by Daphne Bloom
I’m taken aback. “What?”
“I would never want you to pretend to be something you aren’t. So what if you are American and not a born-and-bred countess? I know that you will do the best you can, and that’s enough for me.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and have to fan myself for a moment. “I’m very glad to hear that,” I say. My fears are put to rest for the moment and I take a moment to bask in his bright smile. He starts to lean toward me, and my heart races. I only have a second to wonder if he is going to kiss me when there is a crashing sound in the bushes and Edison Hawthorn stumbles onto the path right in front of us. Edward and I jump to our feet from the bench.
“Oh, Miss Thompson!” Edison says. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I was just cleaning out some of the underbrush here. I didn’t realize you were here.”
“It’s quite all right,” I say, though I do doubt his words a bit. If he had been doing as he said, shouldn’t we have heard him approach? I don’t want to think ill of him, but could he have been spying on us? No, that’s a terrible thing to think. Maybe he was just being quiet so as not to disturb us. After all, isn’t that why Edward and I are in the garden anyway, to make sure we are seen?
Edward clears his throat and straightens his collar. “Indeed.” His voice sounds annoyed.
Strangely, I feel a little relieved by the interruption. I had thought that Edward might kiss me, but I am not sure I am ready for that. Even though we were talking about marriage and a possible life together, I’m still not completely comfortable with him. I still need more time.
Edward pulls out his pocket watch. “Oh, dear. Is that the time? Luncheon should be soon. Why don’t I walk you back to the house, Miss Thompson.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” I say.
“Good day to you, ma’am, sir,” Edison says, doffing his cap.
If it wasn’t inappropriate to thank him for the interruption, I would have done so.
Chapter Twelve
Edison
It’s early evening, after I’ve completed my work for the day at the big house. Before I retire for the evening, I walk down to the village and swing by the church to do a bit of tidying around the grounds. I find this keeps the work from building up, so I’m able to maintain the grounds here without it interfering with my work at the house.
Lady Birchwood gives me a fair wage. It’s less than I was making at my last position, but her property and gardens are smaller. It’s enough, though, that I could probably let the job at the church go, but having a little extra money around never hurt anyone. As long as I have the energy for it, I might as well work both jobs. At least until Emma finds a position.
Emma has not come around to the idea of becoming a seamstress apprentice, and I can’t force her to do so. I’m not her father. I might be the man of the family, but without Mother’s support, I can’t order Emma—or any of them—to do anything they don’t want to do. I can’t understand it, but Emma wants to stay close to home. I told her that if she finds a position as a maid or washerwoman, she’d only get a half-day off each month. She’d also live-in with her employer. If she ends up working anywhere but Birchwood, she’d hardly see Mother, but she’s insistent.
Something catches the corner of my eye and I see Miss Thompson walking down the stone path to the church. She sees me as well and stops. There is surprise on her face, and I think she wishes she could turn and run, but why she would want to do that, I can’t say.
“Evening, Miss Thompson,” I say, doffing my cap.
“Evening, Mr. Hawthorn,” she says, she then looks at my rake. “Why are you raking the lawn?”
“It’s just a bit of extra work,” I say. “I’ve gone from being a bachelor to a family of six. Every little bit helps.”
“Oh, of course,” she says. “How is your family?”
“Well, for the most part.”
“You said your mother was a bit lame, didn’t you?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“May I ask the nature of her impairment?”
I’m a bit surprised at this and try to find a way to explain without telling her just how terrible my father was. I’d rather not talk about that.
“She…was injured,” I say. “A fall, a few years back. Hurt her hip and it never quite healed right.”
Violet winces. “Must have been a terrible fall. Was it from a great height? Down some stairs?”
“I…I’m not exactly sure. It was after I left home.” And a good thing too, I think to myself. If I’d been there when Father hurt her, I’d have killed him myself. But where would that have gotten me? Thrown in the clink, that’s what. Then who would care for the family?
“What does the doctor say?” Violet asks. “Is there hope for recovery?”
“I don’t think she ever saw a doctor,” I say.
“Goodness, why not?” Violet asks, horrified. I don’t say anything and let her come to the conclusion herself. A doctor is too expensive for the likes of people like us. Her cheeks flush red as realization dawns on her. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”
“Don’t apologize, ma’am,” I say. “You are fortunate to not have such worries.”
“I am,” she says. I expect her to slink away in her embarrassment, but instead, she stands up a little taller. “As an employee of Birchwood Manor, your mother should not go untended.”
“Ma’am—”
She raises a hand to stop me. “I will send a doctor to see her, I insist. And at my expense.”
“You don’t need to do that,” I say. “It’s been years—”
“All the more reason why I should do it,” she says. “The longer you wait, the worse the injury may become, especially as she gets older. Please, it will not cost you a thing.”
I’m not sure what to say. It’s a kind, generous offer. I want to accept. I would love for Mother to be healed and not be in so much pain anymore. But I am a bit embarrassed at the idea of taking charity.
