by Daphne Bloom
I blush. They make me out to be a sort of conniving villain when, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t be here at all.
“Are there any young men who might find Violet’s motives an asset instead of a detriment?” Aunt Charlotte asks, laying everything bare.
“Well, I don’t like to say anything,” Lady Brunt says, “but I have heard that Edward, Lord Griswold’s heir, is looking for a wife of means.”
“I didn’t know Griswold was in trouble,” Aunt Charlotte says.
“Of course, they’ve kept it as quiet as possible—”
I snort a laugh and then cough to cover it up. Now that Lady Brunt knows about their predicament all of England will know soon enough.
“Bless you,” Lady Brunt says to me before turning back to my aunt. “But, apparently, things are dire enough that if Edward doesn’t marry soon, the estate will have to be sold.”
“How tragic,” Lady Halstead says, putting her hand to her heart.
“Indeed,” Aunt Charlotte says. “Has Edward had no success finding an English heiress?”
“Not yet,” Lady Brunt explains. “There are few men who want their daughter’s dowry to be spent propping up a failed estate. Should the estate continue to fall, the poor girl could end up penniless. Or worse, living back at home.”
This is something that concerns me too, and I have mentioned it to my parents more than once. What if I marry a man who only wants my money, and then he spends us into the poorhouse and I’m left with nothing? It’s a terrifying prospect.
“Of course,” Aunt Charlotte says with a nod, not giving any indication that she wishes to discuss the Griswolds further. “Do any of you have any travel plans for the summer?”
The ladies begin talking about spending the coming months at Bath or with their children and grandchildren and the matter of fortune-hunters is put to rest. At least formally. I am sure that all three of them know that my aunt was inquiring on my behalf.
After another hour or so of chatter, the ladies finally make their excuses to leave. I’m quite glad of it. My cheeks hurt from smiling and my back is sore from sitting up so straight.
“I suppose I have a letter to write,” Aunt Charlotte says as soon as the ladies are gone.
“Oh, must you?” I ask, a bit more whine to it than I intended. “I mean, I’d really rather not marry at all than marry a fortune-hunter. There are so many things that could go wrong.”
“I know,” she says. “It’s distasteful to me too. But… Well, I should hate to lose you altogether. After three years of having you here, it would be so sad to see you return to America.”
“What do you mean?”
Aunt Charlotte walks over to a small desk and pulls out a letter. She hands it to me. “From your mother. It arrived a few days ago.”
I open the letter and skim over it. “She says that if I am unable to secure a proposal soon, I am to return home and… What? Elizabeth is to be sent in my place?” I read further. “They will give her my dowry? Why?”
“Your parents…” Aunt Charlotte sighs as she sits on the couch again. “It seems they are losing faith in your ability to secure a title. If you don’t marry, they are going to send Elizabeth instead. And by combining your dowries, they hope she will be too enticing for a titled lord to resist.”
“But…but what about me? Without a dowry, how will I find a husband even in America?”
Aunt Charlotte shrugs. “You’d marry for love, perhaps.”
My cheeks blush red as Mr. Hawthorn’s face flashes in my mind. I quickly shake it away. How many times have I said I would rather marry for love than marry a fortune-hunter? But without a dowry, that would mean marrying… Well, marrying poor for lack of a better term.
I’m suddenly very torn. I don’t need a large house or fancy clothes, but I do want my children to be educated. I want at least a comfortable life. I want my own daughters to have dowries. I suppose all that could still be possible if I caught the eye of the right man.
But I’ve already wasted so much time here. Three Seasons; three years. My aunt wasn’t wrong about me soon being an old maid. Most men want a wife younger than me.
There is also the fact that I don’t necessarily want to go back. When my parents first sent me away, I missed America, missed my old life so much. But now… Well, I’ve grown rather accustomed to life here. The weather is finer and the wide, rolling, green hills around the estate are perfect for riding. London is one of the most interesting cities in the world. And I have made some friends. There is also my aunt. I didn’t know her at all before I came here, but now, she’s become a second mother to me. In truth, I’d be content if things stayed exactly as they are. But I suppose that’s not possible.
