An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 9 (9 of ?)
Title: An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 9 (9 of ?)
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- When can the Twins come out and play? I miss them.... Any and all mistakes are my own.
Rating: G for all audiences, as long as you can handle fluffy-nutter-ness
Word Count: 2,416
Summary: While investigating a murder, Peter meets a woman whose life is an even bigger mystery.
Disclaimer: Donna and Peter both belong to others, except in my own twisted version of what should be. My Great and Glorious plan is to post at least once a week, and always on Friday. This is a short one, but a celebration of two sales on the same day in my Etsy shop!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8.1 | Part 8.2 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12
Peter stood on the landing outside Donna’s flat, nervously shifting from foot to foot. Should he hide his offering behind his back and wait until she invited him in, or should he present them to her as she opened the door to greet him? He checked again to make sure the tiny presentation card was clearly visible, tucked under the twine that secured the bouquet in its wrappings then looked up, peeking around the doorframe to see if he could catch of glimpse of her in the glass panels on either side. He heard the click of her heels on the wood flooring inside and stood back as he straightened his tie.
**********
He’d spent a full half-hour at the florists before their date, browsing about, unsure of what to get. He had meant what he’d said- she deserved flowers and Peter had set his mind to showing Donna how he felt, even as he was working out the finer details of his heart for himself. His uncertainty must have shown as he wandered about the florists’ chewing at his thumb, as the elderly proprietress had walked straight up to him with a basket in hand.
“It’s early days in the relationship,” she’d stated simply, standing beside Peter and looking at the roses on display.
“Yes,” he’d replied, stuffing his hands back into his coat pockets. He fumbled for the sweet at the bottom of his pocket out of nerves before glancing over at the elegant lady beside him and deciding that decorum dictated that he should wait. He grimaced slightly and rubbed at his ear, unsure of how to proceed and he was grateful when the florist continued.
“But you’re already in love, my boy,” she said, smiling gently as she turned back to him.
Peter blinked hard and politely stuttered, “Excuse me, mum? I don't know that I’d characterize the nature of my feelings as such right now, but I certainly do....”
Her smile grew understanding as the florist interrupted. “Trust me, young man, I’ve been in this business for forty years. I know the look of a man in love, whether he knows it yet or not.”
Peter nodded politely but was unconvinced. She read his disbelief in his eyes and smiled again. “There are plenty of men who pop in and just grab the first bunch of flowers they see- a perfunctory gesture, with no thought or care- the obligation bouquet," she said with a touch of disdain. "Usually, these are men who at least have enough breeding to observe the proper etiquette when approaching a lady, but they’re too busy to take note of anything. It’s just another box they’ve ticked off on their list of things that one does in certain situations.” She mimed checking off items on a list and then slapped Peter’s arm gently, and he was forcibly reminded of Donna.
She waved at the display cases full of elaborate arrangements and continued. “Then there are those who feel like they can buy love. They get the largest, showiest bunch they can afford- and sometimes more than they can actually afford,” she said as an aside, “and then they have it delivered. They want to overwhelm the lady without the bother of actually doing anything themselves. They let their wallets do the talking.” She shook her head and tutted sadly before taking a deep breath and continuing.
“Then there are the sweet young Romeos, who can only afford a single bloom to take to their lady-loves They usually go for a rose, clichéd as that might be. Their naiveté can touch the heart, but they're just boys playing the part. But,” she said dramatically, one finger raised and her eyes wide, “the rarest among all my customers is the thoughtful young man,” indicating Peter with a graceful sweep of her hand.
Peter smiled- at 41, he could hardly be called young anymore, but but given the probable age of the shopkeeper, he could see her point. He was actually enjoying listening to her and cataloging her shared wisdom for future reference. In his lifetime, Peter had discovered that many of the joys of life were to be found in the details, and it seemed she had many to share.
