Romance was a spring garden, the blossoms of Love blooming richly. A rose opened in all her crimson vibrancy at my bossom, spreading her silken petals about my heart.
Beautiful was each moment spent in Miss. Morris' presence; her radiance, her smile was infectious, manifesting deep roots in my chest. I believed we could talk eternally - how learned she was in books, in letters, the topic of my passion. The anxiety of a lover's first glance had long faded, seeming such distant past. We both felt the comfort of friendly intimacy.
"What a lovely day," Miss. Morris said as she took my arm. She was a pretty daisy this morning, glowing cherrily in her soft cream muslin.
"Indeed," I answered, still gazing to her admiringly. With fresh confidence, I continued offer, "Nearly as lovely as you are."
She took the compliment with a humble smile, a soft, endearing expression colored with a powdery pink blush. "You are too kind, Mr. Hartley."
I grinned, ready to dispute her statement, though I refrained from doing so, turning the conversation to other topics of interest as we wandered easily through the lanes of the town. Together we admired the quaint scenery of the shops, bustling with people going about their business, preparing for the day ahead. It was such a pleasure simply to break from work, to walk with Emily Morris at my side, at my ear.
As I returned her to the front steps of the Morris home, the issue of her family was brought to my mind. At what point would our casual romance develop into something ... more? Did her parents already know of this mild relationship, and what was their opinion of it? When would I have to approach her father, to present myself as his daughter's suitor?
The foundation of our romance had not yet settled - nothing was certain. And yet, I had to make certain I did not anger Mr. and Mrs. Morris as to garner any disapproval.