My Beautiful Primrose

Patrick's departure left a quietness behind it that neither Jeffrey nor Maeve knew how to name at first. It wasn't loneliness exactly, more like a widening of space. Jeffrey found himself missing teasing Patrick. Maeve found herself waiting for the sound of his steps on the path, the sound of his voice and the way her name rolls off his tongue smoothly.

Jeffrey did as his cousin had asked. He went to see Maeve everyday before attending to his own business. They talked of everything, weather and fields, books Jeffrey had read and places Maeve had never seen. Laughter came easily now. They've now become close friends.

It was on one such afternoon that Jeffrey arrived at the O'Rourke cottage with purpose quickening his stride. He checked the usual part where Maeve would always tend to her chores but she wasn't there. He called out to her but got no response. He lifted his hand to knock, and that was when something hard and merciless struck his back.

"Oof-!"

Pain exploded between his shoulders, sharp enough to steal the breath from his lungs. Jeffrey stumbled forward with a strangled gasp, barely catching himself before he hit the doorframe.

"And who might you be?Sneaking about my home like a thief?" a woman's voice snapped.

Jeffrey turned slowly, wincing, one hand pressed to his back. Before him stood Maeve's mother, gripping a thick wooden stick like she had every intention of using it again.

"Madam-I assure you-" He wheezed, trying to straighten. "I meant no harm."

"No harm?" She raised the stick again. "That's what they all say."

"Mama-NO!"

Maeve's voice rang out like a bell. She appeared from behind the house, a basket of potatoes balanced on her hip, her face draining of colour as she took in the scene.

"That's my friend!" she cried, dropping the basket and rushing forward. "Mama, please! You'll kill him!"

Her mother froze. "Your... friend?"

Maeve was already at Jeffrey's side, gripping his arm. "Are you hurt?" she whispered urgently.

"I've survived worse," Jeffrey said through a tight smile, though his back throbbed like fire. "I think."

Maeve rounded on her mother. "Why would you strike him like that mother?"

Her mother frowned, lowering the stick slightly. "Because strange men don't wander onto respectable property unannounced."

"He's not strange," Maeve insisted. "He's Jeffrey. Jeffrey O'Connell."

The name worked like magic. Her mother's expression softened instantly. "An O'Connell?" She gasped. "Saints preserve us-why didn't you say so?"

Jeffrey bowed slightly despite the pain. "Entirely my fault, madam."

She hurried forward, suddenly flustered. "Did I hit you too hard?"

"Only enough to shorten my life by a decade," he said lightly.

Maeve bit her lip to stop a laugh.

"Oh dear." Her mother winced. "Come inside at once. Let me fetch salve. Maeve, help him."

Jeffrey was ushered in, seated, fussed over until his pride nearly expired. At last, he cleared his throat.

"Mrs O'Rourke," he said politely, "I came with a request."

She straightened. "Go on, please."

"There is a ball in three days' time," he said, glancing at Maeve. "And I wished to ask if Maeve might attend-with me. With your permission, of course."

Maeve's breath caught. Her mother studied them both, her sharp eyes missing nothing. At length, she nodded. "If my daughter wishes it."

Maeve looked at Jeffrey, eyes bright. "I do."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Three days later, Jeffrey came in a carriage to take Maeve with him to the ball. When he got to the cottage, he treaded with caution, just to make sure he doesn't lose his head this time. He was about to knock when the door flew open and there she was. Jeffrey forgot how to breathe.

Maeve wore an emerald green gown with a modest neckline, framed with delicate lace. The skirt flowed full and heavy. Her hair had been arranged carefully, half swept up, the rest tumbling in soft waves down her back, fiery red against the deep green of the dress.

Jeffrey stared unashamedly.

His mouth parted before he could stop it.

"My God," he breathed. "Maeve..."

Before she could speak, he took her hand gently and pressed a soft kiss at the back of her hand. His eyes staring deep into her green ones.

Suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. "Is it... too much?" she asked softly. "I feared it might be too bold."

