by Daphne Bloom
Is it true? Is Edward carrying on an affair with Lady Griswold’s lady’s maid, Miss Barton? Louise, I think her name is. I suppose it is possible. I noted the first time I saw the girl how pretty she was. But I am still loath to think poorly of her just because she’s beautiful. That would not be fair to her.
Other than Edison’s word, I have no evidence that what he says is true. I would hate to accuse Edison of lying. I have never thought him to be a dishonest person, and I know he is honorable. The way he gave up his own life to care for his family speaks well of his character. And everyone else, even Vicar Woolsey, think well of him.
But I am sick to my stomach to think that he might be telling me the truth! How can I possibly marry Edward if he is already being unfaithful to me? I am under no illusion that the marriage is nothing more than a convenience. Still, Edward should at least be faithful to me at the start. If we must be married, I would like to think that we are each giving it an honest go to see if we can’t find some affection for each other. If, later, we discover that we simply don’t get on, well…I suppose I could not blame him for seeking comfort elsewhere. But now? When we’ve only just met? When he is courting me? When he’s been…been so kind to me.
I know that while courting, people often put on their best face. I suspected that Edward was not exactly who he pretended to be. But to be dallying with a maid? Now? Here? In my aunt’s house? Surely not! Edward must have more sense than to bring scandal to the house of his gracious host. Isn’t there a special place in Dante’s Inferno specifically for people who are treacherous guests?
A flash of lightning illuminates the room just before a crash of thunder. The storm rolled in as the sun set and I have to wonder if I called it to me to match my mood. My mind is tumultuous as the sea, first roving one way, and then the other. Either Edward is unfaithful, or Edison is a liar. Neither is a happy proposition.
But why would Edison lie? I accused him of being jealous, and he laughed at me. I was, of course, only grasping for a reason at the time. I had thought, at one time, only for a moment, that Edison might fancy me. Nothing serious of course. Just the initial fancy any man might feel for a woman he finds attractive. Like the way I felt about him when I first saw him at the interview—
I must stop thinking about such silliness. No, Edison does not fancy me, not any more than I do him. Which is not at all. But if Edison isn’t jealous, if he doesn’t have feelings for me, why would he make up such a preposterous lie?
Perhaps…perhaps he was trying to help me. I did make the mistake of being too forthright with him about my concerns. Perhaps he thought that if I had sound reason to refuse the engagement, then I would be happy. Is he playing the role of gallant protector? Falling on his sword to help a lady in distress? If that were the case, he is sorely mistaken. I’m not thrilled at the prospect of marrying a fortune-hunter, but neither do I want to end up a lonely spinster. I don’t want to leave England.
Aside from the search for a husband, I have enjoyed my time here. I love the wide-open space of the estate and riding my horse. I have made several friends in London, and I enjoy the balls and events of the Season. For an older widow, Aunt Charlotte has proven to be good company. I would even count her as a dear friend. One good thing about having to marry a man I don’t love is getting to stay here. Well, not here at Birchwood, but at an estate somewhere in England. At least I would be taken care of.
Or would I? Ugh, my stomach feels sour again. If Edward is carrying on an affair with the maid, what else is he keeping from me? Is he cruel? Will he lock me away so that I do not inconvenience him? Will he squander my money and turn us poor anyway?
I sit up in bed, near to tears again. There are so many unknowns. I am so frightened. Lightning flashes again and thunder rumbles over the house. I’m tired, but I’ll never be able to sleep. When I was little, Mother would give me a little warm milk to help me sleep. I haven’t done that in years, but perhaps this is a situation that calls for it.
I slide out of bed and pull slippers onto my feet, grabbing my robe and wrapping it tightly around me. I quietly open the door to my room and slip out into the hall. It’s quite dark, so I wait a moment for my eyes to adjust. I walk down the hall to the main staircase, then go to the servants’ staircase at the back of the house and make my way to the kitchen.
