Chapter 6 The Flowers And The First Letter

The morning air was crisp as Jeffrey and Patrick made their way along the path to the village. Patrick walked a step ahead, straight-backed and composed, with a small bundle of white lilies cradled carefully in his hands. Jeffrey followed behind, hands stuffed in his pockets, grinning at the way Patrick's brow was furrowed with purpose.

"You do realize," Jeffrey said casually, "that she might not even notice your bouquet?"

Patrick shot him a look over his shoulder. "I intend for her to notice."

Jeffrey snorted. "Indeed. Because nothing says subtlety like a dozen white lilies. What could go wrong?"

Patrick ignored him. He stepped lightly over a small puddle and adjusted the stems in his hands.

"She is fond of me, you know. I merely wish to show her that I care. There is nothing more natural than expressing one's sentiments."

Jeffrey laughed. "Ah, yes. Natural, he says, while carrying a bouquet that could knock a grown man over. Very natural."

Patrick's expression softened, almost imperceptibly, and he glanced at Jeffrey. "It is not meant to impress you, if that is what you imply."

"Not at all," Jeffrey said, grinning. "I merely enjoy the theatre of it."

They rounded the last bend, and there she was, Maeve crouched by a patch of wild strawberries, her skirts gathered around her knees, hair catching the sun like threads of copper. She looked up and smiled when she saw them approaching, though her eyes lingered on Jeffrey.

"Good morrow, Miss O'Rourke, "I trust this day finds you well." Patrick said, hiding the bouquet behind while bowing slightly. Jeffrey did the same.

"Good morrow, gentlemen." Maeve answered. "Very well indeed, thank you Master Doyle."

"Patrick will do, if you please." Patrick said, his eyes never leaving hers.

Maeve stared back, noticing his icy blue eyes and sharp features for the first time. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

"I shall agree, only if you call me Maeve." She said softly.

"Whatever Maeve wants" Patrick said, smiling sheepishly.

"Very well then-Patrick." Maeve replied, looking away shyly.

An unease settled within Jeffrey and he finally spoke.

"You may as well call me Jeffrey, that all may be made equal." He said, grinning.

Maeve laughed softly, a sound that made Jeffrey's chest ache in amusement.

"Well enough, Jeffrey."

Patrick, then revealed the flowers he had been hiding. "I thought these might bring a little cheer to your day."

"These are lovely. But-" She touched her throat and her smile faltered. "Oh... I am... rather sensitive to lilies. Allergies, you see."

Patrick froze. His eyes widened in horror. "Allergies?"

"I-" Maeve sneezed violently, her eyes watering, and Patrick's face paled as he realized the mistake. "Oh, I am terribly sorry! I had no idea-"

Patrick cast aside the bouquet and knelt quickly beside her, gathering her hands in his. "Maeve, I am so sorry. I did not know. Are you... are you well enough to-"

"I will be fine," she said, laughing weakly through a second sneeze. "Really, it is not so grave. But you must take care next time, or I may faint from fright rather than the pollen."

Patrick's jaw ticked. He felt genuine regret, an ache that made him want to disappear into the grass with her. "I cannot forgive myself for this oversight. I should have been more cautious. I-"

Jeffrey stepped forward, grinning despite himself. "Patrick, you've done it now. You've nearly killed her with kindness."

Patrick gave him a sharp look. "I am not amused."

"You should be," Jeffrey replied, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "It's quite heroic, really. A man, a bouquet, and the faint possibility of murder-by-flower."

Maeve giggled, holding a hand to her mouth. "You two are impossible."

Patrick's hands shook slightly as he helped Maeve to her feet. "I assure you, this was not my intention. I shall remain vigilant henceforth. Will you forgive me?"

She smiled and her eyes sparkled. "Of course, Patrick. But you must promise me, no more lilies."

"Agreed," he said solemnly. "No more lilies."

Jeffrey nudged him with an elbow. "See? A simple 'sorry' would have sufficed. Though, I daresay, the theatrics suited you well."

Patrick ignored him and gave Maeve one last look before they began the walk back toward the village. "I am compelled to depart soon," he said quietly, almost reluctantly. "I must travel with my father to inspect a property near the coast. I wish I could remain longer, but..." He let the sentence trail off, his gaze lingering on Maeve.

