Garden of Temptation

by Daphne Bloom

  The Griswolds’ carriage clatters down the drive, leaving dust in its wake. It is mid-summer and terribly hot. I wipe the sweat from my brow with my arm and realize how thirsty I am. I go behind the church to the water pump so I don’t have to see them. I cup the water in my hands, first to wash my face and then to take a drink. I reach for a hand towel to dry my face off and jump with a start when I see young Lady… Well, the Griswold girl. I don’t know her name.

  “Pardon me, my lady,” I say. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “It’s quite all right,” she says. “I was rather surprised to see you here. It is Sunday. Do you not take a day off?”

  “Not at the moment, ma’am,” I say. “I need to earn as much money as possible to help my family.”

  “I see.” She nods and fidgets with a paper in her hand.

  “Well, I should get back to work,” I say, giving her a tight smile and nod as I try to walk past her.

  “Wait,” she says. “I…I did want to speak with you.”

  “With me?” I ask. “I can’t imagine why.”

  She hesitates, biting her lower lip. “It’s about Miss Thompson. You do care for you, don’t you?” she asks cautiously.

  I take a step back, wishing I could run away if it wouldn’t seem impertinent. “Oh. No! I mean, she’s a fine mistress. Everyone here loves her. I mean, appreciate working for her—”

  She holds up a hand to stop my rambling. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not accusing you of anything. But it has been rather obvious that you have feelings for her.”

  “Is it?” I ask, alarmed. I’ve tried to be so careful. I wouldn’t want to hurt either of our reputations.

  “Well, it is now,” she says, giving me a sly smile. It takes me a moment to realize that she’s caught me out. I all but admitted my feelings for Miss Thompson with barely any prodding. I don’t reply. I’m not sure what to say, what she wants. And I don’t want to implicate myself further.

  She licks her lip and eyes me cautiously, as though trying to read me. What exactly she’s looking for, I can’t say.

  “Well, I suppose I should just be honest,” she finally says. “I think Miss Thompson is making a terrible mistake. And I think you would agree with me.”

  I don’t agree with her, but I don’t disagree either.

  “But she and I are in a rather similar boat,” she goes on. “We can’t risk the ire of our families if we speak out against the union. Family and duty and all that.”

  “I understand the responsibility to family as much as anyone, ma’am,” I say.

  “Indeed. Well, then, in that case, I thought that you would be the best person to have this.” She offers the paper to me. I don’t take it, eyeing it as I would a viper.

  “Please,” she says. “Just look.”

  I run my hand over my jaw. I shouldn’t look. I shouldn’t even be having this conversation, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I take the paper, which is a letter, the wax seal broken.

  My dearest Louise,

  every minute without you is a stab to the heart. How I long to hold you. To feel your lips against my—

  My face flushes hot and I thrust the paper back to the young miss. “I can’t read this. It’s obscene.”

  “I’m sorry to scandalize you,” she says. “But look at the signature.”

  I unfold it halfway, just to see the closing remarks.

  Your dutiful servant,

  Edward.

  “Edward?” I say. “Lord Edward? Your brother?”

  “One and the same,” she says. “That is one of many letters I found among Miss Barton’s belongings several weeks ago when I rummaged around in her room.”

  “That…that was poorly done,” I say, though my voice lacks conviction.

  “I believe crimes happen in degrees,” she says. “And my crime of stealing that letter is far less than the crime of my brother marrying Miss Thompson while Louise Barton remains his lover.”

  I’m not sure what part of her statement to tackle first. I start to speak, and then stop myself, and then try again.

  “Why are you giving this to me? Why not give it to your parents? Or to Violet?”

  The young miss smirks.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “You used her Christian name,” she says. “Violet did the same thing when talking about you.”

  “What? Why was she talking about me? What is going on?”

  “Violet cannot call the wedding off without proof of my brother’s indiscretions. That proof is now in your hands.”

  “But why are you giving it to me?”

  “My parents would never forgive me if they found out that I was the person who put a stop to the wedding. If I were to give it to them, they would throw it in the rubbish bin. If I gave it to Violet or Lady Birchwood, they would want to know how they got it and it would be traced back to me.

  “You, however, can make sure the letter gets into Violet’s hands without implicating me. Just say that you found it among Miss Barton’s things when you were snooping.”

  “You want me to be the one to admit to stealing?”

  “You attacked a lord and were sacked,” she says. “I’d say your reputation has already taken a terrible beating. At least in this case, it is for a good cause.”

  “The ends justify the means, you mean.”

  “Indeed.”

  “What am I supposed to do? What if they accuse me of writing the letter?”

  “The handwriting is unmistakable, and that is Edward’s seal. But what you choose to do now is up to you.”

  “What would you have me do?” I ask. “You obviously have it all planned out.”

  “You are going to stop that wedding,” she says, excitement twinkling in her eyes. “Present Violet with the letter so that she will have just cause to call off the marriage.”

  I can hear Vicar Woolsey’s voice coming from inside the church. The wedding has already begun.

