An audible gasp escaped several nearby matrons. Juliet accepted the bouquet with trembling hands, conscious of the sudden silence that fell around her. Yellow roses—the flower of betrayal and broken promises. To receive such a gift at a public gathering was tantamount to social ruin.

Margaret Abernathy found the journal six months after Robert died....Then a name appeared that she’d never heard before.

Charles was a master of his craft, known far and wide for his lush rose bushes and sprawling ivy. But there was one flower that had always eluded him—the delicate and elusive lady slipper orchid.

Her mind wandered to the meaning of the larkspur, a flower embodying joy and an open heart...

With curiosity, she lifted the bouquet. The scent of lavender transported her instantly back fifteen years to summers at her grandmother’s cottage in Provo Canyon, to herb gardens and flower presses, and to Matt.

With the last reserves of his strength, Bramble zipped beneath the shelter of the Queen Anne’s lace just as the rain turned from a drizzle to a downpour.

Still, the drought was testing even Amaryllis’s enduring confidence. She fluttered from bed to bed, watering with dewdrops gathered in acorn caps, whispering to the dry soil, encouraging earthworms to dig and aerate.

“We survived a winter,” he had told her that morning, pressing a calloused hand against her cheek, “but it will take work to thrive in the

Isobel MacLaren is regretting her choice to leave Scotland until she sees a reminder of home.

Charlotte Hartwell helps grieving families with her gift of creating beautiful floral arrangements, but can she find romance amidst the loss

"I can't stop thinking about you." The words, penned in a strong yet elegant hand, sent a shiver down her spine.

The fascination with floriography was not just limited to England. Victorian women in the American West continued the tradition.

He unfolded a waxed paper to see a dried & pressed bloom of Sweet William. “For gallantry while you're in battle & for my devotion to you."

In the Victorian era, floriography, or the language of flowers, was a nuanced method of communication.

Eight-year-old Eliza Mae Whitaker was a pioneer girl—and a tired one. Her feet ached. Her hands were dirty, and her stomach rumbled...