Chapter Seventeen

"You said I wasn't handsome?" Oliver sounded offended.

"I said that I didn't say you were handsome," I corrected.

He scowled, considering this. "I think that's the same thing."

"What is wrong with you?" My sister hissed in my ear. "That's the most handsome man I've ever seen!"

As the tips of Oliver's ears turned pink at this, I don't think Daisy was being as subtle as she intended.

"I'm sure we can all agree my godson is a handsome devil," Mrs Finch chimed in with a winning smile. "Though I suppose I am biased."

"You must be Mrs Finch." My mother disengaged herself and came over to shake her hand.

"Mrs Bloom, you have a lovely home." It was bizarre to see the head of the Aviary calmly chatting with my mother. In fact, this whole farce was extremely strange, and I was no professional actress. I kept a wide smile pinned to my face, but from the concerned look Daisy gave me, it was edging dangerously towards a grimace.

"Please, won't you come in and sit down?" Mother showed our guests through while I went and placed the flowers Oliver had brought in a vase. I thought with a smile that he had accidentally landed on a choice that would do more to convince my family of our ruse than anything else: deep crimson roses.

Rose. Rosa. Meaning: passionate love.

By the time I returned to the sitting room, Oliver was sitting stiffly in a chair, being treated like an honoured guest.

"Ah, here she is now," Grandfather exclaimed jovially. "Tell me, Mr Lockhart, what were your first impressions of our Marigold? Was it love at first sight?"

"Yes, tell us, Oliver," Mrs Finch said, all smiles.

Oliver's eyes flicked to mine, and I thought there was a slight flush on his cheeks. "I thought she was…"

I waited with interest to see how he would finish this sentence.

"Quite strange," he said, and then, possibly remembering himself at Daisy's giggle, he added in a lower voice, "and quite lovely."

Goosebumps erupted over my skin, and I mentally reminded my body that he was simply playing a part.

"Oh," Mother exhaled.

"And after this meeting you began a correspondence?" Grandfather asked, allowing a little disapproval to slip in.

"Err … yes?" Oliver said, and the word sounded like a question.

"My godson always was shy," Mrs Finch said, twinkling. "I know because he confided in me that while he understood that writing to Miss Bloom was technically a breach of etiquette, he simply couldn't help himself – he was so struck by her."

"Oh yes, she certainly struck me," Oliver said darkly. "Knocked me clean off my feet."

Here I let out a curious wheezing sound, which thankfully my family seemed to interpret as a display of emotion.

"So, you want to show Mari around your castle like in a fairy tale?" Daisy asked, practically bouncing in her seat.

"It's not a castle," Oliver said.

"Doesn't it have turrets?" Mrs Finch asked sweetly.

"Yes," Oliver replied grudgingly.

"And a drawbridge?" She clasped her hands in her lap.

"A small one," Oliver admitted.

"And aren't there gargoyles?"

Oliver looked put out. "There are … several historical carvings."

"Sounds like a castle to me," Daisy whispered, looking delighted. "To think, our Marigold, living in a castle."

"I'm not going to be living in a castle," I said hastily. Honestly, trying to manage everyone's expectations was giving me a headache. "We have things to discuss, but there's no need to worry about me leaving you and the business behind. As it is, I'm not sure how we'll manage even for a week."

I hadn't meant to say that aloud, but I suppose it was fair enough to have some anxiety over the matter, however much I was enjoying watching Oliver Lockhart squirm.

"We'll be fine, won't we, Mother?" Daisy said.

"Of course we will," my mother replied, though her tone was doubtful.

Grandfather was looking between us, his expression hard to read.

"Honestly, Mari, I think it's exciting," Daisy insisted. "You deserve to get away from work for a bit, and we'll see how we get on without you. I mean it's not as if you're going to be here for ever, is it?"

Her words and the easy way she uttered them made me start. I knew she was only saying them because she thought there was a chance I might be marrying and moving away – prior to this, I wondered if my family had ever entertained the idea that I might leave one day. I certainly hadn't, but the idea suddenly struck me forcefully. It hadn't been something to consider with Simon – an arrangement that had been made precisely so everything would stay exactly the same.

But things were different now, weren't they? I wasn't marrying Simon, so what were my plans? After my engagement was broken off, I hadn't even considered leaving, hadn't thought about anything changing. But what if I didn't stay? Could I really do something else? Did I want to? The questions left me breathless, as if the ground in front of me had sharply dropped away, the safe path to the future vanished.

Perhaps joining the Aviary had been the first step into the unknown. I hadn't thought about it at the time, but in signing up, hadn't I started a journey of my own – one that had nothing to do with my family, with the business? Had I joined because I wanted something else?

The questions flew through my brain, so rapidly, so overwhelming that I felt my legs tremble.

