Georgina nodded and followed her mistress up the stairs. Mrs. Bidding brought up the rear, standing on the threshold of Lucy’s bedchamber like a rigid sentinel while the two women packed. Lucy had hoped for a few minutes alone with her maid, but it was not to be.
With the help of Mrs. Bidding’s groom, the trunk was carried downstairs and mounted on the back of the waiting carriage. Lucy glanced at the stables, but the earl was no longer there. Before she climbed into the carriage and sacrificed her freedom, she threw her arms around Georgina in a dramatic show of goodbye and whispered in her ear, “Lord Drayson’s clothes and personal effects can be found in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe. Please see that he gets them and show him the way to Mr. Shepherd’s, would you? He can explain everything.” Georgina could explain as well, but Lucy did not wish to put that weighty responsibility on her sweet maid, not when Mr. Shepherd could do the job with greater ease and eloquence.
Georgina nodded, appearing relieved and yet worried as well. Lucy climbed into the carriage with heavy steps, praying everything would turn out all right. As the horses pulled Mrs. Bidding’s coach down the path, Lucy peered back at an empty stable yard with far too many regrets.
If only Lord Drayson hadn’t fallen from his horse. If only she hadn’t told that lie. If only her heart had remained locked tight.
The day following Lucy’s forced removal from her home, Mr. Shepherd sent a note to Lucy that read:
You may cease your fretting. All is well.
—Mr. Shepherd
Lucy frowned at the note. What did it mean, exactly? That Lord Drayson had finally been made aware of his true identity or that the Beresfords could remain in the dower house for the time being? Was Georgina busy packing while Lucy remained confined in this room?
For a scholar who loved to read lengthy works, Mr. Shepherd apparently didn’t enjoy writing detailed missives. It was no wonder he had never written a book of his own.
Lucy asked Mrs. Bidding if they could call on Mr. Shepherd so that she might question him further, but Mrs. Bidding would not allow it. Nor would she allow Lucy to write a letter in return.
“You are not to have any communications with anyone outside this home until your mother returns and can oversee them,” was the final word.
So Lucy had tossed Mr. Shepherd’s note into the fire and flopped down on her bed, feeling like a prisoner. Although the room Mrs. Bidding had deposited her in was grander than her own, Lucy despised the way it enshrouded her, cutting her off from the rest of the world.
Lucy was allowed to eat meals with the family and spend time in the drawing room with Mrs. Bidding, listening to lectures on proper etiquette while bettering her needlepoint and calligraphy skills, but Lucy preferred the silence of her bedchamber and remained there much of the time.
Three days into her imprisonment, Lucy was ready to escape out her window and scale down the stone wall. She had been studying the bumps and ridges beneath her window and had determined it would be possible, if not a tad dangerous, to do exactly that. So it was with great relief that she was summoned to the drawing room the morning of her fourth day. Her mother had finally arrived, and Lucy had never been so glad to see anyone.
The dark circles around Mrs. Beresford’s eyes showed her weariness, but her traveling dress and bonnet looked as though she’d only just put them on. Other than a few strands of mahogany hair escaping her neat bun, she was as put-together as always.
Apparently Mrs. Bidding had taken it upon herself to enlighten Mrs. Beresford about the deplorable behavior of her only daughter, for her expression was quite grim. Lucy tried not to be annoyed that she had not been allowed to do her own confessing. Mrs. Bidding did not know the half of it, and Lucy could only imagine the embellished—and undoubtedly disparaging—rendition her mother had been made to listen to.
Mrs. Beresford sat stiffly in an armchair looking thinner than she had when she left. She eyed her daughter sternly. “We shall talk when we get home, Lucille. Please thank Mrs. Bidding for looking after you and collect your things.”
Lucy obediently curtsied to her hostess. “Thank you, Mrs. Bidding. I shall be forever in your debt.” She hoped it sounded more sincere than it felt. Then she picked up her skirts and practically ran from the room. Her mother would undoubtedly impart many lectures of her own, but Lucy couldn’t deny that she was thrilled to go home.
