The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1)

by Rachael Anderson

  “My absent memory does make conversation difficult,” he said, trying not to be annoyed by the large void in his past. He cast a quick glance Lucy’s way, noticing her pensive expression, and pulled on the reins, bringing Athena and the cart to a stop.

  “What are you doing?” Lucy glanced behind them. “Is something the matter with the cart?”

  “The cart is fine.”

  “Why have you stopped?”

  “I was merely thinking that you cannot answer that question either.”

  She frowned in confusion. “What question?”

  “Tell me, Miss Beresford. Who taught you how to drive?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Isn’t it interesting that neither of us can provide an answer to that question but for completely different reasons?”

  Her body stiffened, and she clasped her fingers in her lap, eyeing him warily. “Your point, Collins?”

  “Only that it would be a great feather in my cap if you could one day say that your butler/footman/coachman/gardener taught you to drive.’”

  “And what if I do not wish you to add that particular feather to your cap?”

  Ignoring the question, Collins shifted to face her and propped an elbow on his knee. “Perhaps we can make it a competition.”

  “Make what a competition?” she said a bit testily. “You already know how to drive.”

  “Yes, but I do not know who taught me how to drive. It could have been my father, a friend, a cousin, a sibling, or perhaps I taught myself. Someday, I hope to recall the answer, but for now, it is a mystery. So what I propose is this: The first to provide an answer to the question wins.”

  Her gaze moved from his face to the reins and back to him. “Wins what, exactly? A feather in one’s cap? Because I don’t care a farthing for boasting privileges.”

  Collins studied her with interest. Was the lovely vicar’s daughter proposing an actual wager? It caught him off guard a bit, only because Collins had been expecting her to dismiss the challenge completely. Yet here she was, not only considering it, but desiring to set terms.

  He ran his finger across his chin as he gave the matter some thought. “I have it,” he said after a moment. “The other day I was doing the unthinkable and poking around below stairs when I stumbled across something that one might call a hat. It is tall and black, with a wide brim that is stitched up on one side. I believe it is made of felted wool and has the most intriguing matted red feather sweeping up the side of it.”

  “I know the one,” said Lucy. “It was left there by the previous occupants, and as I wasn’t sure what to do with the thing, I left it alone. It is quite ghastly, is it not?”

  “And therefore perfect for our wager.”

  Her eyebrow lifted in an intriguing way. “Go on,” she said.

  “I propose that the loser must wear that hat for an entire day. A mandatory visit to town might also be required.”

  “But it is a man’s hat!” Lucy protested.

  “I am certain you can pull it off smashingly, if it comes to that,” said Collins. “You are not afraid of losing, are you? Only think how perfectly ridiculous I’d look wearing it.”

  Based on the way she drew her lower lip into her mouth, she was considering it. Collins could almost hear her mind clinking away as she glanced at Athena, the reins, and back at him.

  “Do you swear to be the very best driving instructor you can be?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” he said.

  “What will it take to prove I am a competent driver?”

  He gave it some thought before saying, “You must drive all the way to town and back without assistance.”

  She frowned. “Alone?”

  “Of course not. I shall be at your side, but I cannot help with the ribbons or instruct you in any way.”

  She sighed, chewed on her lower lip once more, and finally nodded. “Very well, Collins. I accept your challenge, so prepare yourself to wear that ridiculous hat.” She scooted closer to him and held out her hands. “The ribbons, if you please.”

  The drive to town was nothing short of a fiasco. Lucy was a deplorable pupil with too-soft hands and an even softer heart. She did not want to pull on the reins or whip them against Athena’s back or even guide the horse in the proper direction. She merely wanted to carry the ribbons and allow the horse to go wherever it may. And what the animal wished to do most was to munch on the fresh grass alongside the road.

  “Athena, you are behaving very badly,” Lucy said in frustration. “You may eat later. Right now, you need to move.”

  “You must show her who is in charge,” Collins tried to explain.

  “How do I do that, exactly?” Lucy snipped.

  Collins gently took the reins from her hand, flicked them twice, and pulled hard on the left one, saying, “Heave and ho, girl. Come now. Off we go.”

