Garden of Temptation Page 7

  I open my mouth to argue, but I have to admit the man has a point. I sigh and turn back to my drink. “I’m not sure what more I could do right now.”

  “And no one is asking you to,” Woolsey says. “Helping your family survive is your task. Helping them thrive will be a goal for later.”

  I nod. One day at a time, I suppose. Today, the family needs food, clothing, and shelter. Later, the children will need at least some schooling, and the older ones will need to find work. Then, maybe then, when we have more income, we can start thinking about actually building something.

  I hear someone wailing and turn to see Mrs. Anderson shuffling across the lawn toward us, waving her handkerchief.

  “Vicar! Vicar, help!”

  Woolsey and I run over to her. She’s white as a sheet and tears are running down her cheeks.

  “What’s happened?” Vicar Woolsey asks her.

  “It’s my husband. This morning, he didn’t wake up!”

  “It is a true tragedy,” Lady Birchwood says, her handkerchief to her nose.

  After the vicar and I went to the Anderson home, the vicar confirmed what the wife already knew. Mr. Anderson, the old gardener, had passed away peacefully in his sleep. Woolsey thought it was best if I delivered the news to the big house in person.

  Miss Thompson’s face is red, though not from crying. She looks mortally embarrassed. And I suppose she is. What did she tell me? That her aunt had been disappointed that she’d hired someone so old. She certainly didn’t expect such a small mistake to come back and bite her so spectacularly.

  “Do let Mrs. Anderson know that we will take care of the funeral expenses,” Lady Birchwood says. “He wasn’t with us long, but we can do that much at least.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” I say. “I’ll be sure to let her know.”

  “I suppose this makes you our new permanent gardener,” Lady Birchwood says, surprising me.

  “Umm… Does it? I thought you would seek out a new round of applicants. I’d be happy to apply again, of course.”

  “Nonsense,” she says. “No sense making you run through such hoops. You have a good reference, good character, according to the village gossips.” I blush at that. “And you’ve already been working here with Mr. Anderson. No, there is no reason to seek applicants elsewhere.”

  I’m thrilled from my head to my toes, but I do my best to hide my joy. I only have the job because another man died, and that’s no reason to celebrate. But this is the answer to so many of my problems.

  “Thank you, my lady,” I say. “Thank you so much. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Yes, well, well,” she says, waving me off. “I have no doubt it is the best choice. Wouldn’t you agree, Violet?”

  I look at Miss Thompson and see concern on her face. Her brow is furrowed and her gaze narrow.

  “Yes, auntie,” she says, trying to erase the look from her face, but her voice is small. “Yes, of course. Mr. Hawthorn is perfectly suited for the position.”

  “Well, there. That settles it,” Lady Birchwood says. “Speak to the butler. He will make the arrangements for your room and board. You’ll start tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She smiles and then moves off toward another room. It is then that I notice voices coming from that direction and remember that they still have houseguests.

  “I’m sorry to have taken you away from your company, ma’am,” I say to Miss Thompson.

  “It is no trouble,” she says. “I am sad Mr. Anderson died, of course. But I am glad that the situation has given me a chance to right an earlier wrong. I should have hired you in the first place. I’m sorry.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” I say. “And I won’t let you down, I promise.”

  “Of that I am sure,” she says. Then she mutters something like, “if nothing else.”

  “Pardon?” I say.

  She shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

  I hear footsteps and see who I assume is her suitor coming toward us. I only saw him from a distance before. But now that I can see him more clearly, more fully, it doesn’t make me like him any more. He’s a bit taller than me with dark features. And I don’t just mean his hair. There’s a dark look about him. A look that makes him a bit mysterious. A look that I have seen more than one housemaid swoon over. It’s a dangerous look, in my opinion. But I know my opinion doesn’t matter. And I could be wrong. After all, he’s not here to seduce Miss Thompson, but to court her. It’s all perfectly respectable, I’m sure.

  “There you are, darling,” the man says as he steps to Miss Thompson’s side. “And who is this?”

  “Oh, of course,” she says. “Forgive me. This is Edward Griswold. And this is our gardener, Mr. Hawthorn.”

  “I thought your aunt said that your gardened just died,” the man says.

  Miss Thompson’s face flushes. “Yes, he did. This is his replacement.”

  “So soon?” he asks, holding his hand out for a shake. “Well, you certainly swooped in there, didn’t you, Hawthorn?”

  “That was not my intention in delivering the sad news,” I say, giving his soft hand a harder-than-required shake.

  “Not at all,” Miss Thompson says, coming to my defense. “Mr. Hawthorn had been working as Mr. Anderson’s assistant, so it was only natural he should step in.”

  “Hmm. Well, congratulations, Mr. Hawthorn.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Actually, Mr. Hawthorn helped me with the flower arrangements before your arrival. I fear it would have looked like a wild forest in here without his aid.”

  “Oh?” Griswold says. “I didn’t know that was a gardener’s preview. A rather feminine endeavor, is it not?” He smiles at me like a cat with a fish that makes me like him even less, if such a thing were possible.