Once they were seated in the carriage and moving in the direction of home, Lucy asked, “How is Aunt Beth and the new baby?”
Her mother sighed. “She finally gave birth to the boy they have desperately wanted and is healing nicely.”
“That’s happy news,” said Lucy, mustering her most cheerful tone.
“If only I could have arrived home to equally happy news.” Her mother eyed her with a look that said, I had better like your version of events more than Mrs. Bidding’s, or you will find yourself locked in another tower.
Lucy swallowed and stared out the window, knowing her mother would not find much to like in Lucy’s version either. She felt every rut and bump during the long ride home. Georgina greeted them on the doorstep, helped to lug in Lucy’s trunk, and said she had some tea and scones ready if they would like some refreshment.
With her hand on the banister, Mrs. Beresford drew in a deep breath. “I should like to clean up first, Georgy. I need to cleanse my body and my mind before I partake of your wonderful tea with my daughter.”
Her daughter. Mrs. Beresford couldn’t even bring herself to use Lucy’s name.
“I’ll keep it warm for ya, Mrs. Beresford,” said Georgy. “Do ya need any assistance?”
“I can manage on my own, thank you.” Without even glancing at her daughter, Mrs. Beresford walked upstairs, her movements slow and heavy. Lucy felt immediately penitent. Her mother had spent nearly two weeks helping a sister in need, only to be greeted with worse troubles at home, and all because Mrs. Beresford had made the mistake of trusting her fully-grown daughter.
Lucy looked at Georgina in a solemn way. “Well, Georgy, it seems my plan to save us was an utter failure in every way. I should have listened to you.”
Georgina offered a look of sympathy, then nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen. “I baked a cake to celebrate your and Mrs. Beresford’s return. It’s been awful quiet ’round ’ere. Want a slice?”
Lucy answered with a forced smile of her own. “Is it lemon?”
“Is there any ovver kind?”
“If there is, there should not be.” Lucy’s smile felt more genuine now. “I would love a slice, Georgy. A big one.”
Georgina led the way, cutting Lucy a large slice and herself a small one when Lucy insisted she join her.
“Tell me what happened with Lord Drayson,” said Lucy, savoring the rich flavor of Georgina’s wonderful lemon cake while trying not to appear too anxious for news of the man.
Georgina frowned. “I don’t kna much. I gave ’im ’is things and showed ’im the path through the woods ter Mr. Shepherd’s. I ’aven’t seen ’im since. Is there any news from Knottin’ Tree?”
“Only a short note saying, ‘All is well.’”
“All is well?” Georgina asked. “Wot does ’e mean by that?”
“I haven’t the slightest notion,” said Lucy. “It is perplexing, is it not?”
Georgina nodded, appearing disappointed as well, and no wonder. Lord Drayson had become a friend to both of them, and Georgina had probably been as anxious for news as Lucy.
“As soon as I am able, I will pay a visit to Mr. Shepherd,” Lucy promised. “I take it you’ve received no notice of eviction as of yet?”
“Eviction?” said a voice from behind. “What on earth are you talking about, Lucy?”
Lucy’s body froze, and Georgina hopped up and began to clear away the dishes. “Would ya loike some cake wif your tea, Mrs. Beresford?” she asked, giving Lucy a few moments to compose herself.
Lucy’s mother ignored Georgina, directing a hard look at her daughter instead.
“Lucy, it is time for you to explain yourself. I must know what has occurred in my absence.”
Lucy blew out a breath and nodded before slowly pushing herself to her feet. The positive effects of the lemon cake faded in an instant. The time for reckoning had come. “Let’s adjourn to the yellow room, Mother. Georgy can bring us some tea, and we can . . . talk.”
And talk they did. Seated in the room that had once been covered in ash and soot, Lucy told her mother all, beginning with the moment the earl had arrived on her doorstep and ending with the high-handed way Mrs. Bidding had carted her off, treating her like a misbehaving child. As with her rendition to Mr. Shepherd, the only elements Lucy kept to herself were the two kisses. One did not speak of such things to one’s mother, especially if one’s mother was the widow of a vicar.