  Athena responded, and as soon as they were back on the road, Collins handed the reins over once again.

  Now that the horse was moving, Lucy could not seem to relax. She jerked the ribbons to the left, and when Athena trotted dangerously close to that side of the road, she yanked them to the right, then left again, causing Athena to move in a criss-cross pattern across the road. Collins attempted to coach Lucy, but it was to no avail. She turned out to be the most abominable driver Collins had ever known. No wonder her mother insisted on doing the driving.

  When they had finally reached town, thankfully with the horse and cart still intact, Collins had no choice but to take the ribbons from Lucy for fear she would drive them into another rig, or worse, a pedestrian. No passerby was safe with her at the head.

  “I think, Miss Beresford,” Collins said as he pulled the cart to a stop in front of the mercantile, “that you had better purchase some extra fripperies to make the ghastly hat a little more fashionable. I strongly believe that you shall be the one wearing it.”

  “Oh, do be quiet,” she said crossly, refusing his help as she climbed from the cart.

  “Do you require my assistance in the mercantile?” he asked, hoping she would send him away, giving him the time to finally search out the doctor.

  Her frustration with him worked in his favor. “No,” she said, striding toward the door. “You may return for me in an hour.”

  “Very good, Miss,” he said with a cockney accent, unable to refrain from grinning as she disappeared inside.

  At last, Collins was able to do as he wished, and he had an entire hour at his disposal to boot. He cast a quick glance up and down the street, wondering where to begin. One might call the village of Askern charming, but it lacked any sort of familiarity to him. From the milliner to the inn to the cobblestone streets, everything looked as foreign as it felt. People milled about, going in, coming out, or driving by—many of whom cast curious glances his way.

  This is not my home, he thought. Not one person exhibited even a spark of recognition.

  Collins sighed and hailed a passerby. “Excuse me, sir. Could you possibly tell me where I might find the doctor at this time of day?”

  He nodded down the road. “The leech ‘as an office at the norf end of the village, but ya’ll be lucky ter find ‘im there. ’E’s a ’ard one ter track down. Always samplin’ the waters and scribblin’ in ’is book.”

  Collins nodded his thanks and headed north, but as the man had warned, the good doctor was nowhere to be found, and the proprietor of the tavern next door had not seen him for hours.

  “Check by the lake,” he grumbled. “Says ’e’s writin’ a book about the waters or sum such fin’. Spends more time doin’ that than tendin’ ter the people, I’d say. Fool leech.”

  On that recommendation, Collins left the tavern, his optimism not quite as high as before. Still he tried the lake, where he learned the doctor ate often at the inn and might be found there, so off he went to the inn, only to discover he’d missed the man by a good hour.

  Devil take it, thought Collins as he strode from the inn, unsure where to try next. Not one single occupant in th
e room could give him a clue as to where the doctor could be. Perhaps back at his so-called office?

  Leaving Athena and the cart at the inn, Collins once again strode toward the doctor’s office. The sun was beginning to sink low over the horizon, threatening darkening skies. He didn’t have much longer before he would need to collect Miss Beresford.

  Not far away, a horse whinnied, and Collins glanced its way, then stopped and looked harder. Held captive behind a rickety fence, the black Arabian appeared out of place and even . . . familiar. Collins walked toward the animal as a memory began to surface, caught somewhere between the unknown and known. A man and his son filled a trough nearby, eyeing Collins with distrust as he approached.

  “Is there somethin’ ya needed?” the man asked, holding his son tightly by the hand.

  “This horse,” said Collins. “Where did you get it?”

  “She’s a beaut, ain’t she?” said the man. “I found ’er roamin’ the ’ills not far from ’ere. She ’ad on a fancy saddle but ’ad lost a shoe, so I calmed ’er down and brought ’er ter me blacksmif’s shop ter fix the shoe. Been tryin’ ter figure out ’oo she belongs ter ever since. Recognize ’er?”

  The memory was so close Collins could almost see it. He did recognize the horse but he didn’t know how. He couldn’t even remember its name. “I . . .”

