gone for a couple of hours at least. If you ask Grandfather about Lady Curtis, ask him about Mrs Evans too. Perhaps he can take Daisy with him – she's been begging to go on appointments."

"Will do," Suzy said. "Don't you worry – everything's in hand."

"And, Scout, there's just some weeding to do, and then if you could water the ferns…"

"And the Chamaedorea elegans," Scout finished for me, grinning broadly when Suzy's eyes widened. "That's the big, frilly palms," she explained proudly. "I know. Who'd 'ave thought I'd be here spoutin' Latin like I've been at one of them posh schools?"

"You're just where you should be," I said firmly, grabbing my hat from the nail on the wall and heading for the door.

After making my way through the busy shop, stopping every now and then to greet a customer, I stepped out into the dazzle of August sunshine.

The note had been from Mrs Finch, but rather than directing me to the Aviary as expected, instead I was instructed to make my way to Izzy's house as soon as possible. This was, I assumed, going to be a discussion of the events at the Lucky Penny. Hopefully, Mrs Finch would have already set about recovering the contents of the deposit boxes. I tried not to feel nervous, but thanks to my conversation with Sylla I was aware that the mission had not been marked down as an unprecedented success.

It was only a ten-minute walk to Izzy's home on Grosvener Square, and I took the opportunity to settle myself a bit. While I longed for it, the route didn't take me past any green space, but I was still able to appreciate the gentle rustle of the breeze through the trees dotted along Oxford Street. Soon, I knew those leaves would turn gold, but for now they hung on to the last warm dregs of summer, a mellow green, gorged on sunshine and almost ready to drop.

The day was warm, and I stomped along without my coat, feeling pleased with the violet gown I wore, trimmed with green silk that I had purchased from the Aviary. My hat was a frothy confection to which I had pinned real dahlias, spiky, pink and outrageous in a crown along the brim.

Heads turned as I passed, but I didn't mind. Busy and scattered as I was, I still felt more like myself than I had in a long time.

Upon reaching Roxton House, I rang the bell and waited for Wheeler, the extremely dignified butler to open the door. It still felt wrong to be using the front door rather than the service entrance, but Izzy insisted. Though he had never said a word about it, I felt Wheeler's disapproval regarding this decision emanating from him in violent waves.

The ridiculously grand house might currently contain a duke, a duchess and a duke's sister, but it was Wheeler who left me feeling the most awe-struck.

"Miss Bloom," the man said now, with the briefest incline of his chin. "Her Grace is expecting you."

"Thank you, Wheeler," I said, with all the dignity I could muster.

He escorted me through to the entrance hall, where Max's seventeen-year-old sister, Felicity, appeared suddenly, barrelling down the staircase. She was dressed carelessly, her sleeves pushed up past her elbows, and her gleaming silver-blonde hair was pulled back in a plait, which fell over her shoulder. I noticed the end of it was blue and surmised that she had accidentally dipped it in her ink pot again.

"Ah, Wheeler," she puffed, as she straightened her spectacles. "I was wondering if you had seen my Norwegian dictionary? I'm trying to write a letter to Dr Lie and I keep getting lost conjugating the verbs."

"I believe the Norwegian dictionary was shelved last night in its proper place in the library," Wheeler said without inflection.

Felicity gave a rumble of frustration. "I told you, Wheeler, what you think of as mess is actually organized chaos."

Wheeler's silence on the subject spoke volumes.

"Oh! Hello, Mari." Felicity finally spotted me and danced down the final stairs. "What an excellent hat. I am a great appreciator of the radial symmetry of dahlias."

I grinned. "So am I, now that you mention it," I said. "I'll make sure we send over plenty this week; there have been some really lovely examples at the markets. You can have some for your study."

"I would love that." Felicity beamed. "I suppose you're here to see Izzy and her visitors. Secrets flying about all over the place. Well, I'll just grab my dictionary and get back to work. I really do think my life would have been easier if Mother had been more interested in having someone teach me Norwegian and less concerned about deportment." Felicity snorted. "I conquered walking when I was thirteen months old – I hardly think it required any further instruction."

With that, she whirled off in the direction of the library – an extremely graceful tempest – and I thought perhaps there was something to be said for deportment classes, after all.

Wheeler cleared his throat. "If you'll follow me to the drawing room, miss."

As we made our way down the hall, past various busts on plinths and pieces of priceless artwork, I found myself habitually taking stock of the flowers on show. I had sent over new arrangements only three days ago, so the elegant and sculptural designs of cloud-like blue hydrangeas spiked through with tall white delphiniums and fat, perfumed off-white roses still looked perfect. Perhaps something similar in shades of lilac would be nice next. Just because the displays were something of a ruse didn't mean I couldn't take pride in my work.

"Miss Bloom has arrived," Wheeler intoned, pushing open the door to the drawing room.

All heads turned in my direction, and I was surprised to see so many people here. Maud and Winnie were sitting on a straw-coloured silk sofa, happily examining the three-tier cake stand in front of them, which was laden with sweet treats. Izzy's husband, Max, already had his fingers wrapped round a delicious-looking petit four, the delicate little cake appearing even smaller in his massive hand. Sylla stood to one side with Mrs Finch and Izzy, clearly deep in conversation.

And standing by the fireplace, as tall and broodingly handsome as the last time we met, was Oliver Lockhart.

"It's you!" I exclaimed impulsively.

"Oh, good," Oliver said. "The weeping one is here. Lock up your library books."