Garden of Temptation Read online

  There is a knock at the dining room door and I look up to see the gardener, Mr. Anderson.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady,” he says, holding his hat in his hands as he shuffles into the room.

  “Please, do come in,” I say, glad of the distraction. “Perhaps you can help me with this…monstrosity.”

  He chuckles. “That is why I am here, actually. Edison…”

  He turns aside and I see Edison Hawthorn enter the room. I gasp silently when I see him. He is so handsome my knees go weak. He runs a hand through his hair and I get a good look at his muscular arm, tanned bronze by the sun.

  “O-o-oh!” I stammer. “Mr. Edison—Hawthorn, I mean. Mr. Hawthorn. How good to see you.”

  “And you, ma’am,” he says sheepishly.

  “With your permission, ma’am,” Mr. Anderson says, “I have hired Mr. Hawthorn to provide a bit of extra help this week. For grand parties such as this, it’s normal to take on additional workers. I’ve cleared the expense with Lady Birchwood already.”

  “Of course,” I say, trying to sound like I know what he is talking about even though I don’t. It makes sense, though, that extra hands would be needed around a house party. I’ll have to ask Aunt Charlotte about the details of such a thing later.

  “But I wanted to make sure Mr. Hawthorn met with your approval since… Well, since you didn’t hire him for the gardener job, I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be offended if I made use of him temporarily.”

  “Oh! No, I’m not offended. I thought Mr. Hawthorn was a fine candidate. I…I only valued your experience so much. But if there is work we can offer Mr. Hawthorn, I am more than happy to offer it to him.”

  “Very good,” Mr. Anderson says. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Yes, thank you, ma’am,” Edison says with a little bow.

  “Actually, I am putting Mr. Hawthorn in charge of the flower arrangements,” Mr. Anderson explains.

  “Oh?” I say. “I thought that I was in charge of that. I mean, I thought that flowers are usually overseen by the ladies of the house.”

  “Indeed, ma’am,” Mr. Anderson says. “But usually with the help of the gardener or other groundskeeping staff. Someone to fetch and carry the flowers for the arrangements and the arrangements themselves. They can get quite heavy. And they need lots of watering every day to keep them looking fresh.”

  “I see,” I say. “My aunt didn’t explain all that, I’m afraid. But I thank you for your assistance. Both of you.” I look at my pitiful attempt at an arrangement sitting on the chair and have to wonder if this is true or only for my benefit.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mr. Anderson says, putting his cap on and giving me a little bow before shuffling out of the room. There is a strange silence when I find myself alone with Edison. Though, “alone” isn’t accurate. There is a maid in the room brushing the carpet, and a footman is setting the dinner table. One is rarely ever alone in a house such as this.

  “I am glad to see you,” I finally say.

  “Oh?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

  “I mean—” I blush at how that must have come across. “I mean that I felt terrible passing you over for the job. And my aunt read me the riot act about it, I can assure you.”

  “I don’t want you to get into any trouble on my account,” he says.

  “She only thought that a younger man might have been better,” I try to explain. “But I thought it would make her happy to choose the more experienced candidate.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for, Miss Thompson,” he says, and I blush at the use of my name. I’m surprised he remembered it. “Mr. Anderson is a good man. He knows his business. And he has a wife to support. If I wasn’t to get the job, I’m glad he did.”

  A sense of relief washes over me. “I am glad to hear it. And I am glad that you are able to work for us in some capacity, even if it is only temporary.”

  “As am I, ma’am,” he says. There’s another long silence as we take each other in. There is still more we want to say, I’m sure, but we don’t dare.

  I clear my throat. “So, how is this to work? I’m afraid I don’t know anything about flower arranging.”

  “I thought all young ladies did,” he says, moving around the chair to appraise my work so far and evaluate my materials.

  “English ladies do, perhaps,” I say. “Flowers arranging is not something we are taught in America. And my aunt seems to think that just setting me to work with little direction is the best form of education on the matter.”

  “I’m not quite sure about that,” he says, rubbing his chin. “Oh, I’m sorry. I meant no offense.”

  “None taken. I know it looks terrible. I’m open to any suggestions.”

  Edison nods. “Well, the roses are a good start.” He pulls out the sticks with the white buds. “These baby’s breaths should only be accent pieces added at the very end.” He picks up a pair of clippers from the table and snips off some of the rose stems. When he puts the roses back into the vase, they are now all of varying heights and the arrangement already looks significantly more impressive.

  “How is it you know so much about flower arranging?” I ask. “I mean, since it is usually something ladies are taught, not men.”

  “Observation mostly,” he says as he adds in green ferns and then small yellow blooms. “I helped the lady at my last position pick out flowers and then watched her build their arrangement. I’d then see the flowers repeatedly as I maintained them through the week.”

  “It’s looking better already,” I say as I watch the arrangement come to life before my eyes.

  “Hmm.” He steps back and rubs his chin as he appraises his work. “It needs something…tall.”

  “Tall?”

  “Yes, some taller flowers to put in the center to really make it stand out. Do you have any delphinium? That would be perfect.”

