The Wicked Wager Read Online Free PDF Page B

out of order?”
    “I received instructions from the duke, and
you come highly recommended. You seem to know your plants.”
    The earl certainly hoped so. With his years
spent studying botany amongst other subjects at Oxford, he had better know his
roots from his shoots.
    Not to mention the entire day he had spent
toiling in his own field being instructed by ten terribly boisterous and
contradictory gardeners.
    “It is your name. How am I supposed to call
out to you? It will not do for a lady to utter such a name. Even writing it
down in the books would be mortifying, especially since the accountant goes
over them.”
    A prude as well thought the earl
agitatedly.
    “It is a common enough name, I assure you,
miss.”
    “Yes, well, that may be so, but I don’t
have people with such names in my employ.”
    The earl remained silent, cursing his beard
and his filthy clothes. Getting people to do what he wanted had always been
easy for him. He simply charmed them with his looks. Being without his title
was suddenly making him realise how vulnerable he truly was.
    He wondered how people managed daily
without any assets. Every day would be a struggle if one always had to depend
on one’s wit rather than one’s looks or name.
    “We have been waiting for over two months for
a head gardener. I have been searching high and low. There is such a dearth of
reliable servants these days. I cannot have the gardens neglected much longer.
The under-gardeners are decent lads who know their job, but they have been
constantly bickering with one another. Each one is trying to vie for the
position of the head gardener and wanting to do their own thing. I cannot have
roses growing in the patch of daisies, and I do not have the time to deal with
petty rivalries. I am at my wits end, so to speak, and as I have no choice at
the moment, I will take you on. Mind you, it will be a temporary position until
I find someone to replace you … unless you intend to change your name?” Mrs
Purcell asked hopefully.
    “I have borne this name for over sixty years,
madam. Why, my father and his grandfather and his grandfather had all been
named thus. It is the matter of my roots, and each one of us has succeeded in
creating the most magnificent gardens. My ancestor was an under-gardener to the
English King’s head gardener himself. I do not like to boast, but …”.
    “Yes, yes, that is enough,” said Mrs
Purcell hurriedly. She realised he was one of those long winded types. The
older a man got the more wordy he seemed to get.
    “Is that all, Mrs Purcell? May I start work
in the morning?”
    “Yes, you can come to the kitchens at nine,
and you will be shown your accommodations and things.”
    The earl waited, knowing she would have to
say it.
    “Thank you … err … Mr … err …
Shufflebottom.”
    The earl left, still chuckling into his sleeve.
    ***
    It had been over a week, and Emma was
wondering where the earl had got to. He had not even written to her.
    She did not like feeling worried, and it
was an odd sensation worrying about someone’s safety other than one’s own
immediate family. She already missed him terribly.
    Maybe he had decided to stay in London and
give up the whole foolish charade. Curiously that made her feel disappointed.
In spite of all her arguments, she had looked forward to the grand scheme.
    She glanced back at her maid and her cousin
strolling slowly behind her. Emma enjoyed a good brisk walk, while her abigail
was too fat to keep up. Her slim cousin liked to amble leisurely, most of the
time her head was lost in some book or the other that she was reading.
    It was difficult to force her cousin
outdoors, and she worried about her coming out next year … her reverie was
interrupted by a hiss.
    “Psst”
    Emma started. She peered at the apple
trees. The sound had been loud, but she could not see anyone close by.
    “This way”
    Emma turned to her right and made her way
towards the bit where the trees grew closer together.