by Daphne Bloom
Any hopes of marrying and setting up house will have to wait, at least a while, if not indefinitely. I’m going from taking care of only myself to a family of six overnight. And I have no job prospects, only hope and a decent trade. Bit by bit, my savings will be chipped away, and any earnings I make will have to be spent on the family. How will I ever be able to have a wife and provide for a family of my own? I don’t suppose I ever will.
“Edison!”
I’m called out of my gloomy thoughts when I see a girl running toward me. It takes me far too long to realize that it is my sister Emma.
“What’s this?” I ask as she runs right into my arms. I have to hold her back to look at her. “This can’t be little Emma? I thought you were just a wee thing?”
“You’ve been gone a minute,” she says. “I’m fifteen now.”
Fifteen, I think. Only a year younger than when I left and started living on my own. I’d thought I was old enough, but I was only a kid. And looking at Emma, I can’t imagine her trying to fend for herself in the world.
Walking up the road behind her, a bit slowly, is my brother William. He was only three when I left, so I don’t suppose he remembers me at all. I doff my cap at him.
“So, William, you’ve been the man of the house for a while, I take it.”
He doesn’t speak to me, but crosses his arms. I can see the anger in his eyes because for many years, I saw it in my own.
“Come on,” Emma says, taking one of my bags and my arm. “Ma will be so happy to see ya.”
She leads me to the little stone house surrounded by a worn picket fence that squeaks when she opens it. The grass in the yard is sparse, mostly dirt. There’s a girl of about ten hanging laundry to dry in the early summer sun. I take it that she is my youngest sister, Grace. I give her a smile when she glances at me, but she goes back to her work without a greeting.
“Ma!” Emma says, opening the door. She disappears into the house, but I hesitate. I have nothing but bad memories of this place and had hoped to never see it again. I wait for Father to pop out of the door and beat me senseless, as if this had all been a trick to lure me back home. I start when it is Emma who comes back, beckoning me forward.
“Ma’s in here,” she says.
I let out an exhale and step through the door. The house is just as I remember it, though it seems a bit smaller now. There is a large open room that serves as the kitchen, dining area, and living room. A door at the back of the room leads to two small bedrooms, one for Mother and Father and one for the children. There are windows, but the room still seems dark. The house always felt dark. At the table is a young boy of about seven, my youngest brother, Jacob, using a pencil and paper to trace his letters.
“Edison!” My mother stands up from a rocking chair and limps toward me. She looks so much older than I remember, far more than the forty-four years she should look. She’s terribly thin, and her hair scraggly. But her eyes are the bright blue I remember, and they turn glassy as she approaches me. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
I had planned to be strong. To not let the past overwhelm me. But it’s not my choice. “Mother.” All the anger or resentment I might have held toward her melts away as I hug her. She was as much a victim as the rest of us. And seeing her now, I know she’s paid a dear price.
“Well, look at ya,” she says, pulling back and wiping her eyes and nose. She squeezes my forearms. “So strong. And ya look well-fed.”
“I’ve done alright for myself.”
“I can see that well enough.” She sighs and there is an awkward silence. “Well, come, sit.” She goes back to her rocking chair and motions to a chair across from her.
“I have to admit,” she says. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Neither was I,” I say. “Coming back here had never been my plan.”
She nods. “As long as he was alive, I didn’t want you to. Daniel, bless him, he couldn’t stay either. And William…” She shakes her head and I see that William, silent as he is, has entered the room and watches me warily. “Well, he’s gone now, so no need to dwell on such things.”
I wish I could forget it all. But it’s not that easy. “And Catherine?” I say. “She’s in service.”
“Yes!” Mother says, obviously proud. “Such a good, respectable position. Over in Georgetown. Hardly get to see her, though. She only gets a half-day off each month. But she writes, and sends money when she can.”
I nod. I’m glad Catherine is helping the family, but at the same time, I’d rather see her planning for her own future. She was a pretty girl, and I’m sure she could find a fine husband working at an estate. A footman or a coachman, perhaps.
“I’m not sure how much help I can be to you,” I say. “I’ll have to find work as soon as possible.”
“Just you being here gives me strength. But you said you’d been working on an estate. You can surely find something around here easy enough.”
“I hope so,” I say. “But my training was as a gardener. Estates don’t typically hire very many of those, or need to hire new ones very often.”
“A gardener?” she says, surprised. “Well, I dare say. You know, I heard at church the other day that the old gardener at Birchwood recently died.”
“Did he?” I say, interested. I’m sorry to hear the man died, but this could be good news for me.
“Indeed. Worked himself to death, or near enough, they say. Didn’t hear all the details. The poor, young miss was the one that found him.”
“How terrible for her.” I don’t remember any of the upper-class families around here, so I don’t know who she’s referring to, but it had to be an unpleasant sight for anyone to have come across.
“Well, anyway, strapping, young lad like yourself, I’m sure you’ll find something right quick. You’ll be bunking back there. I share with Catherine and Grace, so the other room is for you, William, and Jacob. All together again, just like old times, won’t it be?”
