Chapter Two

The sight of Bloom's flower shop in all its glory was like a balm to my soul. I felt some of the anxiety slip from my shoulders as I approached the building where I spent most of my days. Not every young woman could say they loved their job as much as I did.

The door to the shop was painted a gleaming black, the wide picture windows to either side filled with frothy, unruly displays of spring flowers that I had put together myself, and that – I was pleased to say – often stopped passers-by in their tracks, tempting them inside. The sign above the door was gold on black, Bloom's Est. 1845, with the shop's logo – a bouquet of marigolds, roses and daisies in reference to the given names of the Bloom women – twined around the words. Green palms stood proud in pots on either side of the door, and on the street in front was a small grocer's cart that we used to display posies and men's buttonholes.

"Hello, Jane." I kept my voice level, all signs of anxiety tucked away as I greeted the young girl who stood behind the cart, overseeing that side of the business. "Looks like you've had a good morning."

Jane nodded, pleased. "Those white tulip buttonholes you made have gone down a treat, Miss Bloom. You were right – they look very handsome against the dark suits."

"Lovely. We'll make sure to pick up more at the market later if Jack has a decent supply. What about the pink anemones?"

Jane frowned. "Not so good. I think they're drooping a bit."

"I'll have to see if I can do something better with the wire. They're so delicate."

"Right you are." Jane was distracted then by an approaching customer, and I pushed my way through the door. The brass bell above rang out a greeting – a bright, happy sound.

I loved this shop. I loved the tall windows that faced out on to the sunny street. I loved the banks of elegant, fine-leafed palms that framed the black-and-white tiled floor in front of the counter. I loved the ever-changing baskets of flowers: today, slender purple irises, creamy magnolias, star-like golden narcissus, filling the room with their heady scent.

I loved the enormous brass till that sat beside the tray of pretty chocolates – violet and rose creams that my sister Daisy and I made in our kitchen, all available to buy in cream boxes stamped with the Bloom's logo.

I loved the wall covered in different coloured ribbons, the vases spilling over with examples of the bouquets we could put together. I felt such a bone-deep sense of pride as I took it all in – a shop that I had helped to build. A shop that was so warm and welcoming that people wanted to linger.

Simon, on the other hand, did not care for the shop. Or, at least, he did not care for the way I ran it. Like a man. I felt my spine straighten, my shoulders draw back. I wasn't going to let Simon Earnshaw or anyone else threaten this place.

Suzy, one of our shop girls, waved at me from behind the counter and then returned her attention to the gentleman she was serving.

"I need something that says, I'm sorry I dislike your cat, but I really do love you," the man said, desperation bleeding into his words.

Suzy's eyes drifted to me, a smile pulling at her mouth. She knew I'd never be able to pass up such a challenge. "What do you think, Mari?"

I glanced around the shop, pursed my lips. "Bluebells for humility, hyacinths to ask for forgiveness, arrange them with some of the olive branches as a peace offering, and tie it all with a blue ribbon," I said after a moment. "Oh, and some pink tulips too."

Tulip. Tulipa. Meaning: I declare my love for you.

Tulip season was always a busy time for us. There were plenty of declarations to be made at this time of year. Like I said, spring was a time for new beginnings.

At least for most people. The sour words rang in my head.

"I'm sure that will do the trick … though I would consider buying a packet of catnip seeds as well." I gave the man a sympathetic smile. "I think it's probably a case of love them, love their cat. A gesture like that might go a long way."

"I think you're probably right," the man said with a doleful sigh. "I'll take the seeds as well."

"I'll go and get them for you," I said, leaving Suzy to put the bouquet together. I stripped off my coat as I moved through to the back of the shop. This was my kingdom – the space where I did most of my work – the cool, shady room with its drawers full of alphabetized seed packets, gardening tools neatly stored, florist's wire and pins and everything else I needed to grow, arrange, organize the flowers – and the small garden beyond, full of flowers I had grown myself. Running the length of the wall was a long, rough potting bench and in the air the warm, clinging smell of damp earth. A pair of doors opened on to my garden, and I propped them so they stood ajar, letting the spring air inside.

It was a special place. It was also the place that represented my biggest secret. Much as I loved the shop, when I slept, it wasn't the business I dreamed about: it was wide open spaces brimming with life that I tended and cultivated with my own hands. Not that I ever told anyone else that. Bloom's was my responsibility, and it was hardly a burden. Wide open spaces were hard to come by in London, and I had never been further from the city than Hatfield.

