Patrick turned up at the Beloveds' hotel with an armful of lilies (arranged in a long boquet and adorned with a huge white bow) and the bookish Mr Wilkins in tow as chaperone.
He was looking a lot smarter than he had when he'd bumped into Amy on the street in his work clothes. He'd made enough money now, with the incredible wealth of early-blooming flowers in LeChance, to buy a new suit, in pale ochre, and his cravat and the handkerchief in his pocket were a dull green. The colours of the earth. They suited him, and he knew it.
He sent up his card to Amy and waited in the parlour he was shown into, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He'd liked Amy - a little timid, maybe, but surely a man could coax her into a little more courage if he tried? He was, he had to admit, excited and looking forward to this.