  I have to shrug. “I have no idea.”

  He smiles. “Get your basket and bonnet then and let’s go have a look.”

  I feel almost giddy as I run up the stairs to my room, where I grab a straw bonnet and tie it under my chin. Edison is waiting for me by the door that leads from the dining room to the garden, holding my basket, which had been sitting by the table. He has put the clippers in it as well.

  As I walk toward him and his smile, I feel, for the first time, how it must feel to be courted. It’s silly, I know. I could never consider him a prospect. But never have I ever felt as excited to spend an afternoon with someone as I do Edison right now. Oh, there have been men who’ve pursued me during the Season. And there have been men that I have been attracted to before, but nothing like this. Edison is handsome, of course, but I am looking forward to being with him, just walking through the garden and talking. He’s pleasant company, and if we were back in America, I’m sure we would even be friends. Class distinctions are not so strict over there.

  He hands me my basket and we walk down the stone steps to the garden. The sweet smell of flowers fills the air, and I can hear the buzzing of bees flitting from bloom to bloom.

  “This garden is fantastic,” he says. “There are so many varieties of roses. You must make use of them in your arrangements.”

  I pull the clipping shears out of my basket. “Should we pick them now?”

  “Oh, no,” he says. “Wait until you are ready. Flowers can wilt very quickly, so you want them to stay as fresh as possible. It’s best to, sort of, design the arrangement in your mind first, then pick only the flowers you need before moving on to the next and the next.”

  “I see.” He’s so knowledgeable about the flowers. But, more than that, he is passionate about them too. I can hear it in his voice. “I would love to find something I enjoy as much as you enjoy flowers.”

  “Well, what do you like?” he asks as we meander. “Oh! Hyacinths. These are perfect.” He takes the shears from me and snips off a few stems. “What do you do in your spare time?”

  “That is a good que
stion,” I say. “I enjoy reading, of course. And painting. But I’ve never spent much time doing such things for pleasure. In school we were taught writing, penmanship, theology, math, a bit of science. After I graduated, I was sent here to find a husband. So I haven’t had much time for myself. To find out what I want to do when everything is settled.”

  “Ah,” he says, putting the hyacinths into my basket. “Right. You have to find a lordling. Is that what the party is about? Finding an eligible suitor?”

  I give a small nod. “My aunt thinks she might have found one. She has invited him and his family for a visit to see if… I don’t know. See if we get on, I suppose.”

  “You don’t sound very excited about it,” Edison says as he puts some other flowers into my basket.

  “Don’t I?” I ask. “I should be. Who wouldn’t want to marry a lord?”

  Edison looks at me for a long moment, and I feel so…exposed. I wrap my free arm around myself and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “You wouldn’t,” he says.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You wouldn’t be happy marrying a lord,” he clarifies.

  I take a step back. “What?” I ask again. “What do you know about it?”

  “Nothing,” he says. “Only that you don’t seem excited at such a prospect. You seem to dread it, actually.”

  I want to scoff. Want to tell him how inappropriate he is being. How he knows nothing of what he speaks. But I can’t. He’s right. I do dread it. I fear it. I don’t want it. But I can’t tell him that. I’ve told my family, my sisters, my aunt. But I can’t tell this man something so personal. So private. He’s not proper company, much less a confidant.

  “Thank you for the tips,” I say, holding my hand out flat for the clippers. “I will try to put them to use on the arrangements.”

  “Of course,” he says. He places the clippers in my hand and our fingers touch. We let them linger together much longer than is prudent. It hurts to keep all my feelings, all my fears, all my own wants locked away. But I must. I must obey my parents and do my best to find a titled lord. Any titled lord that will have me. I can’t be distracted by a gardener.

  “Good day, Mr. Hawthorn,” I finally say, pulling my hand away and turning back toward the house.

  “Good day, Miss Thompson,” I hear him call after me. I’m glad my back is to him so that he cannot see my eyes water.

  Chapter Eight

  Edison

  I’m cutting some calla lilies in the garden that I think could be the start of a fantastic flower arrangement when the first coach rolls up the drive. Pulled by four horses, the carriage is one of the most massive I’ve ever seen. At my last position, the carriages only required two horses, though they had to take two of them when the entire family went traveling.

  The coach comes to a stop and the groom, who had been sitting by the driver, jumps down to open the door. At the same time, the door to the house opens and all of the upstairs staff—maids, footmen, the housekeeper, the butler, and more—line up to greet the guests. Violet is a vision in a lavender day dress. I can spy a sprig of baby’s breath tucked into the folds of her hair. I notice, though, that she is not smiling. She looks nervous. Timid. She chews on her lower lip and winds her fingers together, the poor dear. I wish I could comfort her, but I’m not even supposed to be watching her. I go back to my clipping, but only for a moment. I must get a look at the chap Violet’s aunt thinks will be a good match for her.

  Out of the carriage steps an older man, perhaps in his fifties. Grey hair, a bit fat in the middle, and using a cane. I’m horrified that this could be Violet’s suitor. It’s not uncommon for old men to take young wives, but Violet deserves better. An older woman is then helped out by a footman, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps these are the suitor’s parents. Violet did say something about his family being invited to stay. I suppose the match must be rather serious business for the whole family to have come calling.