Any remaining tension fled as I busied myself, grabbing the catnip seeds and delivering them to the customer, then returning to the back with more anemones – holding my tongue between my teeth as I worked to create new buttonholes that would hold better while retaining their air of fragile prettiness. It was good work, work that busied my fingers and calmed my mind.

Pleased with my efforts, I rolled my shoulders and carefully gathered the posies in a trug, taking them outside to Jane, who gave her enthusiastic approval.

"They'll be gone in no time," she said, a glint in her eye.

"Ah, Miss Bloom, there you are," a voice came from behind us, and I saw Jane's smile drop. It was, I thought, perhaps the very last voice I wanted to hear at this particular moment.

"Hello, Mr Earnshaw." I pasted on a polite smile as I turned to face Simon's father, moving a step away from Jane, away from the shop as I did so. I didn't want him here, even if he had more right than anyone. All my hard-earned calm deserted me at that thought.

Geoffrey Earnshaw was a tall, well-built man. His hair was light blond and thinning, his eyes a dull grey-blue and darting, his skin pale as watered-down milk. He had narrow, grasping hands that I did my best to avoid. He had a reputation for putting those hands where they didn't belong.

"I understand that you and Simon had a difficult conversation this morning." The sympathetic grimace he directed at me made my stomach turn.

"I don't know about difficult," I said, keeping my tone steady and pleasant, pride kicking in once more. "I am sorry that the engagement has come to an end, but these things happen."

"How right you are." He sidled closer. "I must say, I'm relieved to hear that you are taking it so well, my dear."

"As well as can be expected," I said stiffly as those bony fingers closed around my elbow and squeezed in what I supposed was a gesture of sympathy. I felt the cold, heavy bite of the signet ring on his finger.

"Of course, now that your situation has changed, you must be afraid our business arrangement with the rent will be affected too." He purred. "It is a trifle awkward to break off your engagement to your landlord's son." He chuckled.

I lifted my chin, refraining from pointing out that I had nothing to do with the engagement being broken and that if anyone should be feeling awkward it was him. "Thank you, but I'm not worried, Mr Earnshaw. Whatever the new terms of the lease are, I'm sure we can meet them. After all, Bloom's has been in business for over fifty years."

Mr Earnshaw's nose wrinkled indulgently, but his hand remained on me. "Oh, Miss Bloom, how well that sounds, but we're all friends here… We know each other far too well for posturing. I hardly think one can call a flower cart a business."

I fought not to snap back. My grandfather had worked his way up from selling flowers on the street as a young man to running one of the most eminent florists in London. It was nothing to be sniffed at, particularly not by a mediocre man such as Earnshaw. He had simply inherited his father's shares in a shipping company, and his grandfather's shrewd property purchases, and then sat back like a satisfied pug and enjoyed the income. Geoffrey Earnshaw had never made a single thing for himself. Well, except for Simon, I suppose, and just look how well that turned out.

"But we're getting away from my point." His hand drifted higher up my arm, the touch slinking into a horrible, surprising caress. "What I was trying to say was that just because things are at an end between you and my son doesn't necessarily mean the business has to suffer. Perhaps the two of us could come to some other arrangement…"

My head snapped up and I met his eye.

I wished more than anything for the right words. Something pithy and cutting. But they didn't come.

He smiled, showing off teeth that seemed too big for his face. Unlike his lazy movements, the smile was sharp and predatory. His hand slithered back down my arm and around to my back. It was only a light graze, but I felt it cling to my skin like the trail a slug leaves behind. His fingers splayed, only for a moment, over the base of my spine and flexed. I felt each of his fingertips digging into my flesh.

I took a quick step back.

"Just something for you to think about," he said easily, while I stood and stared. "Good day to you, Miss Bloom." And with that, he lifted his hand to the brim of his hat and strolled off as though nothing had happened.

My blood was cold. That uninvited touch, brief as it had been, lingered, made me feel like scrubbing my skin with soap and water. Had that really just happened? Had Simon's father propositioned me? Here, in the middle of a busy street, outside my own shop? I rubbed my hands over the tops of my arms. It was still sunny, and people rushed by me, going about their business; the scene was almost painfully ordinary, but I felt chilled, hollowed out.

I found myself walking back through the door. I took a deep, steadying breath. The cold feeling eased a little.

Home. I would go home.