  “Lil’ darlin’, it’s time for supper.” A woman stood at the back door of a small, but tidy house, wiggling her fingers at the small boy. She cast a curious look at Collins but didn’t say anything. When the boy ran to her, she swooped him into her arms and carried him inside.

  But the endearment . . . Darling. It meant something. Collins could feel it, almost see it, but like a fly buzzing around, he couldn’t snatch it.

  “Are ya new ter Askern?” asked the man, eyeing Collins skeptically.

  “I believe so,” he answered. “The Beresfords have recently employed me as their . . . coachman, among other things.”

  “Ya don’t sound loike a coachman.”

  “I find that rather odd myself.” Collins stroked the nose of the Arabian, scouring his memory for something more than a hazy familiarity. It was there, so close and yet still out of reach, making him feel as though he would go mad at any moment.

  “Me cousin, Georgy, works for the Beresfords. Do ya know ’er?”

  “I do,” said Collins. “She’s a sweet girl and a hard worker. Miss Lucy is quite fond of her.”

  “And Georgy be quite fond of Miss Lucy. They’ve been good ter ’er.” He continued to watch Collins closely, his expression more confused than anything else. “Things must be lookin’ up for the Beresfords if they ’ave taken ya on. ’Appy ter ’ear it. It’s about time somethin’ good ’appen ter them for a change.”

  Collins looked away from the horse and at the man, who couldn’t be much older than him. Wearing tattered trousers and a dingy shirt, he had obviously spent the day laboring in some way.

  “What do you mean ‘for a change?’” asked Collins. “Are you referring to the passing of Miss Lucy’s father?”

  “That, and ’e left ’is family wif noffin’. They would be ’omeless if not for Lord Drayson.”

  Lord Drayson.

  The name screeched through Collins’s mind, stirring, colliding, and opening memories. Like interlinking cogs, scenes from his past began to emerge and come together. His home in Danbury. His family. His father, now gone. His nieces. Darling. Tanglewood. Dark, flashing eyes. Everything came back in an overwhelming rush of facts, images, details—right down to the moment he had raced away from the dower house in the freezing rain. Everything made sense now. Why he wanted to give orders instead of be ordered, why he knew horses but had no idea how to clean a flue or plant a garden or polish silver. Why he detested that ghastly pink shirt.

  “Mister?” asked the blacksmith. “Ya feelin’ alright?”

  Collins blinked at him a few times before he could answer. “I am perfectly well, thanks to you. And I do know this horse. He is called Darling and has a small round scar on the back of his right hind leg.”

  The blacksmith immediately inspected the spot and lifted an impressed brow. “That she does.”

  “If you would be so kind as to keep the horse for another few days, I can provide further proof and see that you are handsomely paid for your kindness on behalf of this animal.”

  The blacksmith ran a hand along Darling’s sleek coat. “Might I ask ’oo she belongs ter?”

  “Yes. She belongs to Colin Cavendish, the fifth Earl of Drayson,” answered the earl. And Lucy Beresford, the late vicar’s daughter, knows exactly who I am.

  Colin strode down the road, his jaw clenched and his hands fisted. He had been played for an utter fool, and for what reason? Had Miss Beresford wanted revenge? Had she hoped his memory would never return so that she could remain in the dower house for as long as she wished? Had she purposefully placed him in a compromising position with the hopes he would do the honorable thing and propose?

  What the deuce had inspired such deceit—such disregard for integrity, propriety, and common decency? Colin had been due in London last week. His sister and valet were likely besides themselves with worry, wondering what had become of him. Had word reached his mother? Were people out searching for him?

  Had Miss Beresford bothered to consider any of that?

  Fury burned through Colin like a hearty swig of brandy—something he could certainly use at the moment. He turned toward the inn and quickened his pace, striding into the establishment moments later. The demand for a strong drink died on his lips when he realized he had no way of paying for it. He uttered a curse under his breath.

  Where had she stashed his purse? His clothes? His boots?

