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However, the more time they spent together, the more she could feel a certain tension in the air. There was a pull towards him, as though he was different to everyone else, with an invisible aura that pricked at her senses and created a shifting sensation in her mind. Clara cleared her throat and turned her gaze back to the flowers.

“I shall have the servants fetch the flowers you’ve picked,” Gerald said, and promptly rose to speak to the servants.

Clara gripped her tea in trembling hands and slowly sipped it, hoping to regain some composure. While she and Gerald waited for the servants to return, the air was tinged with danger. Clara moved to the other side of the danger in the hope of keeping a physical obstacle between them, and was glad when Eleanor and Agatha entered the room. Their laughter was bright and gay. It interrupted the fraught mood.

Eleanor approached Clara and embraced her, kissing her on the cheek.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again, Clara. Have you managed to choose some flowers?”

“We have; we’re just waiting for the servants to bring them in from the garden so we can arrange them,” Clara replied.

“How wonderful. I was going to take your Grandmother out into the garden. She has such wonderful stories! I never realized that the ton had so much history behind it,” Eleanor gasped.

“Just wait until I tell you about the tragedy of Adele Whittington,” Agatha said with a wise shake of her head. Clara pressed her lips together, for she had heard all these stories ten times over. It must have been delightful for Agatha to have a fresh audience, one who had not yet been bored by hearing them over and over again.

“I hope I do not become a story for someone,” Eleanor said. “It sounds as though they all end unhappily.”

“Only the most interesting ones, dear. Tragedies are always more compelling than happy endings, I find. But let me tell you about my own story! It has been years in the making and shows that if one is patient enough, happiness can find you even in your twilight years. Not that I’m anywhere close to them, of course,” Agatha chuckled, and Eleanor joined in.

The servants arrived with the flowers and began placing them on the table.

“This will all look beautiful when you’re finished, Charlotte,” Agatha said.

A smile flickered on Clara’s face. “I’m Clara, Grandmother.”

“Yes, yes, that’s what I said. Now then, Eleanor, let us leave Clara to her work. The gardens await, as does the history of the ton. It’s important that you understand what came before you so you can avoid the mistakes that others have made in the past,” Agatha said, her voice fading as she and Eleanor made their way to the exit. They walked arm in arm.

“They seem happy together, although I hope Agatha isn’t giving Eleanor any bad advice,” Gerald said, an element of concern appearing in his tone.

“Of course not,” Clara said, then turned towards the flowers.

Gerald came to stand beside her and plucked a long-stemmed flower, holding it into the air and turning it before his eyes. Clara was acutely aware of his presence. His arm touched her shoulder. The air was tinged with the warmth that emanated from his body. Her heart fluttered, and she was so unfocused that she caught her thumb on a thorn. Blood bloomed out, scarlet and pure.

“Oh my,” Gerald said, quickly whipping out a handkerchief and wrapping it tightly around her thumb. His hands were even more tightly wrapped around hers. The breath was stolen from her lungs completely. “You must be more careful, Clara. What would the children think if you came back wounded? I would hate for them to blame me for any injury.”

“I’m sure they would never blame you for anything. You can do nothing wrong in their eyes, especially after your heroics with Duke,” Clara said, the words trembling as they slipped between her lips. Scarlet bloomed on the handkerchief, while she tried so hard to tear her gaze away from his eyes, but she could not.

“Heroics?” Gerald smiled and looked pleased with himself. “I didn’t think of it like that. Yes, I suppose it was quite a display of heroism.” He grinned, and the more she witnessed this grin, the more appealing it became. At first it had been insulting and insufferable, but now it had changed to be more charming, although perhaps it was more that she had changed while the smile remained the same.

“You should hold that there for a while,” Gerald continued, releasing her hand. “And perhaps you should stay clear of these flowers. I shall hold them from now on,” he said. He reached over and picked up a white rose, looking at Clara with a bewildered look.

“The servants must have made a mistake. There weren’t supposed to be any roses. What does this one mean?” he asked, turning it around. The petals were the shade of alabaster.

“It means that you are worthy of whomever you give it to. It’s for one who seeks a love to be reciprocated,” Clara said softly, clutching the handkerchief tightly. Gerald’s gaze moved from the rose towards Clara. A single flower stood between them. That was all. It was barely anything.

It might as well have been nothing.

His gaze was arresting, his presence intense. Clara’s skin prickled, as though tiny fireflies were dancing all over her body. Her heart thumped so loudly she was certain it must have been audible to him.

Inside, her mind screamed with the desire to move away, to do anything but stand next to him, yet she was quite paralyzed. His breathing slowed. His head dipped forward. He was like the high sun over the horizon. She could see nothing else. She was blinded by him.

Clara gasped as he reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Just as in the maze, his fingers touched her cheek. Just as in the maze, she felt irrevocably lost and hopeless.

Only with Gerald did she not believe she would find a way out.

It had taken everything for her to turn away from him before. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to do the same thing a second time. Not when his gaze was so intense and his lips were so alluring. Not when she had seen him throw himself into the pond for the sake of the dog and the children. He might have seemed selfish at first, but slowly and surely other qualities were being revealed, the kind of qualities that spoke to her soul.

And it would have been the easiest thing to be kissed by him, to close her eyes and let it wash over her like a summer wind. Could she be blamed for it? For letting it happen, for not tearing herself away, or could she absolve herself by claiming that he took her by surprise?