by Daphne Bloom
“I agree that it is time for Emma to find her place in the world,” Mother says when the boys are gone. “I was hoping she’d follow her sister into service, but maybe at Birchwood so she would be close.”
“She’d make more money with a trade,” I say. “If she’s as good as you say, there’s no limit to what she might accomplish. She’d find work for someone else at first, but one day, she could have a shop of her own.”
Mother barks a laugh. “And where exactly would she get the money for that?” I open my mouth to tell her that we’d save for it, but then I look at my own position. I’d saved for years, but now even my own future is in jeopardy. If Emma has to use her earnings to help provide for Mother and the younger siblings the way I am having to, it would be impossible for her to ever save enough to open a shop.
I run a hand through my hair and sigh in frustration. “Well, what are we to do? We can’t just keep going along as we are. Something has to change.”
“Aye,” Mother says as she smooths out a sheet on the line that’s already smooth. “Most girls change their fortunes when they marry. Perhaps Emma could find a husband with money.”
“With what dowry?” I ask. “She’d have to make a love match, but no one around here earns much. At least if she is working in Leeds she might catch the eye of a gentleman.”
Mother is quiet for a moment as she shakes out the sheet. “I heard that the young lady up at Birchwood is still unmarried.”
“What does that—” My voice catches in my throat. “What are you possibly thinking?”
“I heard she’s about your age.” She gives me a look.
“You think that I could be the one to snag a rich spouse? You’re daft.”
“Am I?” she asks. “The families mix with the staff all the time.”
“It’s not proper,” I say. “You shouldn’t even think such a thing of Vio—of Miss Thompson.”
Mother raises an eyebrow and then gives a smirk. “So, you have spoken to her. Have you seen her much this week since you’ve been working up there?”
“I have spoken to her,” I admit. There’s no shame in it. “I helped collect the flowers for her arrangements for the house party. It was my job.”
Mother gives a wry laugh. “And not once did you look at her as a woman, and not just your employer?”
“No,” I say. “Never.”
“I see,” she says, clearly not believing me.
“You don’t understand,” I say. “You’ve never worked in service. You don’t know how these things work. Miss Thompson would never consider me a possible suitor.”
“Stranger things have happened, son,” she says, patting my cheek as she picks up her cane and hobbles into the house. “Just try to turn her eye toward you is all I’m suggesting.”
“And I’m telling you I won’t,” I say. She sighs and goes into the house.
I kick a small chair by the door in frustration. How dare Mother even suggest such a thing! I would never want to do anything to compromise Violet. Miss Thompson. Of course, she’s beautiful, and smart, and in a bad situation I’d like to help her out of. But crossing the line between lady and servant is not something I want to do. Miss Thompson might not have the title of lady, but she’s a lady to me.
Finding a rich wife to help me take care of my family is a fine dream, of course. But it could never really happen. Besides, Violet has a suitor. He’s already here. And based on what I saw, with his whole family present, I have a feeling a marriage is practically expected. She’ll probably be married before the week is out.
The thought makes me sick. Violet doesn’t want to marry a fortune-hunter at all, yet she might be engaged to one before the night is over. My heart breaks for her. I wish there was something I could do to help her. But it’s impossible! What could I ever offer her that a lord can’t?
Affection would never trump a title.
Chapter Nine
Violet
I’m a bundle of nerves as the Griswolds’ carriages clatter up the drive. I know nothing about Edward Griswold except that he is in need of a wealthy wife to bolster his estate—and that is not a point in his favor. I am sure he will be sweet and charming, at least while he courts me. I won’t know his true character until after we are wed, and then it could be anything. It’s possible that he could still be sweet and charming, but he could equally turn out to be cold and cruel. Or a rake or terrible miser. That last one is probably not the case or he wouldn’t be in this predicament. Still, no point fretting over something I cannot change. I will simply have to hope for the best.
A footman opens the door of the first carriage and a man old enough to be my father steps out. I feel all the blood drain from my face. I hadn’t thought about Edward being old! I nearly want to burst out into tears as a woman about the same age steps out. I breathe a sigh of relief. Of course. These are Edward’s parents. I knew they were coming but had forgotten in the moment. I must try to keep my wits about me.
Aunt Charlotte steps forward and greets the old earl and his wife, the countess. She then introduces me and I give a small curtsey. I can feel the countess’s eyes on me, assessing me. When I look at her, she gives a small nod of approval.
“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” I say.
“Well, your accent grinds the ears, but at least your aunt has taught you proper manners,” she says.
I’m not sure how to reply because the woman just complimented me and insulted me in one fell swoop. It’s almost impressive.
“Oh, Violet came to me much as she is,” Aunt Charlotte says kindly. “She’s had need of very little training.”
The countess nods as though she is unsure, and I stay quiet. I know she will not be able to find fault with me if I don’t grind her ears.
“Let me introduce my son and heir,” the earl says, motioning behind him.
Until now, I had not caught sight of Edward. He steps forward, giving me a smile, and takes my hand, kissing the back of it in a single, smooth movement.
“It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Thompson,” he says, pulling up to his full height, about a head taller than myself.
