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She's had a particularly good day today, and she supposes that Mother deserves to have one too. So she brushes her hair in the mirror, (even though she doesn't care much about being presentable, she's having a good day) and walks out of her small flat.
Down the road, along the way is a house - a big one, too - bursting with flowers of every imaginable shape and size. She plucks a few brightly coloured ones, choosing her mother's favourite colours. She's beginning to start again, when a voice stops her in her tracks. She turns around slowly.
"You've been stealing from my garden again, haven't you?" the boy asks, his hair long and much overgrown.
She studies him, and his fancy white suit, his boyish smile - though he must be the same age as him - and still, most shockingly of all, how long his hair is. It looks nearly like a girl's, and his shy expression adds to the whole humorous situation.
She looks faintly surprised at being accused, but stutters out a response all the same. "Well, yes, it was stealing, in a sense, but I was fairly certain you wouldn't have missed them, or I wouldn't have taken any."
He shrugs. "Well, you are right about that," he grins. "Detective, are you? But who's the boy you're going to give these to?"
At this, her mouth falls open, before rearranging her face to look collected. "Isn't it usually boys who give girls flowers? Not the other way around?"
He shrugs again, his shy expression turning into more of a teasing grin. "We're assuming gender roles now, are we? I don't discriminate against who gives who what."
"That's not what I meant and you know it," she sighs, exasperated.
"Well, in any case, I want to see if the boy's good-looking enough to warrant some flower theft. Or maybe it's not a boy at all." He thinks about this, his face relaxing, and then decides he doesn't care. "So, where are we going, Miss I-Don't-Know-Your-Name and also I'm Lord Viscount Tewksbury, Marquess of Basilweather?"
He says this so fast, and in one breath, she has barely any time to process it. And a Marquess? What is he doing in this small town? She asks him so, and he just smiles that devilish - but possibly cute - smile of his. "Well, I'm Enola - alone spelled backwards - Enola Holmes. And-"
She ponders telling him they're going to a graveyard, telling him there's no boy, (except for him, of course) and that they're going to visit her dead mother and that it's her only company because she lives alone in a flat while her brothers come looking for her, but she decides against it. She'd rather see the look on his face when they get there.
"And it's a surprise," she adds finally, seeing his prompting stare.
"Oh," he says, a face slightly wilting as she says so, but then brightens again. "Is it a romantic picnic with your - lover?" She thinks a flash of jealousy has crossed his face, but then dismisses it with a shake of her head. "I bet it is," Tewksbury says, grinning, but does he look slightly happier, or is that her imagination?
"It's not," she groans. "Give it up. Anyway, we're about to see it, as you round this bend, so you can decide for yourself."
He grabs her hand (what's that in her chest, nerves?) and pulls her along, excited to see what the surprise is, his face alight with mischief and joy and then - falters. "Enola," he whispers, and she's slightly happy at his use of her name, despite the situation. "I didn't - I'm sorry - I had no idea," he says, his eyes nearly pleading for her to forgive him.
"It's alright, Lord Viscount Tewksbury, Marquess of Basilweather," she says, rather imperiously, overdoing it quite a lot, "Though now, I must say, you will forever be in my debt."
And then he laughs, a loud, happy sound, and she thinks her mother would be proud, even if she disagreed with many men and their beliefs, she thinks she would love this one as much as she already (platonically, mind you, platonically) does.
"Come on," he urges softly, "Let's go pay respects to your mother." He tugs her along as they both grin.
Enola snorts - Oh, yes, Mother would definitely like this one, he had used the word respect and her mother in the same sentence.
She can't resist making one last witty remark before they reach Eudoria's grave:"I told you there was no boy."
"That's not the point!"
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Cat Talks!
this one is ... pretty short but i got it done! a real chapter! (ofc, i say this about each and every one of my stories that i've abandoned) so ... you know, we'll see how it goes!