I gasp and clutch at my robe when I enter the kitchen and lightning illuminates someone sitting on a stool at the end of the large, wooden worktable in the middle of the room.
“Aunt Charlotte! You frightened me,” I say when my breath returns.
“Did I?” she asks. “I know I’m old, but I didn’t think I had crossed right into ghostly specter territory yet.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I say as I walk further into the room. “I just wasn’t expecting to see anyone else down here.”
“I know, dear. I don’t typically sleep very well, but this week has been worse than usual. Tea?” She lifts a small, porcelain teapot toward me.
“I was looking for something to help me sleep, not wake me up.”
“It’s chamomile. Just the thing to calm a restless mind.”
“Oh, then, yes. Don’t mind if I do.” I take a teacup from a cabinet and Aunt Charlotte pours the steaming tea to the brim. I hold the cup in my hands, letting it warm me, and then take in the flowery scent.
“That is from the garden out there,” Aunt Charlotte says. “Mr. Ash would always cut a few stems down when the blooms were at their peak and then hang them from the rafters in here to dry.”
I look up and see that quite a lot of flowers and herbs are bundled and drying up above us.
“Having a good gardener can make all the difference between a house and home,” Aunt Charlotte goes on. “I do hope that young Mr. Hawthorn will be able to stay on as long as I’m still alive.”
“I’m sure he will,” I say, “since he has family close by. Oh, that reminds me. I need to inquire with the housekeeper about any open positions. Edison’s sister, Emma, is old enough to find a position in service.”
“Really? Well, that would be nice to have them both working here. I’ll speak to the housekeeper about it. We will find her a place, I’m sure. If there isn’t a position already open, I’ll see about increasing the budget so we can bring her on.”
“Oh, that is so generous of you,” I say. “I’m sure he—well, the whole family—will be pleased.”
“You can tell Mr. Hawthorn the good news tomorrow,” Aunt Charlotte says.
I sit my teacup down a little harder than I mean to. “Me? Why?”
“I thought it might cheer you up.”
“What makes you think I need cheering up?”
“The fact that you are down here at three o’clock in the morning. Something must be troubling you.”
I tap on the side of the cup as the storm continues rumbling outside. I don’t want to attempt lying, but I have to say something.
“It’s Edward,” I say. “I…I fear he is not what he seems.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t misunderstand me. He has been a perfect gentleman. And yet… I don’t know. I don’t know if it is Edward I mistrust or the entire situation. Perhaps I would have the same doubts no matter who courted me. How can I trust any man who is only interested in my money?”
“Hmm,” Aunt Charlotte says as she sips her tea. “I’m inclined to think it is something with Edward.”
“Really?”
“I haven’t wanted to say anything, but he gives me a bad feeling too.”
I let out a small cry of relief as my eyes water. “Really, Auntie? So, I’m not crazy?”
“Crazy? Certainly not. It’s normal to have misgivings in such a situation. But with Edward—” She shakes her head. “—he signals more warnings than most.”
“Edison said something similar,” I say, and then I realize I said that out loud.
“You’ve been speaking to the gardener about Edward?”
I shake my head. “It…it somehow c
ame up when I ran into him at the church. I can’t even remember how we got on the subject. We had been talking about his mother’s lame condition and… Well, one topic led to another, I suppose.”
“I’m sure you just needed to air your concerns to someone. You should have come to me, though. I’m always here.”
“I know,” I say. “I suppose I was just embarrassed to say anything. I mean, I’m no better than Edward, seeking a marriage for a title. How can I judge him?”
Aunt Charlotte shakes her head. “It’s not that he is a fortune-hunter. It’s more than that.”
“What?” I ask.
Aunt Charlotte sighs and hesitates before going on. “A man like that will not be faithful to you.”
I’m glad the room is dim because I can feel my face flush. Did she see him with Miss Barton too?
“I’ve seen the way his eyes linger on the maids,” she goes on. “Two of the girls have already reported to the housekeeper that he makes them uncomfortable. One of them was tidying his room when he came in unexpectedly. Apparently, he got quite close and ran his fingers up her arm.”