“Please, Edison,” she says, her voice gentle. “I want to do this. Won’t you let me?”
“Very well,” I say. “Thank you, m’lady.”
She chuckles. “I’ve told you not to call me that. I’m not a lady. It’s just Miss Thompson.”
I laugh. “We will strike a bargain then. I’ll accept your kind offer and you will let me call you Lady Violet, or my lady, or Lady Birchwood, or what have you.”
“Mr. Hawthorn—” she starts to say.
“No, on this, I insist,” I say. “Helping my mother is the act of a lady, make no mistake. Your actions make you worthy of a title, even if your blood doesn’t.”
This time it is her turn to remain silent for a moment, watching me, trying to figure me out. Her blue eyes take me in, studying me. They sparkle like jewels. And even more so as a smile crosses her face.
“Alright,” she says. “If you insist. Though, try to refrain in front of the other servants. I’ve spent three years trying to get them to stop calling me Lady Violet. I don’t want you undoing all my hard work.”
“How has that been working for you?” I ask.
“Terribly,” she says, and we laugh. “All this time and they still slip up!”
“I don’t think it’s a slip, my lady,” I say. “I’m not sure you know how much the staff like you. It’s not just me. All of them think of you as a lady.”
Her cheeks turn a bit pink. “Really? I had no idea. They are all terribly nice to me, of course.”
“Because you are nice to them,” I say. “You don’t look down your nose at them or treat them like lesser people.”
“Why would I?” she asks.
I shrug. “That’s the way things are here. You must have noticed that you don’t treat your staff the way most other people do.”
She’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “Well, I never would think myself above them because I’m not. The only difference between myself and a maid is that my father has more money.”
“Maybe that’s how things are in Amer
ica,” I say. “But not here. People here are not just born to wealth, but status. And status means a lot.”
“So I’ve noticed,” she says. “That’s why it’s been so hard to secure a proposal.”
We both go quiet at the mention of that awkward topic of Violet Thompson trying to marry a lord.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “It’s a right hard place you’ve found yourself. I don’t envy you. But that Lord Griswold, he’s…he’s been good to you?” I can’t believe I asked such a question. It’s not proper for me to ask about such things, but there it is, and I can’t take it back. I can’t blame her for wanting to marry well. I just want to make sure she’s happy.
She seems to bristle at my question, and I expect her to chastise me, but the fight seems to flee from her as she lets out an exhale.
“He has been nothing but courteous to me,” she says. “A perfect gentleman.” Her tone would suggest there is something she’s not saying.
“And that’s…good?” I ask, wondering why she doesn’t seem more glad about this. He could be much worse.
“Yes, it is, of course,” she says, but her eyes are downcast as she fusses with her reticule. “And yet… I don’t know. There is something bothering me about him.”
“Has he said something untoward?”
“No, no, of course not. It’s nothing he has said or done. But…” She sighs and screws up her face. “But it is something that is just there. A voice in the back of my mind telling me that something is wrong.”
“What is it saying?”
“I don’t know,” she says, and I can see her eyes water a bit. “That’s the frustrating part. I have no reason to reject him, to reject a proposal. He’s everything my parents want for me. And yet…and yet I am terrified to accept. What is wrong with me?”
“Nothing,” I tell her. “It’s normal to have doubts in such a weighty matter.”
“You think my doubts are normal?” she asks. “That I shouldn’t listen to them?”
“I didn’t say that,” I say. “I certainly would not try to advise you on such a thing. And never having been engaged or married myself, I can’t comment on the topic. I only mean that, when it comes to something so serious, it is normal to be anxious over whether a person is making the right choice.”
“Indeed,” she says, blowing her cheeks out. “That is the long and short of it, I suppose. I will have to make a choice, yes or no. I cannot choose both. And once I’ve made my choice, I cannot correct it later should it be the wrong one.”
I notice that her face seems to glow, a yellow and orange hue sitting on her cheeks and nose and forehead. She holds up her hand to block the sun, and I realize it is setting right behind me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t notice how late it is getting. I’ve kept you from whatever business brought you here.”
“No,” she says, stepping to the side so the sun is no longer shining directly into them. “I came here seeking advice. I was going to sit in the chapel and just…pray, I suppose. But talking to you has helped, I think.”
“Has it?” I ask with a chuckle. “I think I must have made things worse.”
She laughs. “Well, I am no closer to an answer, sadly. But just having someone to talk to has made me feel lighter somehow.”
“I’m glad, my lady,” I say, and her face beams even though she has stepped to the shade.
“I’ve spent three years fighting that title. I suppose now I must accept it.”
“Indeed, my lady,” I say, and we both laugh. I hear noises and look over and see some of the village children on the far side of the church lawn running and playing. It’s grown so late, it is after suppertime for many families, so the children are making use of the late summer sun to play before bedtime.
“I should go,” Violet says. “It has become late. Thank you for the conversation.”
“My pleasure, my lady,” I say.