"Too-" He let out a weak laugh, dragging a hand down his face as if trying to wake himself from a dream. "You look as though the earth itself dressed you for the evening. I fear I may embarrass myself if I continue staring."

Her cheeks warmed instantly. "You are exaggerating."

"I am restraining myself," he corrected smoothly.

She laughed, the sound easing his chest. "You are impossible, Jeffrey."

"And you," he said, stepping closer, voice lowering, "are devastating."

Before she could protest again, he reached into his coat pocket. "There is something I wished to give you."

She looked down at his hand as he opened his palm. Nestled there was an emerald necklace-delicate yet striking, the stone catching the light like a captured piece of forest sun.

"Oh no," Maeve said at once, shaking her head. "Jeffrey, I cannot-"

"It is not excessive," he interrupted gently. "Nor is it an obligation."

She backed away half a step. "It is far too fine. People will talk."

"Let them," he said easily. "They already will."

She folded her arms stubbornly. "I will not be paraded like a jewel."

A smile tugged at his lips. "Then think of it not as adornment, but as appreciation."

She hesitated.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. "Have you any notion what colour your eyes turn when the light touches them just so?"

She swallowed. "Green."

"Emerald," he corrected softly. "The very same shade as this stone. Entirely coincidental, I assure you." His eyes flicked pointedly to her dress.

"Though fate does seem to enjoy flattering you."

Her resolve wavered. "You are manipulating me."

"I prefer the term persuasive."

She sighed. "If I accept this, it is only because you have an unfair way with words."

Jeffrey stepped behind her, fingers warm and careful as he fastened the necklace. "If I possessed a fairer way," he murmured near her ear, "I would use it for you alone."

She shivered.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The carriage ride to the ball was filled with nervous laughter. Maeve pressed her hands together in her lap, peering through the window as the grand estate came into view, lights glowing warmly against the night.

"I do not belong here," she whispered.

Jeffrey turned toward her at once. "You belong wherever you choose to stand."

Inside, the hall buzzed with conversation and music. Maeve was introduced to more noblemen and ladies than she could count, her head spinning with names and titles. An elderly woman with sharp eyes and a knowing smile paused before them, studying Maeve intently.

"Well," she said, turning to Jeffrey, "you've done well for yourself. She is a beauty to behold" She turned to Maeve "You are a vision, my dear."

Maeve flushed. "You are too kind, madam."

"Oh, nonsense. I have eyes yet." She leaned closer conspiratorially. "Do not dally too long, Jeffrey. If you wait, some other man may snatch her away."

Jeffrey laughed nervously. "I assure you-"

"I expect to see little red-haired O'Connells racing about the estate before long," the woman continued cheerfully. "A shame if I were made to wait."

Maeve nearly choked.

Jeffrey cleared his throat, ears burning. "You are incorrigible, Aunt."

"I am truthful," she said with a wink. "I trust the evening will be a delight."

When the music began, Jeffrey turned to Maeve and bowed slightly. "May I have the honour of this dance?"

She returned the courtesy, heart fluttering. "I must warn you-I am not skilled."

"Then I shall guide you," he said gently. "You need only trust me."

She placed her hand in his. The moment he drew her close, the world narrowed to the warmth of his palm at her waist, the steady rhythm of his breath. He caught the scent of her and it nearly undid him.

Her cheeks bloomed pink. "You are standing far too close."

"Forgive me," he murmured. "I forget myself."

The music quickened, and they moved together, her steps were hesitant at first, then smoother. She followed his lead instinctively, their bodies aligning as though they had practiced for years.

"You are doing beautifully," he whispered.

"I am merely copying you," she replied breathlessly.

"And yet," he said, admiration thick in his voice, "you make it your own."

As the music slowed again, they came to a gentle stop, both flushed and breathless. Jeffrey did not release her at once. A loose curl had fallen across her cheek. He reached up slowly, brushing it aside with his fingers.

"Maeve," he said softly, voice almost reverent, "you are more beautiful than any song played tonight, more beautiful than any jewel I could ever place upon you."

Her breath caught.

They leaned toward one another-so close-

_