"I understand," she said softly. "You must do what is required."

"I shall write," Patrick added quickly. "A letter... that I hope will convey what I cannot speak aloud in haste."

Jeffrey, ever the instigator, clapped him on the shoulder. "See? Practical. And now, my turn to shine."

Patrick's eyes flicked toward him, unamused. "What do you mean?"

"I shall deliver your letter," Jeffrey said, grinning. "As your humble envoy. And while I'm at it, I shall ensure the lady does not collapse from any other floral encounters."

Maeve laughed outright. "I do not believe this, Jeffrey. You are too whimsical."

"Whimsical, yes," Jeffrey said, bowing theatrically. "But indispensable, madam."

Patrick shook his head, muttering under his breath as he began the preparations for departure.

Jeffrey, meanwhile, lingered, clearly enjoying the company of Maeve more than he would ever admit to his cousin.

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Later that evening, after Patrick had departed with his father, Jeffrey returned to the village with the letter folded neatly in his pocket. The sky was painted with the fading hues of sunset, and the air smelled faintly of earth and dew. Maeve was at the edge of the orchard, gathering herbs for the evening meal.

"Maeve," Jeffrey called softly, stepping into the golden light.

She looked up, startled at first, then smiled when she recognized him. "Jeffrey! I did not expect-"

"I come bearing words from Patrick," he said, bowing slightly as he handed her the letter. "And apologies for his lilies."

Maeve took the letter with a laugh, shaking her head. "He cannot deliver an apology without you playing messenger?"

Jeffrey grinned. "I am merely honoured to serve."

She unfolded the paper carefully and read it aloud softly to herself. Jeffrey waited, leaning against a nearby tree, observing her face. Her expression softened as she read Patrick's elegant and carefully chosen words. He had written with warmth, charm, and sincerity, apologizing for the lilies, expressing his regard, and wishing her well.

Once the letter was finished, Maeve looked up at Jeffrey. "He seems very kind."

"He is," Jeffrey said quickly. "But you need not fret. You are not in any danger of being overrun by lilies again, at least, not from him."

Maeve laughed again, a pure sound that made Jeffrey's chest lift involuntarily. "Your humour is quite agreeable, Jeffrey. I am thankful you have brought this to me, it has lifted my spirits."

Jeffrey grinned, teasing lightly. "You flatter me. But I would not deny the lady a smile, if it is within my humble power."

Maeve's cheeks colored faintly. "You are too witty for your own good. Tell me, Jeffrey, are you always this clever?"

He raised an eyebrow, mock offense in his tone. "Only in the company of those who can appreciate it."

She laughed again, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You have a sharp tongue, but a kind heart, I think."

Jeffrey's smile softened. "I try. And if you will permit me, I would like to know. What is your favourite flower, Maeve?"

She paused, thinking. "A primrose," she said finally, her eyes brightening. "I have always loved primroses. They are small, cheerful...and they always seem to find the light, no matter where they grow."

Jeffrey's eyes lit up. "Primroses," he repeated. "I shall remember that."

Maeve smiled at him, clearly amused. "I expect you will, now."

He laughed softly. "Indeed. And I hope, when the time comes, to ensure you always have some near."

Her laughter tinkled through the orchard, carrying over the fading light, and Jeffrey found himself smiling with a strange, unbidden joy. He had delivered Patrick's letter, fulfilled his cousin's request, and, unexpectedly, made a new friend. One whose laughter he would carry in his memory long after this day.

Maeve glanced at him, curiosity and amusement shining in her eyes. "You seem to enjoy yourself too much, Jeffrey. I wonder if you are as mischievous as you seem."

He grinned. "Mischief has its place, as long as it brings smiles, does it not?"

She nodded. "It does. I suppose this is the beginning of a friendship, then?"

"Perhaps," Jeffrey said, bowing lightly. "And perhaps a very good one."

The primrose lingered in his mind. And as he left her side that evening, he vowed quietly to himself that he would never forget it or the laughter that had first warmed his heart. But knowing that his cousin fancied Maeve made the situation all the more tangled. Yet he was quietly pleased that she at least considered him a friend. To be in her presence was, for now, reward enough.

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