  “I’m sure there are many household duties and positions a lofty, young lord as yourself has no knowledge of,” I say.

  Griswold laughs. “I am sure that is true. Why would any man lower himself to such a level if he didn’t have to?”

  I know he’s insulting me, but his words fall flat. I have no shame in doing honest, hard work.

  “Edward,” Miss Thompson says before I can continue the conversation, “we should let Mr. Hawthorn go. He has much to do to prepare for his new position.”

  “Indeed,” I say, doffing my cap. “Again, I apologize for taking up too much of your time.”

  “Not at all—” she starts to say, but I turn and make my way down the front stairs quickly.

  I can’t get away from Griswold soon enough. He’s exactly the sort of man I warned Catherine against when I heard she was going into service. The kind of man I’ll have to protect Emma from should she follow suit. The sort of man with pretty, smooth words that catch innocent girls unawares. He might not have ill-intent toward Miss Thompson, but will a man such as that stay faithful to her? I fear not.

  But why am I worried about such a thing? It matters not to me. I could never court her. And I don’t work for her. I work for Lady Birchwood. Soon enough, Violet will marry that smarmy lordling and go off to live at whatever crumbling estate his family has managed to hold onto.

  I’ll never understand people like Violet’s parents. Willing to risk everything just to gain a title? What is a title worth? I’d rather have a respectable job and a warm cottage than some big, empty, drafty old house.

  Though, I suppose that’s only because I’m not titled. I’m not a lord. I don’t have a legacy to uphold. If I were, I might think differently. Still, I hope that I wouldn’t risk my daughter’s happiness, her safety, just so I could put the word “lord” in front of my name.

  I shake my head of such thoughts when I realize I’m halfway home and forgot to meet with the butler. That’s what I need to focus on. I have the position I’ve dreamed of for years. Head gardener! It will pay well. Well enough to provide for myself and my family. I still won’t be able to save much for a while, bu
t that will change soon enough. I’d still rather see Emma as an apprentice, but if she wants to stay close to home and go into service, I’d have the connection to be able to do that. Once I’m settled, I’ll have to speak to the housekeeper about any open maid positions.

  I just need to focus on all the good that has suddenly come my way and not be distracted by Miss Thompson.

  Chapter Eleven

  Violet

  I pace along the side porch of the house overlooking the east garden. Edward Griswold was supposed to meet me here, but he is a few minutes late. We are planning the walk through the gardens and down the lane to the village. It is a way for us to be alone enough to talk and get to know one another but still be in eye of the viewing public. It’s all very proper, of course.

  It seems to me that the purpose of our marriage will be evident to all. I need a title; he needs a fortune. The last thing we need if we hope to be allowed to remain in polite society is a scandal. As long as everything is above board, people will forget the unfortunate arrangement as soon as there is something else to draw their attention.

  I must say that I am surprised by the whole affair. I rather thought that the Griswolds would come to dinner, my aunt and Lord Griswold would discuss the particulars, we would trot down to the church where the papers would be signed and that would be that. We would be husband and wife and I would be whisked away from my home of the last three years north to the Griswold estate. But that is not what has happened at all.

  My aunt says that Lord Griswold has not spoken to her at all about a marriage arrangement except to say that Edward will speak to her when the time comes. I suppose that means it is Edward who will ask for her permission to marry me. Of course, under normal circumstances, he would ask my father. As it is, though, my aunt has been given the authority to approve of any matches or not.

  That is a mere formality, though. I must say, all of this feels a bit like play-acting. I appreciate being courted, of course. Edward has been kind and funny. He has pulled out chairs and opened doors and given me flowers plucked from the garden. It has all been lovely.

  But we all know that this is no love match. Even if Edward were cold and disinterested, as long as he was not cruel, I don’t think it is within my power to refuse a proposal. My parents would be furious if I refused without just cause. And being a cold fish is not something they would consider just cause. I’ve never seen my parents be anything more than tepid with each other. They do have four children, though, so what do I know about such things. Behind closed doors, people can be quite different.

  And that is what frightens me. If Edward were cold and distant, I would at least believe his intentions, and I would not expect more of him after we were wed. But this Edward… I don’t know. I should be reassured by his kindness, but it is completely the opposite. The more affable he is to me, the more I fear he is hiding his true persona.

  But what am I to do about it? If this is the face he is showing me, I can hardly convince him to remove the mask. He will not want to do anything to put the match in jeopardy. He will beg and plead for me to believe he is in earnest and I will have no choice but to believe him.

  It’s all rather exhausting to think about, and yet I have barely slept since the Griswolds arrived. I feel as though I am in the middle of a wide, open field, with a carriage speeding toward me. I see it coming, and yet my feet are planted firmly to the ground. I cannot get out of the way.

  “Violet!”

  I am woken from my thoughts by Edward skipping up the steps toward me.

  “Oh, have you already been out today?” I ask, surprised. It is only mid-morning.

  “I seem to have taken the long way around to get here,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “Are you ready?” He offers me his arm.

  I open my parasol and hold it over my head even though I am already wearing a straw bonnet. One can never be too careful about one’s complexion, my mother would say.

