“Have you seen Mr. Shepherd?” Lucy asked.
“I would have welcomed a visit from Mr. Shepherd,” said the earl. “But as of a few moments ago, he had not arrived. As soon as Mr. Bidding left, I did as well. I suppose I could no longer take the inquisitions. If one more person asks me why I have removed here and how long I plan to remain, I will go mad.”
Lucy frowned. This seemed like such an odd sort of conversation to have after all they had experienced together, not to mention the distance and time they had been apart. Lord Drayson carried on as though nothing amiss lay between them, and Lucy didn’t trust it. How could he possibly make amends so easily? What was his true purpose here? Surely not to ingratiate himself in the neighborhood, when he was only planning to—
Her eyes snapped to his. “Did you say Mr. Bidding came?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“Quite well,” she answered carefully. “But not as well as I know Mrs. Bidding. She’s an acquaintance of yours too, I’m afraid.”
He seemed to consider the words before replying in a nonchalant way. “The name did sound familiar. I take it you have received an invitation to the soirée they are having on Friday as well?”
Lucy felt her throat begin to tighten. Her next words came out as a hoarse whisper. “Yes, we have already accepted it.”
“Wonderful. I shall look forward to seeing a familiar face in the crowd then.”
She made to grab his arm but stopped herself. “Lord Drayson, you must not go.”
A dark eyebrow lifted as he studied her. “Why is that?”
“Because Mrs. Bidding knows you only as my former coachman, and because . . .” Good heavens. Why did she have to explain this? A fifth generation earl should be well-versed enough in the ways of society to know what would happen if Lucy’s former coachman turned out to be the Earl of Drayson.
“I take it that your reputation is safe then.” He phrased it like a statement, but there was an underlying question in his eyes.
“Yes,” she answered. Was that why he had come back? No, of course not. Why would he care about the reputation of a liar? “Mrs. Bidding is not a gossip, as it turns out.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.”
“But she is many other things,” Lucy added quickly. “She’s domineering, opinionated, stands on high moral ground, and has a very sharp memory. Which is the reason you cannot go to the soirée or ever encounter Mrs. Bidding again. It will only bring you problems.”
“Do you care so much about my welfare?” he asked, attempting to sound flippant, but there was a slight edge to his voice.
Lucy looked away from his piercing eyes and drew in a deep breath. It was finally here. The moment she could bare her soul, assuage her guilt, and with any luck, set things to rights—or, at least as right as they could be after what she’d done to him.
“I don’t know why you are here,” she began, “but I can only assume it has to do with justice and perhaps closure. What I did to you was abominable and unpardonable. I was angry and distressed by the news you delivered and the impersonal way you delivered it. I reacted badly and have regretted my rash actions most every day since. For that, I must beg your forgiveness.”
His lips twitched slightly. “Most every day?”
“Yes,” she replied honestly. “There were a few days where I very much wished you to the devil, my lord.”
He threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed in her ears and penetrated her soul, reminding her of the good times they’d shared and how much she had come to care for him. His smile, his laugh, his touch, his wit, his kindness . . . why had he returned? If he stayed for too long it could very well be her undoing.
“Were those days at the beginning or end?” he asked.
“Beginning,” she admitted. “Only the beginning. When, exactly, did your memory return?”
He stuffed his beaver under his arm and shrugged. “I can’t quite recall.”
“You’re shamming me.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I believe this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”
“And I believe you are attempting to divert the conversation.”
“Right you are.” He stepped around her to examine their garden. “Tell me, Lucy, Lucy, quite contrary,” he glanced her way and quirked an eyebrow, “how does your garden grow?”
She smiled, finishing the song with a twist of her own. “With silver bells and cockle shells, and Lord Drayson’s help to sow. Not that you helped with the sowing,” she added. “But plow doesn’t rhyme with grow, so that’s the best I could do. Now stop trying to distract me. When did your memory return, my lord?”
He knelt to examine the plants closest to him, gently touching the crudely carved wooden sign labeling the leafy greens as “Carrots.” “I liked it better when you called me Collins. I would like it even more if you would call me Colin.”
Lucy shook her head. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
Lord Drayson stood and brushed the dirt from his gloves. “It wasn’t proper for you to make me your servant either,” he pointed out.
“I have since mended my ways, my lord,” she said, emphasizing his title.
He sighed. “I suppose that means I cannot call you Lucy then.”
“No.”
“What about Lucille?”
Her lips twitched at that. “Definitely not. My full name is only to be used when I am in the gravest of trouble.”
He cocked his head and studied her with the most perplexing look in his eyes. “How do you know that you are not in trouble now?”
Lucy couldn’t fathom the meaning behind his words. This entire conversation was beginning to feel most surreal, and she still had no answers to the dozens of questions swirling around in her head.
“Lord Drayson, why have you returned to Askern? If it is to personally see that we are removed from the dower house, rest assured that we will be out by the ninth of June.”
His eyes widened slightly at the news. “That is not why I have come. You and your mother are—”
“My mother is to be married to Mr. Shepherd, and we shall make our home with him in a few weeks’ time. I am sorry we were not removed by now, but we will be soon. You are now free to sell Tanglewood to the highest bidder.”
