Page 7 of A Rogue to Cherish

Chapter Three

“Lass. Get up. We must leave soon,” her aunt called from the kitchen.

Wren woke from a deep sleep, sat up, and stretched. The first thing she saw was the vase holding the beautiful flowers she’d brought back from her errand the day before. How she wished they’d last forever, not only because they were beautiful, but because they were a reminder of one of the most delight-filled days in her twenty-one years.

Walking in the beautiful garden, the flowers, the birds, and the delicious meal were wonderful, but the best part of all was to have shared it with a handsome man who’d been so kind. Unsurprisingly, she’d dreamed of him, of sharing another moment in the garden.

This time, he’d taken her hand and they’d danced to a beautiful melody.

Wren giggled at the thought. That a maid had shared a meal with a gentleman was unbelievable. Even if she dared to tell it to someone, they would never believe her. It was the stuff of dreams.

Now, it was barely light outside, the sun still low in the sky. She slipped from the bed and yawned widely. Her aunt always rose quite early, breaking her fast and spending time in prayer. Wren understood she needed the time alone, which suited her fine as she appreciated the extra time to sleep.

Once dressed and with her hair braided, Wren donned her cap and apron. Then she went to the kitchen where she ate a simple meal of porridge and toasted bread.

“There is much to do today,” her aunt informed her. “You will be helping to weed the garden and prepare herbs for drying. I told the headmistress of your penchant for gardening.”

“Is that to be my position?” Wren asked, smiling. “Gardening?”

“For now, aye,” her aunt said. “I hope to secure you a place as a chambermaid, otherwise, you will be exposed to the elements, and all that bending cannot be good.”

Wren wasn’t particularly worried. Although it would be troublesome to be outdoors when the weather became cooler, for now, she was grateful to have work, and she would do what was needed.

*

Later that morning,along with a young lad, Wren followed an old man named Rufus to the garden.

“We will start here.” He poked his walking stick into the soil and then used it as he shuffled to the edge of the plantings and pointed with it. “And go to here.” Wren hurried to catch up, while the lad with them crossed his arms looking bored.

Rufus frowned down at her. “Do you know the difference between good plants, herbs, and weeds?”

“I do,” Wren replied, lowering to point at a plant with branches that had leaves made out of tinier ones. “This is Sweet Cicely. Good for cough and other ailments.” She pinched a leaf and sniffed it. “Sweet.”

The old man did not seem impressed. “Very well then, go ahead. Keep the lad in line. He is called Tim.” He walked off without providing further instructions.

Of all the jobs, she would have preferred to work in the kitchen. As much as she loved gardens and the outdoors, Wren had never quite mastered cooking, and working in the kitchen would have given her ample opportunities to gain experience.

Before the death of her family, her mother and sister had done all the cooking, and she had been expected to tend to the garden, which admittedly was much harder work compared to cooking. But now, she wondered if she’d even be successfully able to boil water, an important life skill.

For his part, Tim didn’t bother pretending to work. Instead, he kicked a rock against the garden wall, over and over, while she tugged weeds.

“Fetch me the wheelbarrow, please?” Wren asked Tim, not bothering to look at him. She gathered by his expression and constant looks toward the stables, he’d hoped to work with the horses instead of in the garden. The lad seemed startled by her kind tone. But she didn’t feel resentment at his lack of participation in their assigned labor.

“Aye, very well.” His head bobbed and then he hurried off in the direction of the stables, making her wonder if he’d ever return. As she watched him go, a man on horseback arrived in the stable yard and dismounted.

She straightened, leaning back on her heels to look at him. The shade from his hat didn’t allow her to see his face, but by his build and hair color, she was certain it was Grant Murray. Thankfully, he couldn’t see her as she was on the side of the house behind a wall. Though, even if he did spot her, it was probable he’d pretend not to know her.

Once the horse was taken, he strolled toward the house. With long strides, he cut a fine figure in his riding attire, complete with a calf-long overcoat and knee-high riding boots. In one gloved hand, he carried a parcel. Almost as if sensing her perusal, Grant hesitated and turned, but he didn’t seem to notice her hidden behind the wall as she was.

Either that, or he thought her only to be a curious member of the household staff, which indeed she was. She knew she shouldn’t—and couldn’t—expect him to speak to her in a friendly fashion, in spite of how they’d shared a meal the morning before. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel a tinge of disappointment. Obviously, their interaction meant far less to him than it did to her, and reasonably so.

Once at the front steps, the butler opened the doors and Grant disappeared into the house.

Sounds got her attention and she turned to find the lad heading over, pushing the wheelbarrow whilst another followed behind him, yelling.

“What happened?” Wren got to her feet and met them at the garden gate.

“He must return the wheelbarrow to me,” the lad who’d come up behind Tim informed her. “He just grabbed it from my hands.”