"The last thing I would want to do is come between Miss Bloom and her family, or your business," Oliver said suddenly and with startling sincerity. "I greatly admire what you have built here."

"Your father was in factories, I understand?" Grandfather asked.

"He was." Oliver's brow crinkled. "Though he and I had very different priorities when it came to the wellbeing of our employees."

Grandfather's gaze sharpened at this. "I have heard stories about the working conditions in some of those factories that were deeply upsetting."

"That is putting it politely." Oliver smiled tightly. "I believe I have a responsibility to drastically improve the conditions beyond the threadbare legal requirements. Everyone has a right to safety and dignity in work. And I owe our workers a debt – without them, there would be no business." He hesitated here. "My godmother speaks very highly of Bloom's; she told me a little about some of the women you employ."

I lifted my eyes in surprise at this.

"We are proud to have many talented women working for us," Grandfather said easily. "As you say, without them, Bloom's would not be what it is."

"Still," I said, thinking suddenly of those women, remembering that it wasn't only my family who depended on me, "do you really think you'll be able to manage this week? I have gone over things with Suzy and Scout and I've written detailed instructions but perhaps…"

"We'll manage," Grandfather said, with a steel I hadn't heard in his voice for a long time.

"Let's have some tea, shall we?" Mother asked brightly. "We're all desperate to get to know Mari's young man."

"Wonderful," Mrs Finch said. I hoped I was the only one who saw the small kick she aimed at Oliver's ankle.

"Wonderful," he repeated mechanically, his teeth bared in something I thought was supposed to resemble a smile, but only made him look like he had indigestion.

"Gosh, he really is so handsome," Daisy murmured dreamily.

"Why don't you invite Mari for a walk in the park?" Mrs Finch asked some time later, after Oliver had been subjected to my family's inquisition and had made passable efforts at answering their questions politely.

"Yes!" he gasped, seizing on the opportunity with more enthusiasm than I had previously seen him exhibit. "Miss Bloom? Would you walk with me?"

"Of course," I said, getting to my feet. "If that's all right with you, Mother?"

"Yes, yes," Mother agreed at once. "It's a lovely day. You young people should enjoy yourselves."

"I shall be just behind you," Mrs Finch said, playing the mindful chaperone. "After I take my leave of your family, Miss Bloom." Here she and my mother shared a conspiratorial twinkle at allowing the two young lovers some privacy to whisper sweet nothings to one another.

Oliver leaped to his feet and strode for the door with an urgency that I hoped everyone put down to ardour.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Daisy said to me with a wink.

When we reached the street, Oliver took a breath that sounded like a drowning man coming up for air.

"My God," he said weakly.

"You did well." I smiled, reaching out to lay my hand on his arm.

It was a thoughtless gesture, but as the moment stretched out between us, I felt colour rush to my cheeks. He looked down at my fingers, and just as I was about to pull them away, he covered them with his own, pulling my hand through to the crook of his elbow.

Without another word, we set off in the direction of the park, and I tried to ignore how nice it felt to stand so close to him, to feel the hard muscle of his forearm under my hand. After all, I reasoned, my family might glance out of the window and it wouldn't do for the two of us to look like strangers.

"I don't know how we are possibly going to keep this act up for several days," Oliver huffed.

"It won't be as bad in Yorkshire," I said. "My family know me so well; it's much harder to lie, and they're very … invested."

"Yes, I certainly got that impression," Oliver said dryly. "I thought your sister was about to ask me for my suit measurements at one point."

"She absolutely was," I confirmed, "but I stepped on her foot very hard."

I thought perhaps there was a hint of a smile in Oliver's eyes, but he only said, "Ah, that would explain the strange groaning sound, then." He hesitated for a moment. "I thought it was … nice, actually. The way they all care about you. I only wish they didn't care quite so loudly." He winced. "I suppose real families are noisy things."

There was something quiet and sad about him that made me want to have strong words with his dead father.

"The point is, the worst is behind us," I said airily, moving us away from the subject of family. "We'll have every advantage when we're in Yorkshire."

"Are you always this relentlessly cheerful?" Oliver growled. "It's giving me a stomach ache."

I was about to reply, when another couple stepped out on to the pavement in front of us.

"Oh. Miss Bloom," Simon Earnshaw said, full of false cheer. "How nice to bump into you."

His eyes ran over me from top to toe, a brisk inventory that lingered on my sunny yellow gown, the curls that had slipped their pins, the peek of my red silk shoes, and his mouth thinned, making it clear just how much he found me wanting. My stomach swooped, the shame I was so sure I had left behind, washing over me.

"Mr Earnshaw," I said, my voice small in my own ears. I didn't even sound like me and I hated it.

"I don't believe you've been properly introduced to my wife, Mrs Earnshaw?" he continued, and I met the timid gaze of Sarah Hardison-now-Earnshaw, who was just as pretty and sweet-looking as I remembered. "We were married last week."

