As a gardener, Merrilyn Parkham-Smythe, was happy to be called a wallflower. Wallflowers were tenacious, long blooming, colourful and reliable plants, easy to care for as long as they had a fair share of sun. Like them, Merrilyn had no objection to providing providing background to the showier and more troublesome ladies of Society. She did object to being slighted and bullied by those highly praised blooms and their male counterparts.
The gentleman next door, for example. He had killed an entire herbacious border, pruned all the flowers off her magnolia tree, refused to see her when she called, and failed to reply to her letters of complaint. He richly deserved what he had coming. Didn't he?
Justin Falconbridge hadn't meant to offend the lady next door. He supposed he should have known that treating his carriage way with lime and sulfur to kill the weeds might affect the plants next door, but they would grow again, wouldn't they? And wasn't he entitled to cut off the flowers that dropped onto said carriage way and made it slipperly underfoot?
It was a pity she only spoke to him to abuse him, because he could think of a better use for those perfectly shaped lips than to hurl abuse at him. Since he couldn't be in her presence without thoughts that were inappropriate in the presence of an innocent lady, he had to ignore her. Sooner or later, she would give up and leave him alone. Which is what he wanted. Wasn't it?