  “Yes.” I step toward him and loop my hand through his arm. It is not an unpleasant sensation, but neither is it wholly comfortable. It seems a bit too familiar, so as we reach the bottom of the steps, I slide my hand away.

  “Thank you for helping me down the stairs.”

  He seems a little surprised, but his smile quickly returns. “Of course. So, which way are we walking?”

  “Umm, this way, I think,” I say as I walk down the nearest path, keeping both hands on the handle of my parasol. “The village will be this way.”

  We walk in silence for a moment. I’m not really sure what to say. What does one say to a person who is only marrying you for your money? Unfortunately, Mother did not include that part in her lessons.

  “So, how are you liking Birchwood?” I ask.

  “Oh, it is comfortable enough,” he says. “A bit smaller than what I am used to.”

  “Small? Oh dear. How large is Griswold Hall?”

  “About the same size as the king’s residence at Balmoral.”

  I have to shrug. I have no idea what that is and certainly am not the type of person to be invited to the king’s residence. Edward laughs.

  “Suffice to say it is quite large. The castle itself—”

  “Castle?” I say in surprise. “I knew you had a large estate, but no idea it was a proper castle.”

  He chuckles and gives a little sigh. He must think I am a Yankee Doodle Dandy after all.

  “Yes, well, the castle itself is about thirty-thousand square feet. There are two hundred rooms, sixty of them bedrooms.”

  “Goodness me.”

  “The staff is quite modest. About thirty maids and twenty footmen, then the butler, the housekeeper, the kitchen staff, valets, and so on.”

  “And…so on,” I try to repeat, but it comes out as little more than a whisper.

  “Of course, that is just the indoor staff. There’s the gardeners, groundskeepers, grooms and stablemen. Then about two hundred men work the fields and livestock around the house.”

  My walk slows to nearly a standstill. “You have…nearly three hundred people in your employ?”

  “Well, my father is only an earl, not a duke.”

  “Only…? I have to sit down.” I stumble to a nearby garden bench as the world spins around me. I had no idea just how large an earl’s estate was. My mind can hardly credit it. Sixty bedrooms! Does that mean we can expect that many guests from time to time? Well, more than that with married couples and children. I’m nearly nauseous at the thought of having to host nearly a hundred people. It sounds more like a hotel than a home. Not a home, a castle! I’m in over my head. What were Mother and Father thinking? I can’t do this.

  “What’s wrong?” Edward asks, sitting beside me. “Are you ill?”

  “No,” I say, “just a bit frightened, I think.”

  “Of what? Have I upset you?”

  I look at his face for a moment and see that he looks genuinely confused. How can he not understand how overwhelming such numbers are to someone unaccustomed to such a life?

  “Are you not at all worried about marrying me?” I ask. “Me? A stupid American. I don’t have the slightest idea how to run a house like that.”

  “Well, you’ll learn, I suppose,” he says. “Mother will live with us as long as Father is alive. She can teach you to be a countess, just as I have learned to be an earl from Father. By the time she moves to the dower house I’m sure you will know what you are doing.”

  “That…is something, I suppose,” I say. “But you’ve had your whole life to prepare for this. You were raised to think such a life is normal. This is all completely foreign to me. I’m sorry to have wasted your time. I don’t think I can do this.”

  His mouth opens a bit in surprise, but he closes it quickly. He looks away, running his hand over his jaw, and then he turns back to face me. He takes both of my hands in his.

  “Violet, I knew you were American before we arrived. I know you are not English.”

  “I’m sure,” I say. “I would never dec
eive you. But that is why I am telling you this now. You might think that since I am an heiress, I am used to some American-style aristocratic life with a huge house and dozens of staff members and being a lady of some renown among the people.”

  “Yes,” he says, as if wondering where this is going.

  “But that isn’t how things are over there,” I say. “By American standards, our house is considered large with only about forty rooms, including ten bedrooms. And my family uses four of them. We have a cook, a housekeeper, three or four maids, no footmen. We do have a butler and a groom. We have a groundskeeper who comes about once a week to tend the grounds. But that’s about it.”

  “That’s all?” he says, and he looks so confused you would think I told him we live in a hole in the ground. I nod. “No wonder your father has so much money. You live so frugally, it must all be sitting in the bank collecting interest.”

  “To most people, we appear quite extravagant,” I say.

  “Oh, I’m sure,” he says. “I didn’t mean that in an insulting way. Nothing wrong with spending money wisely.”

  I have to stifle a laugh since his family’s inability to manage money is what has led us to this situation.

  “Edward,” I say, “I am so very flattered that you wish to court me, even if it is…just for the benefits I might bring to the union.” He blushes at that. One thing I have learned about the English is that speaking openly about money is almost as taboo as the things that might go on inside of a bordello. “But I want to make sure that who exactly you would be marrying is very clear. I am not a lady. I would be going into such a life blind. I am certain to be a disappointment to your mother, and to everyone else who expects me to be the Countess of Griswold. I’m simply not that girl.”

  Edward seems to think on this seriously for a moment, then he chuckles. “My dear, I wouldn’t have you any other way.”