I fold the letter and put it back in its envelope to hand to Aunt Charlotte. “I suppose you should write your letter, then. Marrying a fortune-hunter might be preferable to returning to America.”
She takes the letter, turning it around in her hands. “I’m not going to offer Edward Griswold your hand in marriage right away. I’m just going to invite him and his family to visit so that the two of you might get to know each other. Who knows, you might just decide he’s perfect for you.”
“I suppose I should give him a chance,” I say. “After all, am I any better? I shouldn’t judge him too harshly before we even meet. That would hardly be fair, would it?”
“Quite,” Aunt Charlotte says, but I know there is doubt in her words. I feel them myself.
I force a smile and nod to Aunt Charlotte. “Everything will be fine, I’m sure.”
She smiles as well, but there is no comfort in it as she leaves the room to go to her study and compose her letter. I sigh and walk around the room for a moment before stopping at a window and looking out. I see Mr. Anderson clipping away at a rose bush and am disappointed in myself once again for not hiring Mr. Hawthorn.
No, I tell myself. No, I made the right decision. Just like reaching out to Edward Griswold is the right decision.
…Right?
Chapter Six
Edison
Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. But for me, it’s a reminder of just how much harder I need to work to provide for my family.
My sisters each have two work dresses they wear throughout the week, and then one dress as their “Sunday best.” But they are still terribly shabby. Worn, faded, and patched. Grace’s dress is undoubtedly a hand-down from Emma, which was probably a hand-down from Catherine. The boys look worse, with the ends of their pant legs far above the ankles and their jacket sleeves not reaching their wrists. I feel guilty having a simple suit that fits and is in good condition while my siblings are practically in rags. I had thought that Father at least had provided the basic necessities for the family before he spent the remainder on drink. But it appears he bought them food and little else.
Mother leans on my arm as we walk down the cobblestone path out of the church to stand in the shade of a tree to speak with the other parishioners and let the children play together. I notice some of the village girls give me appraising glances and then approving smiles, but I try to act oblivious. The last thing I need is another mouth to feed. Marriage is far in my future, if it ever comes at all.
As Mother talks with her friends, telling them how glad she is to have me back and such, I keep an eye on the door of the church. Throughout the service, I was blessed with a view of the back of Miss Thompson’s head. I know I should have been paying attention to the sermon, but every time I tried, my eyes were always drawn back to flaxen curls, pinned up to reveal the back of a thin, pale neck. Her green dress was edged with intricate lace, and she wore a gold chain, clasped in the back. Looking at her from behind was pleasant enough, but I’d like a chance to see her from the front before returning home.
“—Mr. Hawthorn?”
“Hmm?” I say when I hear someone say my name. I turn back to the gathered ladies and see one of them looking at me expectantly. “I’m sorry, did you ask me something?”
“I was just wondering if you were enjoying your return home,” the woman says. “It must be a blessing to be with your mother and siblings again.”
It’s a question I’ve had from nearly every person I’ve become reacquainted with since my return. And each time, it’s like a knife being twisted in my chest. I’m not glad to be back here. I’m not glad that I now have a large family to raise. I’m not glad to have left the good life I’d built. I’m not glad to have seen the vision of my future fly beyond my grasp. But I can’t tell anyone the truth. They don’t want to hear it, and I don’t want to embarrass my mother by saying it. All they want to hear is—
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, forcing a tight smile. “Very much.”
Mother pats the back of my hand. “I couldn’t be more blessed than to have him home. Our little house is a little brighter with him in it. Do you know, I…”
I turn my attention away from Mother and resume my vigil of watching the door, only I’m a little late. I can see the back of Miss Thompson’s green dress and yellow hair as she helps her aunt into their carriage. I grunt a little curse of annoyance at having missed her. But as she climbs into the carriage, she turns around to sit, and I catch sight of her pretty face. And even though she is some distance away from me, I have the feeling she sees me too. Our eyes lock, and she gives a small smile before sitting back in her seat and a groom closes the carriage door.
