Not that anyone was likely to make a mistake on that measure. Floral arrangements generally went to Edwina. In fact, there was nothing general about it; every bouquet that had arrived at the Sheffield residence in the last month had gone to Edwina.
Kate liked to think she had the last laugh, however. Most of the flowers made Edwina sneeze, so they tended to end up in Kate’s chamber, anyway.
“You beautiful thing,” she said, lovingly fingering a fine orchid. “I think you belong right on my bedstand. And you” she leaned forward and sniffed at a bouquet of perfect white roses “you will look smashing on my dressing table.”
“Do you always talk to flowers?”
Kate whirled around at the sound of a deep male voice. Good heavens, it was Lord Bridgerton, looking sinfully handsome in a blue morning