  My suspicions are confirmed when a man about my age steps out of the carriage. He’s tall, perhaps a little taller than me, but it is hard to be sure from this distance. He has dark features, dark eyes, black hair, a shadow around his jaw. I suppose he is someone young ladies might consider handsome. He turns around and helps a young, well-dressed lady step out of the carriage. His sister, I would wager.

  Lady Birchwood holds out her hand to greet the guests, then she motions to Violet, who gives a curtsey. The suitor takes Violet’s hand in his and holds it for a long while as he speaks to her directly. She is smiling but looks as if a loud noise might startle her.

  A second, smaller carriage rolls up, and out of it steps several servants. The lady’s maids and valets of the family, I do believe. Lady Birchwood motions to the house and she and the guests go inside. Violet moves slowly, separating herself from a crowd. Just before she enters the house, she stops and turns toward me. I quickly look back at my work, crouching down to cut the stems near the ground. Did she know I was watching? Did she see me? Is she upset? I would only know if I stood back up and looked at her, but then she would know for certain that I had been spying. Well, not spying. It isn’t as if the guests were arriving in secret. Still, I was supposed to be about my work, not watching the family.

  When I’ve been crouched down long enough to cut far more lilies than I’d intended, I stand back up and glance around casually. Violet is gone, and the servants are all bustling about with the luggage. It looks as though the guests plan to stay for some time…

  When I arrive home in the early evening, Emma is in the yard washing the laundry in a basket while Mother hangs it on the line to dry. Grace is watering a garden the girls recently planted. William is taking a break from chopping wood, and little Jacob is feeding the chickens I bought to help us become more self-sufficient.

  “Evenin’, Edison,” Mother says. “How was your day?”

  I shrug as I walk to the pump and fill a cup of water for myself. “Fine, I guess. I got paid for the work I did at the big house this week. I’d like to talk about getting some clothes for the kids. None of them have a stitch that fits.”

  “Emma’s a right good seamstress,” Mother says.

  “Is she?” I ask, surprised at this. No one has mentioned it before now.

  “Aye,” Mother says as Emma blushes. “Just get her a roll of fabric and she can make anything you want.”

  “Not anything,” Emma says. “I need the older clothes to form a pattern from first.”

  “Shirts, pants, dresses, whatever you like,” Mother goes on.

  “Why haven’t you apprenticed yourself out to someone?” I ask. “A shop in Leeds, perhaps?”

  “I couldn’t leave Mama,” she says, shooting me a look. “Who else could do the heavy work and the shopping and such?”

  I nod. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought about it. But you can now that I’m here.”

  “But still,” Emma says, her hands on her hips, “you work all day and most evenings. So who will help around the house?”

  “Grace is ten,” I say. “More than old enough. And William and Jacob can do more. We have to start thinking about your future. All of you.”

  “You think you can just walk up and take over everything,” William says, his face red. I sigh and brace myself for the berating I know has been coming. William has regarded me with nothing but hostility since I arrived and I knew we’d have it out eventually.”

  “You’re not our father and you can’t tell us what to do,” he says. “We got along just fine without you. You abandoned us once and it’s only a matter of time before it happens again.”

  “Are you done?” I ask when he stops talking. “You weren’t getting along fine without me. I wouldn’t be here if Mother hadn’t asked me to come. She needed me, and you needed me too, whether you’d like to admit it or not.”

  “But why is the only answer to our problem that I have to leave?” Emma asks. “You left. Catherine left. Daniel…” She wipes a tear from her cheek. Not knowi
ng what happened to Daniel is the worst part of all this. Even knowing he was dead would be better than waiting for word that may never come.

  “Look,” I say, trying to talk reason into a bunch of children who seem to have had the sense knocked out of them by our Father. “Things are different now. I know it hurts to think of leaving, Emma, but it might be what’s best for you. You can earn your own money instead of just marrying poor and having no money to help support Mother. Do you understand?”

  She nods reluctantly.

  “Tomorrow, we will head to town and buy some fabric and whatever else you need to make new clothes for all of you. While we are there, we can make inquiries about any seamstress positions. You won’t have to take one right away, but we at least need to know if they are an option for you.”

  She’s quiet as she nods again, her eyes down and not looking at me. Finally, she picks up her washtub. “I need to get clean water.” As she disappears behind the house, I don’t mention that the water pump is here in front of the house.

  I look at William. At thirteen, he’s a bit young to be apprenticed out, but there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be learning a skill. He should be helping the village men with farming or carpentry or blacksmithing, getting a bit of experience as he tries to find what he’s good at. But I don’t want to push that right now. I know they all resent the idea of Emma being sent away. The thought of William having to leave home as well might be too much for them to bear at the moment.

  “Why don’t you all go inside and clean up for supper,” I say. “I’ll help Mother finish hanging the laundry.” The laundry is already all hung up, but I want a chance to talk to her alone.