“I know you will likely never trust me again, Mother, and I do not blame you, but . . . well, there are no buts, really. I simply appreciate that you listened to the full account. Mrs. Bidding did not ask, not that I would have told her if she had.”
Throughout it all, she had shown no sign of emotion, not even when Lucy had mentioned the fact that they would be without a home soon. Her mother had merely sat erect and sipped her tea. Her biscuits and slice of cake remained untouched on her plate.
“Was that the full accounting?” Mrs. Beresford asked, her eyebrow lifted in question.
Lucy looked down at her lap, knowing what her mother hinted at. Unfortunately, Mrs. Bidding had been party to one of the scenes Lucy would have kept a secret forever.
“Not quite,” she grudgingly admitted, feeling her face burn as though it had been touched by the sun. “The earl, er . . .”
“Kissed you?” her mother said, far more bluntly than Lucy had ever heard her speak.
Lucy’s eyes flew to hers. She was surprised to see a hint of humor in them. “Yes.”
Mrs. Beresford nodded, immediately masking her feelings once again. “Mrs. Bidding implied that it was quite a passionate embrace.”
Curse Mrs. Bidding and her prying eyes and wagging tongue! Lucy thought crossly, feeling her face grow even warmer.
“Perhaps it was,” Lucy admitted, quieter this time. She offered no excuses for her behavior because she had none to offer. She had surrendered to a strong temptation, and though she was sorry for behaving so unseemly, she wasn’t sorry about the kiss. She had enjoyed the earl’s affections immensely and would hold onto those memories until the day she departed this earth.
What is to be my punishment, Mother? she wanted to blurt out. Please get on with it so that we can be done with this awkwardness.
Once again, her mother surprised her. “Mrs. Bidding said you kissed a coachman, not an earl,” she said.
“Mrs. Bidding knows only what little she saw. I did not think it wise to enlighten her further.”
Her mother cocked her head at gazed at her daughter. “Even though she would have insisted that he do the honorable thing by you?”
Lucy set her jaw and lifted her chin. “You don’t intend to ask such a thing of the earl, do you Mama? That is not the way I wish to enter into matrimony.”
For a brief moment, Lucy thought she saw a spark of pride in her mother’s eyes, but Mrs. Beresford set her teacup on the table and when she looked up again, it was gone.
“Lucy, there is something I haven’t told you before, something I hadn’t planned on telling you at all. But I believe I will now.” Mrs. Beresford smoothed the folds of her skirt with her palms. “Your father and I didn’t have what you’d call a regular courtship. One afternoon, he accompanied his sister into a shop where I worked, and it was I who helped his sister choose a design and fabrics. Not two days later he returned on his own, saying he wished to commission a new pair of gloves for his mother and would like to speak to Miss Julia Jenkins about the purchase. He actually called me ‘Miss’ if you can believe it, and that became the first of many purchases.”
The glow in her mother’s eyes faded into a sadness that intrigued Lucy. “Rumors soon began. Talk. Whispers. People believed that your father and I . . . well, I couldn’t blame them, really. No one of his standing would ever consider taking a mere seamstress to wife, so what else was there to think?”
As comprehension came, Lucy’s mouth parted and righteous indignation took its ugly hold. “That you were just as respectable, if not more so, than any woman of the gentry. How dare they!”
Mrs. Beresford leaned forward and took her daughter’s hand in hers. “Lucy, there are expectations in this world. Rules of decorum. If you do not heed them, there are consequences to pay. You may think Mrs. Bidding did you a disservice by carrying you away and keeping you confined until I returned, but in reality she did you a great service. She kept your reputation safe. It was I who did you a disservice by leaving you here alone with only Georgina as a chaperone, and for that, I hold only myself to blame.”
Lucy felt any hope at future independence float away, like a dandelion on the breeze, sailing above her head and out of reach.
