Lady Denara's Blooming Request

Julian was standing just outside the garden gate, his keen eyes trailing Bloom as she darted with her typical swift vigor inside the manor.

His austere features were softened by a bewildered gaze that tugged at the corners of his mouth in a slight smile. To his own amazement, he found himself appreciating the way she treated him, unlike anybody else. The rugged warriors who had fought with him in the filthy trenches were not the same as the youngsters he had known at the Front. Undoubtedly, they had shown him disinterest, but it was always tinged with a taciturn regard. Their stiff, clipped voices had referred to him as "milord," and they had only spoken when he spoke to them first. Their stances were rigid with the silent recognition of his aristocratic upbringing, and their eyes had hardly ever met his. However, Bloom? She had little interest in his ancestry or rank. She seemed to take great pleasure in treating him differently, delivering witty, sardonic comments that cut through the reverence he had become so used to hearing. Like a cool breeze slicing through the stifling manor air, it was revitalizing.

Julian sprang one-armed over the short fence dividing the lawn from the garden walk with a smooth motion. His body adapted to the missing limb with a fluidity that hinted at tenacity as he rehearsed the action, which came almost naturally. He straightened and brushed a speck of dirt from his sleeve as his boots made a quiet thump against the soft earth on the opposite side. As he headed toward the center of the gardens, he thought, "But she's bitter." His thoughts kept returning to Bloom. It appears that she dislikes being among people. Her eyes contracted as she spoke, and her tone was caustic, suggesting a deep-seated animosity. She has clearly had a run-in with a nobility. The pieces fit too nicely to ignore, yet he was unable to pinpoint it exactly. She might have been cheated on by someone in his class. The idea kept coming to him, so he decided to go to the market later to look around and see if there were any rumors about her history. But for the time being, he had a more pressing assignment: locate his mother.

The gardens in front of him were his mother's pride and delight; they were a vast tapestry of color and aroma. There were clusters of scarlet and blush-pink roses with dew-heavy petals, while lavender shrubs hummed with the soft sound of bees. The rustle of leaves in the late morning breeze blended with the soft drip of a stone fountain that stood in the middle. With his boots crunching on the gravel path, Julian scuttled through the well-kept bushes until he saw her by the fountain. Lady Denara stood facing away from him, the bright flowers she loved framing her slim body.

He yelled in a pleasant voice as he walked up to say, "Mother, look what I've brought you." He held a little potted plant in his good arm, its delicate blue-bellied bartana flowers swaying slightly as he walked. "You received it as a gift from a gardener."

At the sound of his voice, Lady Denara turned, her wintry-blue eyes catching the sunshine and widening with pleasure. Earlier that morning, she had been pacing her study, perhaps preoccupied with the daily tasks of running the estate, but now she was in her gardens, a haven. Despite the passing of the years, Julian's mother's beauty remained timeless, making her a picture of elegance. In a glossy curtain that adhered to the newest fashion trends, her flawlessly straight black hair fell down her back and reached her waist. The only imperfections on her perfect face were the slight crinkles at the corners of her eyes, lines left by a lifetime of smiling. Her lips were a gentle rose, her complexion as pale as porcelain. Julian treasured those phrases because they demonstrated her kindness and the delight she felt in the world.

"What a lovely plant!" she said, approaching to examine the present. Fearful of disturbing the delicate petals of the blue-bellied bartana, her fingertips lingered over it. "You have to thank this gardener on my behalf. What is his residence? Would he be interested in coming to see our gardens? Don't you think it would be beneficial to have someone who knows how to cultivate a blue-bellied bartana?

"Oh, Mom—" She was already engrossed in her excitement when Julian started.

Her voice was full of possibilities as she pondered, "Perhaps we could even hire him." All species of bartanas are infamously hard to grow. I'm hoping to keep this one going. Only a little water and lots of sun, right?

"All right. However, Mother—

We have the ideal location with my red bartana, she added, her eyes straying to a sunny area of the garden. Would your gardener be interested in seeing that one?

"Mom!" Julian interrupted, his voice stern but loving. "It's a girl, the gardener."

Lady Denara blinked in surprise and hesitated, her hand motionless in mid-air. "A female?" A glimmer of worry passed across her face as her brows furrowed. However, most people believe that women shouldn't take care of plants. They think it's wrong. The poor girl.

A sardonic smile tugged at Julian's lips as he shrugged. "She appeared to be able to handle it." His thoughts turned to Bloom's brisk responses, the way she had responded to his taunts with a scathing rebuttal of her own. She seemed to relish the task, if anything.

"Oh." Lady Denara muttered as she took a moment to process this information. We'll need to bring her up here at some point. Just having a professional opinion on my gardens would be wonderful. Love, are you able to deliver my note? Thank you. Her writing supplies were put neatly on a nearby stone bench, and she picked up a quill and started writing with elegant strokes. The note was brief, with a few lines of gratitude and an invitation to tea on Sunday of next week. As she scribbled, she looked up at Julian and added, "Baroness Amelia Barkwell will be there as well." She asked you to be there expressly. Naturally, her daughter will be attending.

A scowl pulled at Julian's features as his face worsened. Insufferable, the baroness and her daughter plotted a marriage that would increase their already substantial wealth. His stomach twisted at the notion of their company, and he thought cruelly, "As if they aren't rich enough." He would much rather spend an afternoon cleaning stables than put up with their constant chase and blatant flattery.

Lady Denara folded the note carefully and gave it to him, finishing it with a flourish. "Dear, what is the name of this young gardener?"

Julian answered casually, "Bloom."

His mother's eyes widened slightly as her head tipped. As though tasting the word to check if it fit, she repeated, "Bloom." Uncertain, as if she had misheard, she glanced at him.

"It's a nickname," he explained, his tone slightly amused.

"Yes?" With a happy nod, she signed the paper in her beautiful script and handed it to him. "Thank you, my love. We'll meet up for dinner.

Julian bent over and gave her cheek a brief kiss. As he straightened, he was comforted by the familiar aroma of her lavender perfume. He turned and stormed out of the gardens, leaving the house behind as he headed for town, the note securely in his pocket.