My heart beats quickly and my face warms. I feel light, joyous! Just a glimpse of her is enough to bolster my sour mood and I feel energized to face the rest of the day. There are a few things around the house I need to work on—
“It’s a shame about the position at the big house,” one of Mother’s companions says to me.
“Oh?” I say, surprised anyone would take notice of my failed attempt at a position other than my mother.
“Of course,” she says. “Dearie, we know the hardships your family has suffered over the years.”
I blush with embarrassment at this. I hate the fact that everyone knows our personal business, but it wasn’t exactly something that could be hidden.
“We’d all love nothing more than to see you succeed,” the woman goes on. “See you stay here.” She pauses. “See you settle down, perhaps.”
I do my best not to roll my eyes. The woman must have a marriageable daughter.
“I’m settled in my mother’s house,” I say obtusely.
The woman presses her lips, undoubtedly trying to think of another way to make her point without being even more obvious in her intentions, but another woman speaks up.
“I heard that Lady Birchwood allowed that silly niece of hers to make the decision,” she says.
“Oh, how that girl does put on airs,” the first woman says.
“A real lady never would have hired an old man for such a position,” the other one says. “Lady Birchwood isn’t doing anyone any favors by letting the little moppet run her household.”
“I’m sure that Miss Thompson made the decision she thought best,” I say. I can’t let these old bats say such rude things about Miss Thompson. “She was thorough in her questions and seemed a thoughtful young woman. I hold no bitterness toward her.”
The ladies all raise eyebrows at each other, sharing glances that will surely send their tongues wagging about me as soon as I am out of earshot.
“There’s the lucky man now,” Mother says, nodding to an older man who is chatting with Mr. Woolsey. It’s Mr. Anderson. She shakes her head and clicks her tongue. “There’s no way a man like that will be able to manage all the grounds of such a large estate.”
My head pops up at that. Of course! He will certainly need assistants, just like my mentor did. I untangle my arm from Mother’s hand.
“Will you excuse me a moment?” I don’t wait for a reply as I bound across the yard.
“Mr. Anderson,” I say, offering my hand to the man. “I’m sorry for the interruption, sirs.”
“Not at all,” the vicar says. “Mr. Anderson, have you made the acquaintance of young Mr. Hawthorn?”
“I can’t say as I have,” he says, shaking my hand tentatively, as if he thinks I might have nefarious intent. “Though I certainly have heard of his father, God rest his soul.”
“Indeed,” I say, trying not to clench my teeth. “Thank you. I wanted to congratulate you on the position you now hold at Birchwood.”
“Thank you,” he says. “It was quite a blessing, I can tell you. It’s hard for a man my age to find gainful employment. My poor wife and I would have been heading to the poorhouse without it, I can tell you that.”
I suddenly feel guilty for ever having applied for the position at all, and am relieved to know that it went to someone in need. I’m young and strong and can still find my way in the world. For someone like Mr. Anderson, opportunities are certainly limited.
“I am glad you were chosen for the position,” I say humbly. “I mean that.”
Mr. Anderson gives a thoughtful nod and seems to relax a bit. “Thank you for that, my lad,”
“I wanted you to know that, should you need assistants, I am available,” I say. “I was a gardener’s apprentice at my previous position, and I have a fine letter of recommendation. Any work you have, even temporary, I’d be happy to take it on.”
The vicar chuckles. “Don’t spread yourself too thin. You’ve kept yourself business enough around here.”
“I’m sure I could do both,” I say. “At least during the summer. There are enough hours in the day.”
Mr. Anderson rubs his chin. “What do you know about flowers?”
“Flowers, sir?” I ask. “Well, I’ve maintained the flower beds of several varieties.”