“As soon as I learned of the gossip about your father and I,” her mother continued, “I asked him to cease his attentions towards me. But he wouldn’t hear of it, and I, young and inexperienced as I was, didn’t insist. So we began to see each other in secret. For a time it was exciting and thrilling, and I fancied myself quite in love with your father. But one horrible night, we were discovered embracing, much like Mrs. Bidding discovered you and the earl. Only in my situation, word spread, and what little reputation I had left became tattered beyond repair. I was considered a fallen woman. I lost my job and my dignity, and when my parents allowed me to remain under their roof, they were shunned as well. Your father felt dreadful and insisted on doing the honorable thing to save me from ruin, and so we were married.”
“He would not have offered for you if he hadn’t loved you, Mama,” inserted Lucy, feeling fiercely protective of her parents all of a sudden. She had always supposed they had married for love and did not care what others said about their differences in station. It was a sad blow to discover that the reason her parents had married was because they had cared.
No, Lucy refused to believe that. Her parents would have married in time. They had loved each other too much to ever walk away.
“Oh, he did love me in a way, I suppose,” continued her mother. “And that love grew stronger and deeper as the years passed. But he lost so much in marrying me. Your papa had great dreams of fighting for his country and proving himself a hero. Your grandfather was prepared to purchase his colors for him, but when your father offered for me, his family cut him off, and all of his dreams went away. The only reason we are in this house now is because the current Earl of Drayson’s grandfather was an old family friend. He took pity on us and offered us a living in Askern. It was truly good of him, and we were most grateful, but it also served to sever the friendship the old earl once shared with your father’s family.” A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “The old earl once said that he may have lost a friend in the bargain, but he gained another son. And better a son than a friend.”
Lucy sat back in her chair, shocked and speechless. She had no idea her parents had such a distressing past. They’d always seemed so blissfully happy, so perfectly suited to the life that, as it turned out, had been forced on them.
“Your father told me he had no regrets and that he would have offered for me eventually,” said Mrs. Beresford softly. “But I always wondered if that was the truth of it. He would have gone off to war, fought a valiant battle, and lived the life he was meant to live. Whether or not that would have included me, I do not know. Yes, we grew to love each other dearly and had a wonderful life together—you brought us both so much joy—but I would not wish the same beginning on you. So in answer to your question, no, I would never attempt to force the earl’s hand. I would, however, like to ring a peal over his head and turn him over my knee.”
Lucy’s lips lifted slightly. “He is a good man, Mama. It was I who behaved unpardonably.
”
“Obviously I cannot rake you over the coals either, considering your papa and I shared several kisses before we were discovered, but I am grateful it was Mrs. Bidding who happened upon you and not someone else. She may be a bit stern and domineering at times, but a more loyal friend I cannot claim.”
Lucy appreciated her mother’s perspective of the events. It gave her a grudging respect for Mrs. Bidding, and Lucy was determined to send the woman a note of thanks as soon as she could. But she still had one more matter of business to discuss with her mother.
“Mama, are you not at all concerned about losing this house? I am certain the earl was quite upset when he learned of my deception, and at any moment we could—” Lucy stopped talking when she saw the dismissive wave of her mother’s hand.
“We will come out all right, my dear,” assured her mother.
“How can you be so certain?” Lucy asked. “You do not know the earl as I.”
“No, but I do know Mr. Shepherd,” she said with a hint of hesitancy in her voice.
Lucy frowned, not understanding what Mr. Shepherd had to do with anything.
Mrs. Beresford began hesitantly. “Do you recall when we last visited Mr. Shepherd together and he asked to have a private word with me?”
Lucy nodded. “Are you referring to the ball he wished to host for me?”
Her mother blushed. “That was a falsehood, I’m afraid, because I did not wish to tell you the true nature of our conversation.”
“Mother.” Lucy tried to sound properly appalled, though deep inside, her heart warmed. All these revelations made Lucy feel less like a troublesome daughter and more like a confidant and friend. She had never felt closer to her mother.
“Mr. Shepherd did not offer to throw you a ball,” her mother said carefully. “Rather, he made an offer for my hand. Apparently, he’s been harboring a tendré for me for quite some time, and . . . needless to say I was rather shocked.”
The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) Page 14