  “You’d better hurry,” the young miss says.

  My heart twists and my head spins. She really expects me to go in there, stop the wedding, and accuse Edward of having an affair—all publicly? She is mad.

  And yet, I have to. I can’t let Violet ruin her life when it is within my power to stop her.

  I shore up my courage and rush around the building to the door of the church. They are wide open, so I run on in. At the end of the aisle, between two rows of wooden pews, Violet and Edward stand with their backs to me. Edward’s parents are sitting in one pew, and Lady Birchwood is on the opposite side. There are a few more parishioners present as witnesses, but not many. They must not have heard me come in because no one turns to look at me.

  Young Lady Griswold enters the church behind me and takes a seat in the last pew, as if she has been there all along. She juts her head toward the front of the church, obviously telling me to get on with it. I’m probably making a terrible mistake. But if I don’t speak up, I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

  “I object,” I say, but my voice cracks. I was loud enough for everyone to have heard me, though, and they all turn in their seats to look at me.

  “Edison?” Vicar Woolsey says. “What did you say?”

  “I said…I said I object.” My voice is clearer this time, and Violet’s eyes go large.

  “I knew there was something going on,” Edward says. “How pathetic, a gardener in love with an heiress.”

  I loathe the man so much, my anger gives my voice strength. “That’s not why I’m here.” I hold up the letter. “I have proof of your indiscretions, sir. A letter from you, written in your own hand and signed, to your paramour, Miss Barton.”

  Everyone gasps except Violet. She seems frozen, her eyes on me. I cannot tell if she is angry, relieved, or somewhere in the middle.

  “What lies!” Lord Griswold says. “How dare you besmirch the name of my son. Of my family.”

  “Where did you find that?” Lady Birchwood asks.

  I blush. “Umm�
� In Miss Barton’s…umm…trunk. I knew they were having an affair because I saw it with my own eyes, but I needed proof, so I sought it out myself.”

  Violet’s eyes go from me to Young Lady Griswold and back again. Did she know about the letter?

  “How dare you violate my maid’s private things!” Lady Griswold says. “Disgusting ruffian! You should be arrested.”

  I hadn’t considered stealing the letter to be an actual crime, but I suppose it is. I hope I didn’t just throw my life away trying to save Violet’s future.

  “Give the letter to me, Edison,” Vicar Woolsey says. I walk down the aisle and hand the letter to him. I am so close to Violet, I can smell her perfume. She still says nothing and avoids making eye contact with me.

  Woolsey opens the letter and reads it, his face flushing. He clears his throat when he finishes. “Well, I will need a sample of Lord Griswold’s handwriting to know for sure. I have his marriage petition in my office. But it would seem this letter is genuine, and it does indicate that Lord Griswold and Miss Barton are…well acquainted with one another.”

  “Edward!” Lady Griswold shrieks. “How could you be so stupid?”

  “I didn’t do it!” he says. He then looks to Violet. “You must believe me.”

  “Please, stop,” she says to him, her voice defeated. “I’ve known the truth of it for days but was afraid to speak out.”

  “Days?” he asks, his dark features going white.

  “I saw her leaving your room in the middle of the night,” she says.

  All those gathered gasp again.

  “That— What—? No— I mean—” Edward flounders for an excuse, some explanation, but he can’t come up with a new lie fast enough.

  “That’s rather enough, I think,” Vicar Woolsey says. “It is clear that this wedding cannot continue. I’ll not sanction it.”

  “This is an outrage!” Lord Griswold says to the vicar. “I’ll have your position for this. How dare you accuse my son of such atrocities!”

  “He accuses himself, Lord Griswold,” the vicar says. “Lady Birchwood, may I speak to you in private? Please, join me in my office as we find out the truth of all this.”

  “I will not stand here and listen to these lies!” Edward says. He storms off down the aisle and out the door, his head still held high. His parents follow after, fuming. The young miss, though, cannot suppress the smile on her face as she follows them out and must hide her mouth with a handkerchief. Vicar Woolsey leads Lady Birchwood to the back toward his office, most likely to compare the handwriting and then give the evidence into her hand as Violet’s guardian. The other guests file out, no doubt off to share the gossip with everyone they meet. Violet and I are left alone at the front of the church. For a long while, she says nothing.

  “Why did you do it?” she asks.

  “What?”

  “Why did you come here? Share the letter? Stop the wedding?”

  “I…I had to,” I say. “I couldn’t let you go through with it after I saw the letter.”

  “The letter you stole from Miss Barton?”

  “Umm…” I rub the back of my neck. “Not exactly. It’s rather complicated.”

  “It was Esme, wasn’t it?” she says. “Young Lady Griswold. She mentioned something to me about evidence of the affair, but I didn’t realize what she meant at the time.”

  “She was trying to help,” I say. “She didn’t want to get you in trouble with your parents, nor did she want to upset her own. She thought it best if I shared the letter.”

  “Well, how very considerate of everyone to make decisions for me about my own life.” She looks near to tears, but her voice is growing in anger.