  Colin sat in the nearest chair and glared out the window. It was past time for him to retrieve Miss Beresford, but he did not care. She could wait on him for a change or even make the journey home on foot—not that it would be her home much longer. He would see to that straightaway.

  A twinge of conscience pestered him at such thoughts, but Colin shoved it aside. Miss Beresford had seemed so genuine and kind. What reason could she possibly have for doing such a despicable thing? Colin could not understand it. Had Georgina known as well? Of course she had. The two were as thick as thieves.

  A burly-looking man pulled out a chair across from Colin and plopped down with a drink in hand. His red beard appeared as though it had not been washed or combed in weeks.

  The earl glanced at him, wanting—no needing—answers. “Do you happen to know Miss Lucy Beresford?” he asked.

  The man studied Colin for a moment before grunting. “Everyone knows Miss Lucy.”

  “What sort of person is she?”

  The man set down his drink, and Colin watched the dark liquid in the man’s glass sway back and forth until it settled.

  “’Oo’s askin’?” he asked, his expression distrustful.

  The earl returned his gaze to the window, where tiny droplets slapped against the pane and trickled down. When had it begun raining? “No one of consequence,” he finally muttered. “Forget I asked.”

  The man took another long drink. When he set the glass down again, he said, “Miss Lucy’s the sort of person ter bring soup, flowers, and fresh bread ter me and me wife and offer ter ’old our lil’ one so that we could ’ave a bite to eat. She always ’as a kind word ter say. People look out for ’er ’round ’ere.”

  “Have you known her long?” asked Colin.

  “Most of me life,” he answered. “Miss Lucy and me bruvver, Ben, used ter get in all sorts of scrapes. Pickin’ locks, racin’ grass’oppers, buryin’ snakes, and the loike.”

  The earl nodded. So she hadn’t lied about everything. The rain continued to trickle down the window, and he felt some of his anger trickled away. He had come to know Miss Lucy as well—her quick wit, frank speaking, soft curves, and flashes of anger. Goodness seemed to emanate from her soul, which was why he could not understand the lies. What would she say
if he demanded answers? Would she continue to lie, or would Colin finally hear the truth—the whole truth?

  Lightning flashed in the skies, and a rumble of thunder followed moments later. The sound awakened Colin from his self-centered thoughts and caused his brow to furrow in concern. Where was Lucy now? Had she taken refuge in a shop, or had she ignored the graying skies and set out on foot? Despite her deception, she did not deserve to be out alone in this weather.

  Colin immediately drew himself up, nodded his thanks to the man, and finally went in search of Lucy.

  Lucy had walked nearly halfway home by the time Collins pulled the cart alongside her. After waiting in front of the mercantile for twenty minutes, she had run out of patience and began the trek home. Not ten minutes later, she regretted the decision. They gray clouds had opened up, dropping down rain that quickly soaked through her thin muslin dress and wilted her straw bonnet. Each gust of wind made her cringe and shiver, and beneath her thin gloves, Lucy’s fingers became numb. It was amazing how quickly the temperature dropped when the sun was no longer around to share its warmth.

  “You’re late, C-Collins.” Lucy’s voice quivered from the cold. She probably sounded vexed, but her frustration wasn’t entirely aimed at him. The chilly walk had given her time to ponder on her problem, and the person she was mostly vexed with was herself.

  The earl offered his hand to her, which she accepted gratefully and climbed into the cart. The sooner they returned home, the sooner she could wrap herself into a warm blanket in front of a blazing fire.

  “My apologies for being late,” said Collins in a distracted sort of way. “I ran into a bit of trouble that needed sorting out.”

  Lucy set her bundle on her lap and hugged her arms to her chest in an effort to bring some warmth back into her body. “What s-sort of trouble? Is everything all r-right?”

  “It was nothing I couldn’t sort out on my own.” He peered closer at her and frowned. “You appear to be quite sodden. And frozen. Are you all right?”

  “I’m not s-sure why you would th-think that,” she said, unable to keep from stuttering the words. “I am as t-toasty as a log on the f-fire.” Perhaps if she thought it, she would feel it. If only Athena would pick up the pace.