“Now, the thoughtful young man in love; unfortunately for the female population, he’s special; he’s rare. He understands that flowers mean something, that they can speak volumes to a lady, even when he himself is unschooled in the language of flowers.” She turned with a decidedly theatrical flourish and her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Did you know, young man, that in past times, there was an entire floral lexicon? It was called floriography. People could carry out entire conversations by way of flowers without ever having to exchange a word.” She was obviously enjoying her performance and Peter was pleased to be her audience.
He nodded and replied, “I remember my Shakespeare. ‘There's rosemary, that's for remembrance,’ "he quoted and smiled suddenly. “I’ll be needin’ a fair bit of that in a bouquet.” He nodded to himself, pleased with the symbolism and he wondered if Donna would recognize it.
“Good, good- that’s an unusual but pleasant base for an arrangement. Appeals to all the senses. It will be memorable and something to use again in the future if the lady approves. But what to add to it?” she wondered aloud. She turned to him then. “What can you tell me about the lady, please?”
“Uhm, she’s brilliant and brash and beautiful,” Peter said, feeling slightly sheepish. He scratched at the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the conversation, feeling a bit as if he were discussing his love life with his Gran. “We’ve been datin’ for about a week now and...” He trailed off uncertainly, not knowing what else he should divulge about the relationship.
Sensing his discomfort, the florist gently prompted, “What did you first notice about her?”
“Her hair. It’s a lovely shade of red,” he admitted with a wistful smile. He remembered the feel of her hair as it slipped through his fingers, the bright, fiery arc it had made when she had thrown back her head in ecstasy as they’d made love, and the scent of her shampoo as she’d lain in his arms after. He put his hands in his pockets and looked at his feet before returning his attention to the florist who regarded him with an openly indulgent expression. He swallowed awkwardly and tugged at his ear again.
“It’s quite all right,” she said coyly as she made a show of rearranging the flowers in one of the many buckets arrayed before them. She turned and batted her eyes at Peter in amusement. “I was young, once, you know.” Peter colored slightly and bit his lip in consternation before she took pity on him and continued. “So what is it you want to say to the lady?” When he didn’t answer, she moved to a collection of buckets a few feet away. “Let me start and you can refine the message as we go. She’s a ginger, so we’ll add a few coral roses, then. I’ll tuck them right here in the heart of the arrangement, shall I? Those mean passion and desire, you know,” she added with a wink. “Now, something to represent you, then...Ah, I have just the thing!”
She danced gracefully past him and plucked a large bunch of Scottish Thistle from another bucket. She deftly divided the blossoms, skillfully arranging them around the roses at the center of the bouquet she was constructing. “It’s an exquisite color and not often used in arrangements, due to it’s prickly nature, but I find it to be a beautiful metaphor for human nature, don’t you think?” she explained.
Peter ducked his head in an attempt to hide his smile. He was captivated by this tiny, formidable woman and wondered what a force of nature she must have been in her youth. She was thoughtful and learned and she definitely knew her business. “And what’s that mean in an arrangement?” he asked as he moved closer to watch her.
“Nobility, of course,” she replied and Peter grinned even wider. She looked critically at the unfinished floral arrangement and laid a thoughtful finger against her lips. “What this needs is some white for balance. What shall I use, young man?” She indicated a nearby collection of blossoms with a poised wave. “Snowdrop means consolation or hope,” she said, then turned to another nearby bucket. “Rainflower means I love you back, and I will never forget you,” she offered. “Then of course, we always have honeysuckle, which means devoted affection and the bonds of love.” She fingered the fragrant blooms and turned back to face him. “Your choice.”
“Could I...would it be too much...?,” he asked quietly as he considered his options. “Would you include a bit of all of them? I’m sure it would be lovely,” he finished as a smile curled across his lips.
The proprietress nodded her agreement and turned to complete his order. She moved back to the counter with the flowers they’d selected and he followed. As leaned on the counter and watched her nimble fingers at work, she trimmed the stems at an angle and placed them in a small reservoir that would be hidden in the wrappings. Peter was surprised at the level of service she had provided and wanted to express his appreciation of her expertise. “Excuse me,” he ventured politely, “but is there a source for this information? Somethin’ I can read on floriography, perhaps?”
