Read Online Beauty: an Everland Ever After Tale by Caroline Lee - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Caroline Lee
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should hardly condemn the man to sitting in her store until sunrise, could she? So she gave a stiff nod, and watched her son place his model on one of the tables and scamper for the front door, the bell tinkling merrily as he left.
“Perhaps, Signore , you would be more comfortable coming and going through the back garden? The path to your home is shorter through that entrance, and you might enjoy the flowers.”
“Honeysuckle?”
It was the third time he’d said that, and she was just as taken aback this time. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you grow honeysuckle there, for your scent?”
Oh, poot. She hadn’t realized that he’d been referring to her eau dutoilett e . It was her favorite scent, but wasn’t nearly as fancy as the perfumes Milton liked. “I do grow it, but along the back fence. I’m sure that you’d prefer the rose bushes and the wisteria. The tulips and daffodils line the walk to the gate, and my pear tree is just beginning to bloom.” She spoke for some time about her garden, and the way Milton had carefully chosen the flowers that would be planted, breeding them for beauty and extravagance. As she spoke, she watched his fingers curl around the chair’s arms, and knew that he wasn’t impressed with her litany. She sped up, trying to impress him—him, who’d visited the great palaces of the world, and who had touched and smelled bouquets so exquisite that she could only imagine them—but he interrupted.
“I prefer honeysuckle.”
He preferred honeysuckle. The lowly, clinging vine that had grown on the back porch of her childhood home. The flower that she’d begged Milton to allow her to transplant here in this garden, despite it not fitting into his plans. It was her favorite scent.
“Really? But honeysuckle is so… plain.”
“Contrary to what you’ve apparently taught your son, Mrs. Mayor, something doesn’t have to be beautiful to have worth.”
I married you, my dear, because you were the most beautiful woman I’d seen. A woman worthy enough to share my vision of the world! He’d only said it once, but Arabella had never forgotten Milton’s flippant claim, and had vowed to live up to his worth.
“Mrs. Mayor?” Vincenzo brought her back to the here-and-now. Back to this corner of this bookstore in this town so far from where she’d been born, with this man who wasn’t quite a stranger any longer.
“Do you know what it means to be beautiful, Signore ?” Where had that rude question come from? Judging from the tightening of his lips, she’d offended him. She opened her mouth to apologize, but his hand jerked from the arm of the chair in a chopping, dismissive gesture.
“I do, Mrs. Mayor. I do. I wasn’t always blind. And I remember beauty very clearly. Every day.”
Oh dear , the bitterness she heard in his gravelly voice made her feel lower than a worm, to think that she’d insulted him like that. She hadn’t meant to offend him, but surely someone like him wouldn’t know what it was like, to watch one’s beauty—one’s worth—slip away with each passing year.
“I’m sorry, Signore . But I’m afraid that we all have history that isn’t easy to overcome.”
He snorted. “I’m well aware of that.”
His tone told her that he’d accepted her apology. “Perhaps, on one of your visits, I might show you the garden?” It was a peace offering, one that hopefully he could tell was important.
“Even the honeysuckle?”
She studied his face—what little she could see between his beard and his blindfold. He didn’t think beauty was worthy, but that made sense, looking the way he did. She supposed that he’d had to believe that. “Even the honeysuckle, Signore. ”
“Vincenzo, please.”
She took a deep breath. This man, who broke Rule Number One every day, who knew all about keeping up appearances…he was asking her to break Rule Number Two. To call him by his given name would be highly improper, but did that really matter? She hadn’t
“Perhaps, Signore , you would be more comfortable coming and going through the back garden? The path to your home is shorter through that entrance, and you might enjoy the flowers.”
“Honeysuckle?”
It was the third time he’d said that, and she was just as taken aback this time. “I beg your pardon?”
“Do you grow honeysuckle there, for your scent?”
Oh, poot. She hadn’t realized that he’d been referring to her eau dutoilett e . It was her favorite scent, but wasn’t nearly as fancy as the perfumes Milton liked. “I do grow it, but along the back fence. I’m sure that you’d prefer the rose bushes and the wisteria. The tulips and daffodils line the walk to the gate, and my pear tree is just beginning to bloom.” She spoke for some time about her garden, and the way Milton had carefully chosen the flowers that would be planted, breeding them for beauty and extravagance. As she spoke, she watched his fingers curl around the chair’s arms, and knew that he wasn’t impressed with her litany. She sped up, trying to impress him—him, who’d visited the great palaces of the world, and who had touched and smelled bouquets so exquisite that she could only imagine them—but he interrupted.
“I prefer honeysuckle.”
He preferred honeysuckle. The lowly, clinging vine that had grown on the back porch of her childhood home. The flower that she’d begged Milton to allow her to transplant here in this garden, despite it not fitting into his plans. It was her favorite scent.
“Really? But honeysuckle is so… plain.”
“Contrary to what you’ve apparently taught your son, Mrs. Mayor, something doesn’t have to be beautiful to have worth.”
I married you, my dear, because you were the most beautiful woman I’d seen. A woman worthy enough to share my vision of the world! He’d only said it once, but Arabella had never forgotten Milton’s flippant claim, and had vowed to live up to his worth.
“Mrs. Mayor?” Vincenzo brought her back to the here-and-now. Back to this corner of this bookstore in this town so far from where she’d been born, with this man who wasn’t quite a stranger any longer.
“Do you know what it means to be beautiful, Signore ?” Where had that rude question come from? Judging from the tightening of his lips, she’d offended him. She opened her mouth to apologize, but his hand jerked from the arm of the chair in a chopping, dismissive gesture.
“I do, Mrs. Mayor. I do. I wasn’t always blind. And I remember beauty very clearly. Every day.”
Oh dear , the bitterness she heard in his gravelly voice made her feel lower than a worm, to think that she’d insulted him like that. She hadn’t meant to offend him, but surely someone like him wouldn’t know what it was like, to watch one’s beauty—one’s worth—slip away with each passing year.
“I’m sorry, Signore . But I’m afraid that we all have history that isn’t easy to overcome.”
He snorted. “I’m well aware of that.”
His tone told her that he’d accepted her apology. “Perhaps, on one of your visits, I might show you the garden?” It was a peace offering, one that hopefully he could tell was important.
“Even the honeysuckle?”
She studied his face—what little she could see between his beard and his blindfold. He didn’t think beauty was worthy, but that made sense, looking the way he did. She supposed that he’d had to believe that. “Even the honeysuckle, Signore. ”
“Vincenzo, please.”
She took a deep breath. This man, who broke Rule Number One every day, who knew all about keeping up appearances…he was asking her to break Rule Number Two. To call him by his given name would be highly improper, but did that really matter? She hadn’t
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