“Oh my! Why has nothing been done?”
“What can I do?” she asks. “He’s a guest, and the son of an earl. I’m more likely to ruin the maid’s reputation than his. Anyway, he will be gone soon enough. Until then, the maids have been ordered to always clean his room in pairs should he happen to return while they are tending their duties.”
I shake my head. “But what am I to do? If he proposes, Mother and Father will expect me to say yes. I’ll be forced to marry a philanderer. What will my life be like? But there’s no way to prove his infidelity. Without proof, if I refuse him, my parents will be furious.”
“So what if they are?” Aunt Charlotte asks.
“They would cut me off financially for one thing,” I say. “I don’t need a lot of money. Not my whole dowry, for certain. But I don’t want to be so poor that I cannot afford a doctor should I become ill. I don’t want my children to wear rags. I don’t want to worry about having enough food through the winter. I must be practical.”
“And you think marrying a philanderer is practical?”
“What other choice do I have?”
“I’m sure we could think of something,” Aunt Charlotte says.
I stand up from my stool. “No matter how many times I ask myself the same questions, I always end up back in the same spot.” I sigh and shake my head, embarrassed at how emotional I am getting. “Please, excuse me, Auntie.”
“Violet—” she calls after me as I leave the room, but I am too upset to continue the conversation. As I reach the second-floor landing, there is a flash of lightning and I see a shadow that is not my own. I gasp and nearly stumble back. I manage to catch myself and kneel down on the stair to calm my racing heart, both from the near-fall and the…ghost?
No, it’s not a ghost. The top of the stairs is illuminated enough that I can clearly see Miss Barton walking silently down the hall on bare feet. At first, I wonder what she is doing there. Even guest servants have rooms in the servants’ wing on the third floor. I then chide myself for my stupidity. She’s coming from the guest wing—almost certainly from Edward’s room.
I creep to the top of the stairs and watch as she slips through the door to the servants’ staircase. I then make my way back to my own room, closing and locking the door behind me.
So, it is true. Edison wasn’t lying. Edward is having an affair with Miss Barton. I still can’t prove it, though. I didn’t catch them…in the act. If I accuse him, his parents will say that I am lying in order to prevent the marriage. They would ruin me.
I feel sick. Nauseous. What am I supposed to do? I can’t sleep, and my legs are getting tired from pacing. I sink to the floor next to my bed, leaning against it, as I watch the rain continue to pelt the window.
What am I going to do?
Chapter Sixteen
Edison
I can’t believe Violet won’t listen to me. Does she really think that I am jealous? That I would lie about such a thing? I would never risk my position or injure the reputation of someone else without just cause. Surely Violet knows me better than that.
As I take out my frustration on the weeds in one of the flowerbeds, I sigh and shake my head. We had a good rain last night, and the soil is damp and easy to work with, though my hands are terribly muddy. I’m thinking too much of myself. Violet is a lady—or near enough one. She doesn’t really know me, and I don’t know her. Not any more than any other fine lady knows her staff. Still, I hope she doesn’t have such a low opinion of me. We’ve always gotten on, and I’ve always been honest with her. I’m sure she felt guilty about speaking with me so freely as she did. That was not appropriate, I admit. But when Violet and I are together, she is so easy to talk to. She has a kind heart and is a good listener. And I love hearing her accent. I would keep asking her pointless questions for as long as possible just to hear her talk.
I think perhaps she does believe me, she just couldn’t admit to it at the time. It must be terribly embarrassing for her, to think about her fancy, earl’s son giving his attentions to a maid. What will everyone think when they find out? Surely they will not think less of Violet. She’s had nothing to do with his shameful acts. Edward, however, will probably be ruined. He was already ruined financially, and now he will never be able to find a lady to save him. It’s a tragedy, I suppose, at least for the rest of his family. His parents will have to spend the remainder of their lives in shame and poverty. Their daughter will not be able to snag a good husband without a dowry. I can’t help but laugh about the poor dear having to marry someone like me, a working man.
