“You don’t look like a gardener.”
“Oh?” Oliver said, half amused. “And what does the young master think I look like?”
The boy raked him up and down with a thoughtful look. “An imposter.”
Perceptive and blunt. “If I were to be that, should you be talking to me, an imposter? Would that not be dangerous?”
“A respectable point.” The boy pursed his lips. “But it’s too late now, is it not?” His eyes narrowed more. “You still cannot be a servant. I don’t recognize you.”
“Would you recognize me?” Oliver questioned the lad curiously. Most boys of his age and station wouldn’t give much thought to a servant. “I am but a humble gardener.”
Suspicion filled the youth’s eyes. “That can’t be. I know all the servants, including the gardeners.” His chin lifted a bit. “Their namesanddesignations.”
Amusement filled Oliver. Quite commendable for a child his age—and certainly something he should be proud of. “What a smart young master you are.”
“Are you mocking me, sir?”
“Of course not,” Oliver said with a hint of a smile infused in those three words. Not many tricks would work on this child, but he thought he knew one that might. “Your sister hired me.”
Suspicion turned to outright skepticism. “Louisa hired a gardener?”
“The young master makes it sound as if she would never do such a thing,” Oliver remarked. The excuse would have to do.
The boy lifted his hand to his chin in a thoughtful manner, a gesture clearly borrowed from some adult he knew. He probably considered himself an adult as well. “It’s not that she wouldn’t,but it’s also not something she would. She certainly wouldn’t hire a gardener who just stares at the garden.”
“I was merely contemplating what to plant in that corner over yonder.” Oliver nodded to a patch that had no plant or flower. “Something that would resemble the lady herself since she has given me this opportunity.”
“My sister doesn’t like flowers.”
Ah. So that was why the young heir thought Lady Louisa would never hire a gardener. “Is that so? I didn’t realize.”
The boy nodded proudly. “I know her best.”
“I thought all women loved flowers.”
The boy instantly shook his head furiously. “Not all women are my sister. She sneezes at the mere sight.”
“I see.” Oliver swept his gaze over the garden, the roses blooming all around. He bit back a smile. So, the lady didn’t like flowers... “Well, young master, I am thankful for your insight.”
“Didn’t she tell you this when she hired you?” Suspicion crept back into his voice.
Oliver wanted to laugh. If all lawmen could be as skeptical, perceptive, and sharp as this boy, England’s criminals would be in sorry shape. “She must have told me, but I was so captivated by her beauty, I must have forgotten.”
A moment of silence before the boy slowly nodded. “That does make sense. Men usually act all strange when they first meet her.”
Did she point knives at those men as well?
“All her suitors have brought her flowers,” the boy went on. “She tossed them all away.”
Poor flowers. “Does she have many suitors?” Oliver asked in the spirit of inquiry. He imagined she had, and yet she had forsaken the activity of the London season to retire to Ashford. Far be it from him to understand the workings of the female mind.
“Of course. She is an heiress, after all.”
Oliver nodded, all too aware of that fact. “Then perhaps you can help me once more and point me in the direction of what she might enjoy?”
“Why would I tell you such a thing?”
Fair question. “I wish to show her my gratitude for... hiring me.”