“Th-th-thank you,” I stammer. He’s handsome by any measure. His features are dark, from his hair to his eyes, and he has a strong nose and chin. When he looks down at me, though, there is something…disconcerting in his look. He looks at me the way men often do when they desire a woman, whether their intentions are earnest or not. I would hate to jump to the immediate conclusion that he is a rake since he is here to court me properly and not merely seduce me, so I push my concerns aside and smile back.
“Forgive me,” I say. “It has been a long time since we have had guests at Birchwood.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” he says. He turns aside and motions toward a young woman who is not yet twenty. “This is my sister, Esme.”
I feel a sense of relief as the girl and I give a customary embrace. Hopefully Esme and I can become friends and she can tell me the truth about her brother. But her movements are stiff, perfunctory, and I fear she already dislikes me.
“Well, shall we go inside?” Aunt Charlotte asks. “My staff can help yours get everything arranged.” The Griswolds’ maids and valets have climbed out of the second carriage and are sorting the luggage as the footmen unload them from the carriages.
“Barton,” the countess says to a maid probably slightly older than me, “do lay out my blue dress for this evening, will you?”
Miss Barton bobs a curtsey, and I assume the girl is the countess’s lady’s maid. I’m struck by the beauty of the girl. Her features are sharp, her cheekbones, her chin, her nose. Her eyes are bright green. Her hair is plaited and wrapped around her head in a more ornate manner than I usually see maids wear. Truly, she’s the most beautiful maid—and possibly most beautiful woman—I’ve ever seen. After all, what woman would want such a beauty around her husband?
It’s petty, I know, and terribly unfair, but I remember Mother refusing to h
ire certain women because they were too pretty. I always thought that if a man truly loved his wife, such things would not be a concern. Perhaps the earl and the countess have a strong marriage. I had always assumed that I would marry a man who I would not have to worry about being around a pretty servant. But when I think about the fact that Edward is here to court my money and not me, I realize it is something I will have to be on guard against.
Miss Barton joins the other servants in sorting the luggage as our housekeeper explains the rooming arrangement. Aunt Charlotte leads the Griswold family inside, but I linger behind for a moment. I take a few breaths to steel myself, but I only grow sad. This is it, I suppose. The end of the road on my search for a husband. It breaks my heart to know that I shall have to give up any dreams of love in order to follow my parents’ wishes. But that is the way of things. I must obey, as my children will one day obey me. I hope I do not grow into the type of mother who would ask her daughter to give up any chance at happiness just for money or a title.
I hear a rustling and glance to the side, toward a hedgerow. I see one of the bushes shake. A rabbit or squirrel, I suppose. I wonder where Edison is. I have seen him in the garden and around the house, carrying flowers here and there for me to arrange or watering the ones I’ve already built. More than once, I have seen my arrangements altered. They appear fuller, more colorful, far more beautiful than they were before. I am sure that Edison has been sneaking around, improving my arrangements. I should thank him, but after our last conversation, I am afraid to speak to him again.
He… Well, I can’t explain it. He knows so much about me, I can hardly understand it. We’ve only spoken a couple of times. I rejected him for a position he was surely suited for. How can he so clearly see how miserable this whole arrangement makes me feel? He makes me feel safe, as if I could unburden myself to him.
No, that can’t be it. Surely anyone aware of my situation would know that it is not ideal. It’s not Edison who is the problem, it’s me. I’ve told him too much. I shouldn’t be so familiar with a servant. It’s not becoming.
I clear my throat, raise my chin, and walk into the house to join our guests.
“The flower arrangements are lovely,” Lady Griswold says as we sit around the table at supper, and I’m shocked that anyone actually takes notice of them. “Did you do them, Lady Birchwood?”
“No,” Aunt Charlotte says between sips of soup. “No, I left those to Violet. I’ve been giving her more responsibilities so that she may learn all that is involved in running a large household.”
Lady Griswold nods appreciatively. “I must say, when I heard that you were American, I was afraid you would be a rather Yankee doodle dandy.”
Everyone around the table laughs, so I try to force a chuckle. All day, Lady Griswold seems to have spoken to me out of the side of her mouth. Never outright insulting me, but never complimenting me either. I’m already growing rather tired of it. Is this how she plans to speak to me once I am married to her son?
“But I am pleasantly surprised,” Lady Griswold says. “If you never opened your mouth, I wouldn’t have any idea you weren’t English.”
I start to thank her, but then think better of it, closing my mouth and giving a nod and a smile instead.
“Perhaps more ladies should take such advice to heart,” Lord Griswold says. “Talk less; smile more.” He and his wife laugh again as if the man has made a hilarious joke, but this time I cannot force even a chuckle.
“I rather like your voice, Miss Thompson,” Edward, who is sitting to my right, says. “It is nice to hear something different from time to time.” He gives a smile that I feel is genuine and am put at ease.
“Thank you,” I say earnestly. He looks at me for a moment longer before returning to his bowl. Maybe this arrangement will turn out better than I feared it would.
Our soup bowls are cleared away and the main meal is brought out on silver trays carried by footmen. As I serve myself from one of the trays, I can feel eyes on me. I glance aside and see that Lady Griswold seems to be watching my every move. I am suddenly terribly nervous and my hands shake slightly, enough for me to drop several potatoes onto the floor.
