Chapter 12: Beatrice Appears

Beatrice Whitmore did not summon people.

She invited them in ways that made refusal feel impolite rather than defiant.

The tea arrived three days after the planning meeting, not as a request but as a courtesy already arranged. A handwritten card was delivered to Bloom House Floral midmorning, placed carefully on the counter beside the register.

Thursday. Four o’clock.

Whitmore Foundation. East Garden Room.

No signature. None was needed.

Lillian read the card once, then slid it beneath the counter and finished trimming a bundle of lisianthus. The stems were resilient, their blooms deceptively delicate. She chose them often for people who underestimated strength.

At precisely four o’clock on Thursday, she stepped into the East Garden Room.

It was smaller than the main hall and warmer in tone. Sunlight filtered through tall windows framed with dark wood. A private garden stretched just beyond the glass, manicured but not rigid. Tea had been set for two at a low table. Porcelain cups. Fin