“I mean flower arrangements,” he clarifies. “The best flowers for creating displays and such.”
“Oh.” I have to think about that for a moment. Flower arrangements are usually the provenance of the lady of the house. In my last position, the lady would send a list of the flowers she needed to the gardener, and I would collect them and deliver them to the house. She would then arrange them into stunning displays. I’ve heard that young ladies of privilege are taught flower arrangements by their mothers and governesses, but I certainly wouldn’t know anything about that. But Mr. Anderson clearly needs assistance in this area in some fashion, so I need to find a way to make myself seem knowledgeable about it.
“I know what flowers ladies tend to favor for their arrangements at different times of year,” I say. “And I know how to cut them so that they maintain their color and life for as long as possible.”
Mr. Anderson nods. “Lady Birchwood is hosting a dinner party, one of importance it seems. She’s put the young lady in charge of the flower arrangements, but the girl doesn’t know a thing about it! She wanders the garden as if in a daze, pointing at flowers randomly, some that aren’t even in bloom yet. I know she hasn’t selected nearly enough. And the few combinations she’s tried…” He gives a sigh as if pained. “Well, let’s just say that if Lady Birchwood thinks the arrangements are my doing, I might not have the position for very long!”
“That’s unfortunate,” I say. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Come by the house tomorrow,” he says. “The party is this coming Saturday. Just for the week, I could use your assistance with the flower arrangements while I tend to other matters. The whole garden has been neglected for a while, and it needs to be whipped into shape before the guests arrive.”
“I’d be more than happy to assist,” I say, my heart dancing in my chest. “I’ll be there first thing, and I can tend to my duties here at the church at supper time.”
“That’s fine,” Mr. Anderson says. “First thing tomorrow, bright and early.” He shakes my hand again and gives a wave as he wanders off.
I let out a sigh of relief. I can certainly use the extra money. I can dip a little deeper into my savings for now to buy the children some proper clothes, and then hopefully I can refill it with my earnings from working with the flowers
.
From working with Miss Thompson. What a surprising gift this is! I’ll be working side by side with her all week. I’ll be able to steal plenty of glances at her face then. I won’t have to simply imagine what she looks like as I stare at the back of her head.
“This is a fortuitous development,” Mr. Woolsey says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Who knows, maybe it will lead to a more prominent position later.”
“One can hope, sir,” I say.
“I meant what I said, though. Don’t wear yourself out. You are young, but you aren’t invincible. Take care of yourself. Your family needs you.”
“Indeed, sir,” I say. “I won’t be working on the yard here today. The house needs a bit of patching. There’s a hole in the roof and leaky gutters and the fence—”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he says. “It’s Sunday. Rest. Prepare for the week ahead.”
I chuckle. “Of course, sir.” But as we part ways, I know I won’t be able to take his advice, not yet anyway. There’s too much to do. Eventually I’ll be caught up enough that I can relax, but today is not that day.
Besides, I couldn’t be idle if I wanted to be. The very idea of seeing Miss Thompson has my whole body jittery. I wonder what she will think when she sees me.
Chapter Seven
Violet
I stare dumbly at the flowers spread out on the table before me. Well, some of them are flowers. Roses in different colors, carnations…dahlias…I think? Some ivy, some large fern things, and stick-like things with tiny white buds on them. I really don’t know what most of the plants and flowers are. I went through the garden and picked some things that I thought were pretty, but how to now put them together, I have no idea.
I am supposed to making an arrangement for the dinner table, so it should be large and grand. The vase Aunt Charlotte told me to use is so large that I have it sitting on a chair next to me instead of the table so that I can reach the top of it. I take some of the roses and put them in the vase. They are beautiful, but look very lonely. I add some of the ferns, but that is not very attractive. I tuck the little white buds around the roses. That looks a little better, but still very sparse. I tisk my tongue in frustration. I have no idea what I am doing. The arrangements are going to look terrible.
