The Flower Seller
A charming and evocative tale of family and fortune from the queen of West Country saga, Linda Finlay.Isabella Carrington has been brought up in a life of privilege in London. Her life seems perfect, until her father suddenly announces bankruptcy. To save Isabella from destitution he sends her to stay with family she has never met, far away on a violet farm deep in Devon.Isabella is horrified to find her uncle expects her to work for her keep, packing up the flowers and selling them in the nearby market. However she soon discovers that life on a violet farm may not be so bad, especially when she meets handsome local farmer Felix Furneaux…Perfect for fans of Dilly Court and Katie Flynn.
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LINDA FINLAY lives on the Devonshire coast and is the author of seven novels. From lace-making to growing Devon violets, each one is based on a local craft which, in order to write authentically, she has learnt to do herself. However, it is people and their problems that make for good story writing and, with so much interesting material to work with, it is easy for Linda to let her imagination run as wild as the West Country landscape which has inspired her writing.
The Royal Lacemaker
The Girl with the Red Ribbon
A Family For Christmas
The Sea Shell Girl
Monday’s Child
Orphans and Angels
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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018
Copyright © Linda Finlay 2018
Linda Finlay asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008262938
To Pern, for your continued encouragement and support
Contents
London, September 1892
Forgetting all she’d been taught about dignified deportment, Isabella swept through the doors of Claridge’s as if blown in on the autumn breeze. Her golden curls and bright blue eyes drew many an admiring glance to which she was oblivious, as she hastily smoothed down the silk of her lilac skirts and straightened the strands of pearls around her neck. With her visit to Italy only days away, she’d been shopping for accessories to complement the new outfits her dressmaker had delivered that morning, and browsing the delightful displays, she’d completely lost track of time. Not wishing to keep Maxwell waiting, she hurried between the ornate marble columns and into the garden room decorated with potted palms. He’d been so preoccupied with business recently that time with him was precious.
A waiter showed her to a table secreted behind one of the oriental silk screens that divided the room into private alcoves.
‘Isabella, darling,’ he greeted her, rising to his feet. He was looking especially handsome in his dark jacket with a high-necked waistcoat, and the appreciative gleam in his slate-grey eyes sent shivers tingling down her spine, although she endeavoured not to show it.
‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting?’ she asked demurely. Instead of answering, he glanced beyond her and frowned.
‘No bodyguard this afternoon?’
‘Oh Maxwell, you are terrible,’ she giggled. ‘You know Papa feels happier if Gaskell chaperones me. Though where she is this afternoon, I have no idea. I expressly told her I would be leaving the house at 2 p.m., yet when the clock struck the hour she was nowhere to be seen.’
‘You mean you took the opportunity to slip out unaccompanied? Whatever would dear Papa say?’ he exclaimed, throwing up his hands in mock horror.
‘I know it was bold of me, but I had shopping that couldn’t wait and, of course, I’ve been looking forward to our meeting. Although I have to confess Papa doesn’t know,’ she told him, staring at him from under her lashes. In truth, much as she hated deceiving her father, wild horses wouldn’t have prevented her coming.
‘Well, I can’t pretend I’m sorry to have you all to myself. Those beady eyes of hers watching my every move make me nervous, I don’t mind admitting. Still, here you are, and all on your own. How I shall restrain myself, I don’t know.’ He waggled his eyebrows so outrageously she had to laugh.
‘Oh Maxwell, you are a terrible tease.’
‘It’s the truth, I assure you. Now before you slap my face with your lily-white hand, I have taken the liberty of ordering sandwiches, fancies and a pot of Earl Grey,’ he told her becoming serious as another waiter approached, bearing a silver tray.
‘My favourites,’ she smiled, thinking how considerate he was.