I try to smile, but there’s a pain in my chest at the thought of old times. I know the old man is gone, but…his presence is still here. I can feel it. I wish I had somewhere else to stay. I’m not sure I’ll get a bit of sleep. Hopefully, whatever position I find will come with a room so I don’t have to stay here.
“I should unpack,” I say, standing. Mother grips my hand.
“I am so, so glad you’re back, my boy.”
Her eyes are watery again, and I know she’s waiting for me to return the sentiment, but I can’t. I give her a tight smile and pat her hand before pulling away and picking up my bags. I might be back, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay.
Chapter Three
Violet
“I’m not sure I can do this,” I say, wringing my hands as I pace behind Aunt Charlotte.
“You said you needed to learn more about running the estate,” she says as she fusses with her hat. It is her visiting day, and while I usually go with her, today I will be holding interviews for a new gardener. Poor Mr. Ash! The doctor said that he shouldn’t do such physical labor anymore, especially in the hot sun. He went back to his home village to live with his daughter.
“I know,” I say. “But this seems like a lot of responsibility so quickly! Shouldn’t you be here to guide me? Perhaps I should just observe you first.”
“I already went over the qualifications with you,” she says, “and the questions you should ask. It will all be very easy.”
“It’s not the interview itself,” I say. “But how do I know who is right for the position? What if I make the wrong choice?”
“Well, we all make mistakes, dear.” A footman opens the front door, and she and her maid descend the front stairs to her waiting carriage. I wave as they drive away.
We all make mistakes? Was that meant to be her final, encouraging remark to me? Is she expecting me to make a poor choice?
I check my hair and face in a mirror one more time. I’ve worn my finest at-home dress. Not necessarily to impress the
applicants, but to look as much the part of lady-of-the-manor as possible. I then go downstairs to the servants’ dining hall, where I’ll be holding the interviews. The gardener will technically be a servant, though he won’t answer to the butler the way the others do, so the candidates will have to use the back door. I thought meeting in the servants’ hall would be more practical than asking the contenders to walk all the way to the drawing-room. Plus, there are far more people downstairs than upstairs, so there wouldn’t be any question of impropriety.
“Here you are, m’lady,” the cook, Mrs. Dawson, says as she pours me a cup of tea. “You look a bit pale, if you don’t mind me saying. Are you feeling all right?”
“Do I?” I ask, touching my cheeks, giving them a little pinch for color. “I’m just nervous, I suppose. This is the first time I’ve stood in for Aunt Charlotte on an estate matter.”
She chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, miss. Just go with your gut. And if it doesn’t work out, you can always fire him later.”
She laughs, but I groan. “Oh, I don’t think I could ever fire someone. I’d feel terribly guilty about it.”
“That’s the problem with being a lady, I should wager,” she says before shuffling off. “You have to take the bad with the good.”
I try to sip my tea, but I feel a bit nauseous about the whole thing. In all this time, all my years of trying to snag a lordly husband, I hadn’t considered the unsavory work that might go with it. How dreadful.
I hear a knock from somewhere and start to stand to answer it when I see a footman walk past. I always forget that it is not my place to answer the door. But neither do I know where the back door is in relation to where I’m standing now, so I sit back down.
“Mr. Edison Hawthorn, my lady,” the footman says upon his return, and I jump to my feet again. Standing next to the footman is a terribly handsome young man, perhaps a few years older than myself, with dark hair and tan skin. He holds his hat in his hands and gives a slight bow. But even then, I notice his gaze, eyes of light brown, lingering on my face. If I’d looked pale before, I’m sure I must look positively feverish now. I feel hot and just know I’m blushing. He’s not at all what I was expecting in a gardener.
“Umm… A pleasure to meet you,” I say, holding out my hand. He stands back upright and gives my hand a warm shake. “I’m Thompson. I mean. Violet. I mean, Violet Thompson.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” he says, his voice gentle, and a bit playful. He must think I appear quite silly. I clear my throat and try to regain my senses. Focus. What am I supposed to do next?
“Thank you,” I say to the footman, dismissing him. He gives a quick bow.
“Ma’am.”
I then turn back to Edison and motion to a chair at the table. “Please. May I pour you some tea?” I reach for the teapot.
“I can do that,” he says, his hand reaching the teapot handle a fraction of a second before mine does. When our hands touch, I can feel my face blush again.
“I’m so sorry!” I bluster as I pull away.
He chuckles as he pours himself a cup. “For what?”
I shake my head. “I feel like I am making a terrible blunder of things already.”
He looks at me curiously and then puts the teapot down before adding cubes of sugar to his cup. “I’m sure you are doing fine,” he says, a glint of humor in his eyes.
“What is it?” I finally have to ask. I touch the edge of my mouth, wondering if there is a spot of tea on my face.
“Your accent,” he says. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“Oh!” I giggle behind my hand. “I’m American.”
“American?” he says, surprised. “How interesting. I’ve never met an American before. What brought you all the way over here?”