“Oh!” I say, pushing my chair back to stand up. “I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” the footman says as he and another servant are quick to clean up the mess. I sit back down on my chair, my face hot. I’m terrified to look at the expressions on everyone’s faces.
“Shall I help serve you, ma’am?” the footman asks when he is again by my side with the tray.
“Yes, please,” I mumble, hardly more than a whisper.
“Well, I suppose a bit more training is still required, Lady Birchwood,” Lady Griswold says, “wouldn’t you agree?”
I look to my aunt, who is clearly irritated, but if it is with me or Lady Griswold, I can’t tell. Aunt Charlotte clears her throat.
“When under scrutiny, I doubt any of us could measure up perfectly.”
I am heartened by my aunt’s words. But Lady Griswold does not seem impressed.
“The life of a countess is one of constant scrutiny.” She looks at me pointedly. “It is not a position for the faint of heart.”
I have no idea how to respond when I hear a clatter. I look over and see that Edward has dropped the serving utensils for the tray of vegetables the footman next to him is holding.
“Oh, dear me!” he says. “Pardon me, chap.”
“Not at all, sir.” I think the footman looks rather annoyed, but Edward looks at me with a mischievous grin on his face and I have to stifle a laugh.
“Really, Edward,” his mother says.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Edward says, rather dismissively. “What is on the agenda for tomorrow?”
My aunt goes on to tell him about the gardens and lake and nearby hunting grounds, but I can hardly hear a word of it. I cannot believe that Edward would make a fool of himself in front of his mother to protect me. He is certainly not what I expected. Perhaps this match will be more than one of money and titles after all. So far, Edward has been nothing but kind to me. And the fact that he would stand between me and the disapproving eye on his mother says much about… Well, I hate to get ahead of myself. But it says a lot about the kind of husband he might be.
When I look back around the table, though, I catch Esme’s face—her grim, disapproving face. She has barely spoken the whole evening, and barely eaten a bite. She merely moves her fork around her plate. I try to smile, but her gaze makes me terribly uncomfortable, so I quickly look away. She seems to be the only person against our match, though I cannot fathom why.
I find solace in one of the pretty flower arrangements sitting on a sideboard across the room from me, one that I know Edison had a hand in. I shake my head. If I am to make a real go at getting to know Edward, I can’t be distracted by thoughts of the gardener.
Chapter Ten
Edison
“How are you?” Vicar Woolsey asks, bringing me a cup of water as I rake between the headstones in the parish graveyard.
“Well enough, I suppose,” I say. “I learned something interesting yesterday. Did you know that Emma can sew?”
“Yes. When my wife needs help with mending, she hires it out to Emma.”
I shake my head. “It’s more than that. She’s sewing new clothes for everyone. Saving me some money there since I just had to buy cloth and thread instead of finished items.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” the vicar says. “It’s a useful trade.”
“Exactly. I’d like to hire her out as an apprentice to a proper seamstress, but for some reason, she and Mother aren’t pleased with the idea.” I sip the water as I lean against one of the large, gray stones and look out over the land around the church. “I don’t understand it. I thought they’d be pleased at the idea of Emma getting a proper job instead of just going into service.”
“Nothing wrong with going into service.”
“Of course,” I say
. “But a trade would pay better. Especially for a girl. Maids don’t make much.”
“True,” he says. “Most girls just use it as a way to save a little money for when they marry. Is that what Emma is concerned about. Does she have a beau she doesn’t want to leave?”
I chuckle. “You’d know that better than I, I’d wager. You’ve known her longer. I can’t say I’ve seen any one, particular boy hanging about. No, it’s something else. Something…something I can’t quite put my finger on.”
We are quiet for a moment, lost in our own thoughts. If it’s not a boy, what could possibly be keeping Emma here? I was long gone by her age. I’d spent years before that dreaming of leaving. Of getting as far away as possible. Of never coming back. I shake my head. Too bad that last part didn’t come true.
“How are you settling in?” Woolsey asks.
“Hmm? Oh, fine, I suppose. Everyone’s been very welcoming. Thank you.”
“No, I mean at home,” he says. “With the family. The younger ones, they hadn’t been born by the time you left, had they?”
“It’s…it’s been tense. Even with William. Especially with William, I should say. Though, he was a babe when I left. I’m sure he didn’t remember me when I showed back up.”
“Even before your father died, he did a lot to take care of the family. Tending your mother, watching the little ones.”
“Aye,” I say. “I’m sure he resents me stepping in. Has to be done, though. They can’t survive on their own. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful.”
“Grateful?” The vicar laughs. “I mean, of course you’ve helped them. But you’ve done no more than is expected as a son and brother.”
I’m a bit put out by his response. “I gave up everything to come back.”
“And if you hadn’t, that surely would have been shameful. But doing the right thing isn’t what earns someone praise. Will William earn praise for staying? Does Catherine get praise for going into service? No. It’s what’s expected. It’s going beyond what is expected that is praiseworthy. Doing more than is required of you, even to your own detriment.”