“Oh, Flora's Lexicon is one of the recognized works of quality on the subject,” she told him as she wrapped the finished bouquet in brown paper and secured it with old-fashioned twine. She held out a hand expectantly, eyebrows raised, and he fished about in his pocket for his wallet.
“I'll have to look that one up next time I’m at the bookstore,” he said as he handed over his credit card.
“Oh, it’s long out of print. It’s from 1839, if memory serves,” said the florist. “But you can still read it. It's on Google Books,” she said with a smile. “Probably get it right there on your mobile.”
His surprise must have shown on his face, as the shopkeeper grinned and in her eyes, Peter saw an impish twinkle. “I was a typist with the Home Service during the war effort,” she confided. “My granddaughter has helped me keep my skills current.” She reached over to the printer and plucked out the receipt and the small card that followed as well, handing them over with a knowing smile. Peter was about to shove both in his pocket when something in her expression gave him pause. He examined the tiny card in his hand, turning it from the to/from fields and the standard canned platitude to the back. Printed there in tiny letters was a list of the flowers in the bouquet, along with their meanings: a keepsake love letter in miniature. He looked back to find her regarding him smugly, his perfectly-wrapped purchase in her extended hands.
“Thank you. Thank you, very much...." He said gratefully, and paused- they hadn't introduced themselves and she wasn't wearing a name badge.
"My given name is Wilhelmina, but everyone calls me Minnie," she said with a flirtatious smile, handing back his credit card, “Peter.”
“I'm pleased to meet you, Minnie,” he replied. “I’m sure we’ll be seein’ each other again.”
“I certainly hope so, Peter,” Minnie confessed as she watched him walk out the door with a wave back to her. “I certainly hope so.”
**********
“Oh, Peter, you shouldn’t have!” Donna squealed in delight as he presented the bouquet to her with a slightly self-conscious flourish. She kissed him soundly before stepping back and pirouetting in the kitchen, biting her lip and looking about for a vase. She stood on tiptoe, cradling the flowers to her chest lovingly, as she pulled a simple crystal vase from a top shelf and moved to the sink to fill it.
“Nah,” he scoffed, pleased by her reaction. “I’m simply rectifyin’ my earlier oversight on the occasion of our first date.” He moved behind her and gently wrapped his arms about her waist as she laid the bouquet on the counter and began to untie the twine. Her fingers found the diminutive card artfully tucked into the packaging and she beamed at him as she turned in his arms and kissed him again. He held his breath as she pulled the slip of paper from the envelope and saw her name written for the first time in his handwriting. Her smile deepened and he felt his heart stutter as she leaned in to kiss him again. “There’s more,” he whispered, breaking away from the kiss and carefully taking the card from her to turn it over. He watched as her eyes moved across the tiny words printed there and her giddy expression faded, her eyes sparkling with tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.
“Oh, Policeman,” she breathed, “this is beautiful.” Donna wrapped her arms about his neck and pulled him to her, her lips brushing his tenderly. She sighed her contentment as he returned the kiss, cupping her face in his hands. He stepped even closer to her then, and tucked her head under his chin as he hugged her to his chest. She melted into his embrace, listening to his heartbeat as he gingerly stroked her hair for a long moment. Finally, when she was sure her voice wouldn’t break, she leaned back and caressed his cheek. “Peter, this is the most perfect thing anyone has ever, ever done for me: I love it. Thank you.” She leaned in to kiss him again and Peter felt her lips tremble as they met his.
As he fell deeper into her kiss, Peter marveled at how well Donna had received his offering and silently thanked Minnie for her assistance. What could easily have been a trite and almost compulsory gesture had been transformed, with her direction, into poetry composed in foliage and flowers. It was the perfect beginning for their date, and considering the way Donna was smiling at him right now, he was reasonably confident that the rest of the evening would follow suit.
**********
Flora's Lexicon on Google Books
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8.1 | Part 8.2 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12