I hesitate for a moment. For some reason I feel a little embarrassed to say. “I… Well, I was hoping to find a husband, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
He laughs. “Are there no men in America?”
“Not with a title,” I say, trying to make light of it, but the words instead thud like a stone.
“Oh. I see.” He stirs the sugar around in his cup before taking a sip, the awkward silence hanging in the air between us.
“So… Um…” I try to remember the things I need to say or ask. “You are younger than I expected. I thought that only older men would be applying.”
“I hope that doesn’t put you off me, my lady,” he says.
“Just miss,” I say. “Or ma’am is fine. I’m not a lady.”
“I’m very sure that you are.”
His eyes meet mine for a moment once again and I feel an attraction toward him I’ve never felt with anyone before. Not with any of the titled men I’d flirted with during the Seasons. Perhaps that’s why I’ve yet to secure a proposal. There’s been something missing between myself and those men. A…spark, I suppose.
“What I mean is,” he says, clearing his throat, “that you’re a lady in my book. I’m just a fella from the village who happened to pick up a fair bit of gardening know-how in my last position.” He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and hands me a folded letter. “My reference.”
“Thank you,” I say, opening it and reading it eagerly, glad to get back to the purpose of his visit. “This looks very good. Her ladyship says that you did fine work with the garden, from hedges to flowers. And that you are rather handy as well.”
“I try to make myself useful,” he says. “I know some outdoor workers think the winter months are a time for holiday. But I find it to be the best time to catch up on things that are usually forgotten during the rest of the year.”
I nod. “It is good to know that you are a hard worker.” I peruse the letter a bit more. “Her ladyship says that she was sad to lose you. Why did you leave your previous position?”
“Family affairs,” he says. “My father died a few months ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
He nods but holds his jaw tight. I have a feeling he’s not sorry at all. “Thank you. But he left my mother and four younger siblings behind. She’s a bit lame, you see, so she can’t work as much as she’d need to in order to provide for everyone.”
“You are from the village, then? Birch Hollow?” I say.
“Indeed, ma’am. It would be too far to trek back and forth every day, so I’d be grateful for accommodations here. But at least I’d be near in an emergency and could check in on them in my off time.”
“Of course,” I say. “A room and all your meals are included in the salary.”
“That’s good to know, thank you.”
“And you understand all the requirements for the position?” I say, feeling a bit more comfortable with the process. “You would need to maintain the grounds, obviously. But you would be expected to make improvements and suggest changes. You’d need to keep flowers in season for arrangements.” He nods along with all of this. “You have a good reference, but you were only the assistant gardener. You’d have the lead position here. The estate is small enough that we only have one gardener, no assistants except for special occasions, and those are rare with only me and Lady Birchwood in residence.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. “I was more than just an assistant. More an apprentice, really. The head gardener there was a fine man who taught me everything he knew. I’m sure I could do a good job here and make you proud.”
“I’m sure you would,” I say. I’m very nearly about to offer him the position outright when there is another knock on the back door.
“Oh,” I say, standing. “I have two more people to speak with today before making a decision.”
“Of course,” he says, offering his hand. “I understand, but I do hope you’ll consider me and not let my youth deter you.”
I shake his hand. “I will hopefully decide by the end of the day.”
He releases my hand and gives a quick bow before putting his cap back on and leaving the room. I let out a long exhale a
s soon as he is gone. I’ve never felt this way about anyone! I’m so drawn to him. Not only because he is handsome, which he is, but… I can’t quite say what it is. He has a sense of humor about him, a playfulness that puts me at ease. Indeed, I think I said far more about myself than I should have.
He’s perfect for the position, of course. An impeccable reference. Years of experience. Hard-working. But…
I hate to admit it, but I think having him around might be a dangerous thing. I’m here in England to marry a lord, not a lowly gardener! That was unkind of me. He’s not lowly, clearly. He’s no lord, but neither am I a lady. He’s a perfectly respectable young man. But my attraction to him, I can’t let it distract me from my purpose. My goal. How can I keep myself open to falling in love with a duke or a viscount if I can’t stop thinking about a gardener? He was pleasant to look at for the moment, but I must be serious. I can’t let something as superficial as physical attraction make me give the man a job.
My aunt put me in charge of this, and the cook said I should trust my instincts. But I don’t think I can trust my instincts in this. My gut tells me he is perfect for the job. But is that me thinking practically? Or is it butterflies clouding my judgment? I shake my head and clear my throat as the footman reenters the room.
“Mr. Anderson, ma’am.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” I say, holding out my hand to the short, older man in front of me.
“Of course,” he says with a smile that reveals a couple of missing teeth. “Likewise.”
I motion to the chair vacated by Mr. Hawthorn to begin the interview. There would be no chance of distractions with this fellow. He has a reference letter, but it is from ten years ago, when he was much younger. He wouldn’t be up to doing much repair or maintenance work around the estate, but I’m not hiring a handyman, so I can’t hold that against him.