“I’ll have the doctor come around tomorrow,” she says. “I’ll send him a note tonight.”
“Again, thank you, my lady. That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s nothing. If there is anything else I could do for you, do ask.”
“Oh, no. You’ve done…” My voice dies away for a moment. “Actually, my lady, there is one thing.”
“Name it,” she says.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any maid positions open at the house, would you?”
She laughs. “Don’t tell me you are looking for even more work.”
“No,” I say, laughing in turn. “Not at all. No, it is my sister, Emma. She’s of an age to enter service, but she doesn’t want to be far from Mother.”
“Oh! Of course. I don’t know the answer, I’m sorry to say. I will have to ask our housekeeper if she has any positions available. But I would be happy to do that. I’ll do so as soon as I get home and give you an answer as soon as possible. I’m sure she will need to discuss it with my aunt. And she might want to meet Emma first, if she hasn’t already.”
“That’s right fine, my lady,” I say. “Thank you.”
“I’m happy to help. But I am afraid I really must be off this time. Good evening, Mr. Hawthorn.”
“Good evening, Lady Violet.”
My use of her name seems to strike her with surprise, and then she blushes, her hand on her chest as though I had just paid her a great compliment.
“Yes… Of course… Good day—night!” she stammers as she turns and walks away from me. I had no idea that using her name would garner such a reaction. I look forward to seeing how she reacts the next time.
Chapter Thirteen
Violet
It’s a warm day, so Edward suggests that we go riding. He invites his sister, Esme, a girl who has not said two words to me since her arrival, along with us as chaperone. The three of us amble along for a while over the wide, green, rolling hills of Birchwood estate. The sun is shining brightly, so I wore a hat with a wide brim. There is a slight, refreshing breeze to keep the heat from becoming too oppressive.
“Do you enjoy riding, Esme?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“Of course,” she says, her tone even. She does not even turn to look at me.
“I had never ridden a horse before I moved here,” I say. “I never rode them in America.”
“Never? Even at home?” Esme asks.
“What do you mean?” I say.
“I can understand not riding them in a city like Boston. It must be like London, with plenty of carriages about. But what about at your family’s country estate?”
I laugh, but when Edward doesn’t follow suit, I realize she’s not joking. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were making fun of me. We don’t have city homes and country homes in America. We live just outside Boston year-round. We have horses for our carriages, but I never had much cause to ride one for pleasure.”
“Then what did you do?” Edward asks me. When I look at him, he clarifies, “For pleasure?” He gives me a grin that is both playful and wolfish. I am not sure which smile he is hoping I’ll see. I feel my face blush and look ahead of me, away from him.
“Not a lot,” I say. “I had only finished school a few months before I came here. I enjoyed the usual things, I suppose. Reading, playing the pianoforte. But I had not found anything that truly sparked my passion yet.”
“And since coming here,” Edward goes on. “Have you had time to find things that please you?”
I don’t have to look at him to know he is still giving me that look. The one I am not sure how to interpret. I must be paranoid. I am so certain that Edward is only interested in me for my money that I am looking for any reason to dislike him. To distrust him. I should give him the benefit of the doubt. My intentions are not pure either. What a fine mess it all is.
“Not really,” I mumble. “Though I have enjoyed learning to ride. And I have picked up a surprising amount of knowledge about gardening
and flowers. I was not taught much about flowers back home, but what I have learned here has been rather interesting.”
“At Griswold House we have a garden so large it would put Birchwood to shame,” he says. “Isn’t that right, Esme?” he calls to his silent sister.
“Indeed,” she says, offering nothing more.
“I am sure that everything about Griswold would dwarf Birchwood,” I say. “My aunt’s late husband was only a baron after all.”
I hear what I think is a snort coming from Esme. Her face is impassive by the time I whirl my head around, so I suppose the noise could have come from her horse, but I don’t think so.
“Still, such a small house does have its charms,” Edward says, which I think is supposed to be a compliment of some sort. I give a tight smile and nod.
“Shall we ride a bit faster?” I suggest. I might not have grown up riding, but I have become rather adept during my years here.”
“Certainly,” Edward says.
I nod across the fields to a small, crumbling, stone house. “Over the rise, beyond the house, there is a creek. The creek runs into a wooded area where there is a bit of shade. It would be a good place to water the horses and take a break.”
“Excellent,” Edward says. “See you there.” He gives the horse a hard kick—far harder than I think is necessary. I’ve ridden that horse several times and he is quite obedient without much prodding. I wince for the poor thing as he takes off at a swift run.
“Well, I didn’t plan to ride quite that fast,” I say jokingly to Esme, and then I remember who I am talking to. I don’t expect a response and adjust myself on the saddle before urging my mare to speed up.
“You’re not one of us, you know,” Esme says before I can get away and I freeze. I had suspected that at some point she would tell me what she thought of me. But her curt words still catch me off guard.
“I know,” I say, looking at her earnestly. I am surprised to see that some of the anger I thought I had seen before has fled. I don’t think she expected me to agree with her.