"Congratulations," I managed, wondering why – after all that had happened in the last six months, when I knew I could knock Simon Earnshaw clean off his feet in one move if I wanted to – why did I still feel so miserably self-aware in his presence?

"Thank you," Sarah said, her voice shy. "It's nice to see you, Miss Bloom. I must compliment you on your hat."

"Miss Bloom always did have singular taste," Simon said, with a smile that felt like a knife slipping between my ribs.

Under my hand I felt Oliver's arm stiffen. Honestly, I had almost forgotten he was there.

"I'm sorry," I said, flustered. "I'm being rude. May I introduce Mr Lockhart?"

"Miss Bloom's fiancée." Oliver's deep voice cut in smoothly, and I saw Simon's eyes widen, saw the same measuring look he'd given me now running over Oliver Lockhart, and I couldn't help but enjoy the frown this produced.

Oliver held out his hand and Simon took it, failing to hide a wince, that made me believe Oliver's grip was rather … forceful.

"Mari, you're getting married?" Simon's casual use of my name was clearly deliberate, and Oliver seemed to loom taller at my side. "I had no idea."

"It hasn't been officially announced yet." My voice was pitched a little high.

"But it will be soon," Oliver said, treating Simon to a dismissive glance. "After all, only a complete fool would let Marigold Bloom slip away."

At this point, I think my grip on his arm was the only thing keeping me upright, because I could have fallen down in shock, and not only at the neat insult directed at Simon – no, my name on Oliver Lockhart's lips was doing strange things to my insides.

"I mean," Oliver continued, "you'd have to be a buffoon of the highest order, an empty-headed, witless dunderhead of dazzling proportions, wouldn't you?"

As if this wasn't enough, he looked down at me and smiled.

That smile.

It burst through me like a shot of strong liquor, leaving my heart pounding, my limbs tingling. If I had thought Oliver Lockhart was handsome when he scowled, then his smile – soft, full lips, a glint of white teeth, a crinkling of warm, dark eyes – made him simply staggering. I could do nothing but gape, mindlessly, at his perfect face, so perfect that it didn't make sense, so perfect that my brain struggled to understand what I was actually seeing.

When I finally tore my eyes away, it was to see a wide-eyed Sarah appearing similarly glazed. Simon looked like he'd been presented with a glass of sour milk.

"Yes, well," Simon sneered. "Good luck with that."

Instantly the smile dropped from Oliver's face, replaced with an icy contempt. "And the same to you." He directed the comment at Sarah, and Simon's face reddened.

With that, Oliver swept past them, tugging me along with him on shaking legs.

"I take it that was the fool you were engaged to," he said in a low voice once we were out of earshot.

"Yes," I managed.

"Fortunate that you managed to dodge that particular bullet, then."

"How did you know it was him?"

Oliver glanced down at me, his expression hard to read. "You went all … strange. And I didn't like the way he looked at you."

"Oh," I said. "Well, thank you for that. It was nice to see him put in his place like that."

"It was my pleasure."

"Of course," I said with a sigh, "once we break off our pretend romance, everyone will think I've let another man slip through my fingers. I'm sure Simon will be delighted by that."

Oliver seemed struck by this. "We'll just have to make sure everyone knows that ending our relationship was your choice," he said finally. "Plenty of people will be more than happy to tell you I'd be impossible to live with anyway."

The words were gruff, and they drew a smile from me as we entered the park. "But, Mr Lockhart, only a complete fool would let me slip away. What will Simon Earnshaw think of you then?"

Oliver snorted. "I couldn't care less what that chucklehead thinks of me. His opinion is not worth a brass farthing." He came to a stop next to a bed full of phlox in bloom. Their playful pink petals were splashed magenta in the middle.

"You know," he said, suddenly awkward, "I am grateful" – here he touched his tie, cleared his throat – "to the Aviary, I mean, for helping me. I will do whatever I can to make sure this ridiculous false engagement plan doesn't hurt you or your reputation."

"Thank you," I said, surprisingly touched.

His eyes flicked to mine. "Yes, well. Don't start getting all misty-eyed again; we've got enough to deal with, without you and all your feelings."

"Quite right," I agreed primly.

He cast me a suspicious glance.

"Though, of course, you're going to have to pretend you have feelings for me in front of the Lavignes," I added. "If we are to be convincing. So frustrating, all these emotions. I do hope you're a good actor, Mr Lockhart."

Oliver's jaw was set, a muscle twitching. "I suppose we will find out, Miss Bloom." He cast his eyes to the heavens, before muttering under his breath, "What have I got myself into?"

I hid my smile as we turned and made our way back to Mrs Finch, but his question rang in my ears. What had we got ourselves into? And were we going to be able to come out the other side unscathed?