I hear laughter and look up to see Violet and Edward walking along a garden path together—arm in arm. I can’t hear what they are saying as the blood pumps in my ears. How can she fawn over him like that? How can he continue to pretend he has some kind of affection for her? What is wrong with them? I stab my trowel into the dirt and get to my feet. I wipe my muddy hands onto my pants, but they are still terribly dirty. I don’t care. Seeing Edward continue to lead Violet on after seeing what I saw turns me into a raging bull. I have to confront him.
Violet hears me coming and looks at me as I approach. I see fear flash across her face, and she removes her arm from Edward’s, holding out both hands in front of her to stop me. She knows what’s coming.
“What’s wrong?” Edward asks Violet, then he sees me. “What the devil—?”
“I know you are dallying with your mother’s maid,” I say without any preamble, stabbing a finger at him. He takes a step back, his mouth agape.
“Edison!” Violet hisses. “Stop this.”
“I’m sorry, Vio—Lady—Miss Violet.” My words are all in a tangle. “But if you won’t listen to me, perhaps you’ll listen to the cad himself.”
“Wait, what is going on?” Edward asks.
“Don’t play innocent with me,” I tell him, stepping closer, Violet between us. “I saw you, yesterday, behind the toolshed.”
His face goes white and he runs his hand over his mouth. I can see on his face that he knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“You told her that you would continue your affair even after you were wed,” I say. “I heard everything you said. Saw what you and she were doing.”
He says nothing at first, and I see Violet’s face drop. She then looks up, her eyes meeting mine. She turns to Edward. “Is it true what he says? Are you having an affair with Miss Barton?”
I think she must be trying to catch him out. If she can get him to admit to the affair, she would be free. No one, not even her parents, would be able to blame her for putting an end to this farce of a courtship.
“No,” Edward says firmly. “No, I would never do such a thing. It’s absurd.”
I shouldn’t have expected him to admit to such a thing. “You’re a terrible liar,” I say. “Perhaps we should ask Miss Barton to join us.”
“This is ridiculous,” Edward say
s. “How dare you say such things to try and besmirch my reputation. So low of you.”
“I would never lie,” I say. “I know what I saw, and I can’t in good conscience let Miss Violet marry you without telling her the truth.”
Edward looks from me to Violet and back to me again. “What? Why would a gardener care? Violet, is something going on here?”
His defense has taken a turn I didn’t expect. I can’t let Violet’s own reputation be called into question.
“No!” she says quickly. “Of course not! Perhaps Mr. Hawthorn only thought he saw something.”
“Are you jealous, old boy?” Edward says, taking a step toward me. “Do you have some sort of childish fancy for a woman above your station?”
“My conscience is clear,” I say. “Violet is a lady in every sense of the word and deserves better than a rake like you.”
“Did you just…did you just call her Violet?” he asks, and my stomach drops. “Just how familiar are you two?”
Violet shoots me an angry look, but tears are in her eyes as well. I’ve botched this all up.
“I misspoke,” I try to explain. “But my words are true. I saw you with Miss Barton acting inappropriately. Admit it!”
“I will admit no such thing,” Edward says. “I’ll have your job for even suggesting such a thing.”
“Good thing I don’t work for you,” I say.
“You won’t work for anyone when I get done with you,” Edward says. “I knew something was off about you. I should have expected such disgusting behavior from someone as filthy as you.”
I lunge forward and reach for Edward’s jacket. I mean to grab him and give his nose a good punch. But Violet screams for me to stop and I can feel her hand on my arm. A second later, I’m stumbling back as Edward’s fist meets the side of my face.
“Stop!” Violet screams, standing between us. “Stop, Edward! Please.”
Edward steps back, shaking his hand. I hear a commotion and see the butler, two footmen, and a groom running toward us. Up at the house, I can see Lady Birchwood, the Griswolds, and the remainder of the household staff all watching the scene from the portico.
