Read Online The Gardener by Catherine McGreevy - Free Book Online

as great as he had feared.
    He'd know soon enough.
    *     *     *
    Tom was able to avoid Blodgett until after the guests had departed, and while the rotund butler was busy in the pantry counting the silverware, Tom edged discreetly toward the servants' stairs. He had no doubt that he'd get an earful in the morning. Nothing that happened in the great house escaped the butler's notice, not even a misplaced fork. So much for some day becoming head footman, Tom thought gloomily as he headed toward his room. After tonight, he'd be lucky not to be sacked.
    As usual, his thoughts turned to Jenny. What would she think when she heard, as surely she must? He'd never earn her good opinion now, much less her heart.
    As he looked up his mood sank even further for, teetering toward him in high-heeled slippers was Miss Maeve Marlowe. Despite the lateness of the hour she still wore her evening gown, although her coiffure was askew and her smile was lopsided.
    He had barely time to wonder what she was doing in this narrow passage, which normally was frequented only by staff. Here, there was no corridor for him to turn into, no alcove in which to duck. He drew up flat against the wall, hoping she'd pass by.
    Instead, she stopped directly in front of Tom and cocked her head, studying him closely. His neck grew hot under the tight stock. So much for remaining invisible, he thought in despair. It was a task he seemed to be incapable of, especially tonight.
    Pretending to look at some far-off spot in the distance, he grew vaguely aware of her wide-skirted silk gown adorned with pink and green embroidered flowers, of mouse-brown curls arranged in some new fashion, and a sickeningly sweetly fragrance that must be one of her French perfumes.
    “It was you!” she said suddenly in her high-pitched voice. “You're the gardener who stopped the horses, aren't you?”
    He cleared his throat. “Yes, miss.”
    She clapped her hands. “I knew it! What luck that you were the one to serve us tonight. If not for the fish, I shouldn't have recognized you.” She sashayed away, in the direction from which she had come.
    Tom was speechless. He had nearly ruined her engagement dinner, and she did not seem to mind! Mopping the sweat from his brow, he galloped downstairs to his quarters. He was splashing water on his face when Campbell appeared in the doorway wearing a quizzical look.
    “You're wanted.” The other footman jerked a thumb toward the ceiling.
    Still dripping, Tom glowered upward. “Whatever it is, can't one of the parlor maids handle it?”
    “Apparently not. Miss Marlowe requested your services specifically.” Campbell remained expressionless, but his deep-set gray eyes looked speculative.
    Cursing under his breath, Tom jerked his wig back on over his close-cropped hair, shrugged into his blue livery jacket, and fastened the gold buttons. Straightening his wig, he headed toward the stairs.
    Before stepping through the tall, carved doors that led to Miss Marlowe's chambers, he hesitated again. The sense of unease, which had troubled him all evening, grew stronger. He yearned to turn and leave. But of course, he could not.
    The ornate antechamber led to Maeve's sleeping quarters, which he had never seen. Passing through the final set of doors, he had an impression of extravagantly curved chairs and of heavy dark-red curtains hanging from massive mahogany bed posts. Miss Marlowe was reclining on a chaise longue in a carefully arranged pose, hands folded in her lap, as she watched him enter.
    “Those paintings over there.” She raised a languid arm to point, disarranging the folds of her green dressing gown, which coiled about her like a serpent. “I am not satisfied with their arrangement. Please switch them.”
    Two large paintings flanked the bed. One pictured a nymph with mounds of pink flesh looking coquettishly over her shoulder, while in the other a girl with ropes of golden hair simpered while reclining on a divan. He lifted the