  “I…I’m sorry. I thought I was helping. You don’t have to marry him now, and your parents can’t hold you responsible. Isn’t this the best outcome?”

  “I don’t know,” she says.

  “You don’t know?” I can hardly believe what I am hearing. Does she really wish I hadn’t said anything?

  “What is to become of me now?”

  “Whatever it is, it must be better than a life shackled to that rake.”

  “Will it? At least I knew what I was getting into. I wasn’t going into it blind. Now…” She drops her arms to her sides helplessly, her bouquet of white roses hitting the side of her leg. Several petals drift to the floor. “Now what shall I do?”

  “I…I don’t know. I guess, maybe, you could—”

  “Don’t you dare ask me to marry you, Edison Hawthorn, don’t you dare!”

  I pause and blink a few times to make sure I heard her correctly. “I don’t think I was going to.” Her face goes beet red. “Why? What made you think that? Have you… Do you…” I’m not sure what to ask, what to say. Did she really think I was going to propose? Was I going to? My thoughts were so jumbled, I honestly don’t know what the next words out of my mouth were going to be. Has she thought about marriage between us? Why would she jump to such a conclusion?

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for at this point.

  “Violet.”

  I look over and see Lady Birchwood calling her niece to her. Violet goes to her without another word to me.

  “We can discuss this at home,” I hear Lady Birchwood tell Violet. Violet nods and shuffles out of the church faster than I’ve ever seen her move before. Lady Birchwood then looks at me as if she wants to say something, but then changes her mind and follows Violet out the door.

  Vicar Woolsey walks up the aisle to me and claps me on the back. “You did the right thing, son.”

  “I did?” I ask. “I’m not so sure.”

  “Doing the right thing doesn’t always mean you’ll be rewarded for it,” he says. “Not in this life, anyway.”

  I shake my head. “What have I done?”

  He chuckles and leads me down the aisle. “Come, let’s have a drink. You clearly need one.”

  “I’m not sure,” I say. “My head is already spinning.”

  “Maybe a stiff bourbon will help sober you up.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Violet

  Two days after was what supposed to be my wedding day ended in disaster, I’m sitting at a desk in the library, looking out to what appears to be a beautiful day. The sky is clear and blue, birds flit about, and the garden is in full bloom. I see a couple of maids walking about with watering cans. It isn’t too terribly hot, but it has not rained in… Well, since the night of the storm changed everything.

  By the time Aunt Charlotte and I returned home on Sunday, the Griswolds were already having their luggage loaded into their carriages. It was very late in the day to start a journey, but I suppose they could not spend a single more night in the same house as me. And I don’t blame them. They probably got only as far as the next town over before stopping at an inn for the night. Aunt Charlotte and I slipped into the house through a side door and waited in the kitchen until they were gone. The servants already knew what had happened by that time and eagerly served us tea—with a little something extra in it. They patted my hand and told me it was for the best and how everything would turn out all right in the end. I know they meant well, but it took everything in me not to burst into tears.

  It was a strange mix of feelings. A part of me was, certainly, relieved at not having to marry Edward. He would have been a terrible husband and I would have been a miserable wife. But at the same time, having the surety of the future snatched away from me has left me scrambling. My life is in utter purgatory.

  Then there is Edison. Dear, sweet, frustrating Edison. I know he did what he thought was right. And he thought it would please me, make me happy. I know the idea didn’t originate with him. He never would have violated another person’s private quarters. The discovery of the letter and the idea to share it at the wedding had to have come from Esme. How I wish she would have given me the letter when she had the chance
. But I know why she didn’t. I would have ignored it. Buried it. Gone through with the wedding. Made myself a martyr for the ambition of my parents.

  Oh, I know that what Edison did was for the best. It is just taking me time to come to terms with it. Time to try and figure out what this means for the rest of my life.

  There is a knock at the door and my aunt enters. “I hope I’m not intruding,” she says.

  I lay down the pen I had been holding, poised over the empty piece of paper. “No. I was only trying to compose a letter to my parents. The words won’t seem to come. Every time I sit down to write, I just cannot seem to get the pen to move.”

  Aunt Charlotte sits on a couch and motions for me to join her. “I understand. I know it is not the letter you wanted to write. The one that would tell them that all they had hoped would happen had come true.

  “It would have been a lie, of course. You would have told them how much you loved Edward and how good he was to you. How lucky you were to have found him and so proud to have become the duchess they dreamed you would.”

  My eyes water and I sniff a little. “That would have been a wonderful letter to write if it had been true.”

  “I know, dear. I know.”

  I dab a handkerchief at the corners of my eyes. “I had planned to write my letter of triumph for so long. I hardly know how to tell them what a failure I am.”

  “You are not a failure,” Aunt Charlotte says firmly. “You are a smart, accomplished, beautiful young woman. And if your parents can’t see that, well, they are the fools.”

  “The fools who hold the purse strings,” I say. “They are my parents. They will decide what happens to me next.”