Free A Bloom in Winter by T. J. Brown

know all the legalities of it. We’re certainly well-off, but our uncle is to be our money manager until we are age twenty-five or married to a suitable young man. I believe my father was afraid we would become the victims of treasure hunters.”
    “So that’s why you and Rowena moved out to Summerset.”
    Victoria nodded. “It’s not as if we don’t love it there, but we were hardly accustomed to that sort of life.”
    The car stopped in front of a tall brick building and Victoria felt a wash of cold pour over her. It was now or never. She found herself gripping Kit’s hand, desperately wishing he could go in with her. But no. How would she ever stand on her own if she kept relying on other people to help her? The driver had come around and opened the door. Suddenly she felt a slight tightening in her chest and her heart almost stopped.
    Oh, dear God. Please not now. She willed herself to remain calm. For once, Kit had no funny jokes or sarcastic remarks to make; he merely held her hand until the tightness eased. She gave him a bright smile as a reward and stepped out of the car. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be,” she told Kit. “Perhaps an hour?”
    “Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?”
    She shook her head. “Of course not. I’ll be fine.”
    A little bell on the door rang as she opened it and stepped into the dark offices of The Botanist’s Quarterly . Victoria had expected the headquarters of such a serious and scientific journal to represent how important the journal was to the scientific community. Instead, they seemed rather small and dreary, and the glass cases on the walls enshrining dried plant specimensfrom all over the world could have used a good dusting. An older woman with iron-gray hair and a severely cut black dress looked up when she entered. If she was surprised to see Victoria, she didn’t show it, but then, Victoria suspected that the watery blue eyes underneath the wire spectacles rarely showed any emotion whatsoever.
    Victoria took a deep breath and marched up to the desk. “I’m here to see Harold L. Herbert, please.”
    The woman didn’t even bother to look down at the ledger in front of her. “I’m sorry. Mr. Herbert is in a meeting. If you are here about the transcriptionist position, please leave your references . . . ”
    Victoria drew herself up to her full height, which admittedly wasn’t very tall, and tried to look as old and self-possessed as possible. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I wasn’t clear. I actually have an appointment with Mr. Herbert. My name is V. Buxton, and I’m a . . . a botanist,” she told the woman, wishing she hadn’t stumbled on the word botanist.
    The woman shot her a look that told Victoria she’d been found out, but the woman looked at the ledger, made a notation, and excused herself. “I will be right back.” She disappeared down a narrow hall and Victoria heard the clicking of a door opening and shutting.
    Victoria stood at a standstill, half afraid to breathe. Her eyes took in a dozen dark filing cabinets standing against one wall and the dozen or so issues of The Botanist’s Quarterly arranged across the desk in front of her. The woman came back and ushered Victoria silently down a narrow hallway into an equally narrow office.
    Victoria barely had time to take in a small wooden desk with a chipped top before being attacked by a short, balding man ina long black coat. It crossed her mind that Hairy Herbert wasn’t hairy at all.
    “What is the meaning of this, young lady?” The gravel of his low voice grated on her ear. “What kind of joke are you playing?”
    Though he was only a bit taller than she, his anger made him seem larger and more intimidating. She stepped back. “I don’t understand. I am V. Buxton and I have an appointment to discuss my writing with the managing editor. Are you Harold Herbert?”
    “Of course I am, but you are not V. Buxton!”
    The trembling began in her toes and spread