Lord Drayson did not look at all pleased with this news. In fact, he appeared more disconcerted than anything. “Is your mother making this match out of necessity or does she wish to marry Mr. Shepherd?”
“She wishes to marry him,” answered Lucy. “She has grown very fond of him, as have I.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Lord Drayson nodded, then took a few steps away, removed his beaver from under his arm and set it back on his head. “I’m afraid I must take my leave for now, but I shall see you on Friday evening at the soirée.”
Lucy opened her mouth to respond, but he was already swinging up on his horse. He tipped the brim of his hat in a gesture of farewell and was off, leaving Lucy in a greater state of confusion than she had been in before his arrival.
Lucy gaped at the line of carriages ahead of them. The Biddings were known for throwing rather dull parties and had likely never seen this sort of turnout. The only reason the Beresfords accepted invitations from Mrs. Bidding was because Mrs. Beresford had the softest of hearts and could never say no to a friend.
“What on earth?” Lucy turned to her mother and Mr. Shepherd, who sat across from her in the carriage.
“It appears as though we are in for a bit of a wait,” said her mother, not sounding surprised in the least.
“Lord Drayson’s arrival has caused quite the stir,” added Mr. Shepherd. “Mrs. Bidding let it slip that the earl has done her the great honor of accepting her invitation and suddenly everyone wished to come.”
Lucy sat back in her seat, much less comfortable than she had been before. Did Lord Drayson really plan to attend, even after her warning? Surely not. And yet . . .
She clasped her fingers to keep them from fidgeting. If he
did come, perhaps Mrs. Bidding would not recognize him and Lucy’s worries were all for naught.
The hope was a fleeting one. The earl was the sort of man to draw attention wherever he went. One glance was all it took for his handsome features to be seared into one’s memory forever. It would take a miracle for Mrs. Bidding to not remember him.
The party was well underway and still no sign of the earl. Lucy began to breathe a little easier and even accepted a glass of something from a passing footman. She examined the amber liquid briefly before taking a sip and examining it again, this time with more interest. Whatever it was, it tasted wonderful, like raspberries and plums and candied cherries. Lucy took another sip and felt some of the tension leave her body.
She had worn one of her favorite gowns—a deep pink satin with a sheer overskirt. It danced around her feet, making her feel feminine and beautiful. She saved it only for special occasions or for those evenings when she wished to feel as confident as possible. Tonight was one of those occasions. Or, at least it had been. If the earl didn’t plan to make an appearance, she could have easily worn her embroidered blue linen dress instead.
“Lucy, here you are.” Patience Brooke tucked her arm through Lucy’s as though they were the closest of friends, but she wasn’t even looking at Lucy. She was standing on tiptoe, attempting to see over the heads of all the others, no doubt wanting to know if the earl had arrived. “Can you believe this crush?”
“I am certain Mrs. Bidding is quite thrilled by the number of guests who have come,” said Lucy, attempting to extricate her arm in as subtle a way as possible.
“She ought to be, for this house will likely never see such success again. Lord Drayson need only experience one of the Bidding’s soirées to learn that he ought never to do so again. Have you made his acquaintance yet? I hear he is quite dashing.” Her fingers dug into Lucy’s arm as she stretched even higher.
Lucy took another sip of the luscious liquid as she scanned the room for her mother.
A hush fell over the crowd, followed by murmuring voices, and Lucy’s body immediately stiffened. She clasped the drink in her hand as she slowly turned her head toward the entrance, where the earl now stood, greeting Mr. and Mrs. Bidding. Dressed in all black, from his boots and pantaloons to his waist coat and double-breasted jacket, he did, indeed, look dashing. The only white that could be seen on his person was his collar and neatly tied cravat. He was definitely a commanding sight to behold.
At his side was a woman who was nearly as tall as Mrs. Bidding, carrying herself with poise and grace. Lucy could only assume it was his mother, the Dowager Countess of Drayson. She had heard he had arrived with his family. Next to his mother was a younger, slightly more petite, woman who appeared to be about Lucy’s age. Her dark curls and light eyes appeared too much like the earl’s for her to not be his sister. Both were dressed far more elegantly than all others in attendance.
While the countess spoke with Mr. and Mrs. Bidding, the earl searched the room until his gaze settled on Lucy. A touch of a smile lifted his lips before he returned his attention to his hostess. They spoke for a moment longer and the earl escorted his sister and mother away. He nodded at those he passed, spoke briefly to others, and stopped to introduce his family to a select few. Lucy could not seem to tear her gaze away as he, ever so slowly, made his way toward her.
“I believe he is coming this way,” said Patience excitedly.
Mrs. Beresford materialized at Lucy’s side and carefully pried the drink from her daughter’s hand. She dropped her voice so that Patience could not hear. “Relax, my dear. You look ready to shatter to pieces.”
“Why has he come?” Lucy breathed, trying hard to control her emotions even though she was trembling inside. What would Mrs. Bidding do? How would she react? Did she remember him?
“Only he knows his reasons,” Mrs. Beresford whispered back, then lifted her head to smile and greet the newest family come to Askern. Lucy felt like her heart would pound right out of her chest.
“Mother. Harriett.” said Lord Drayson. “I would like you to meet Miss Beresford, who made my first visit here so . . . memorable.”
Lucy’s face heated. She couldn’t believe Lord Drayson would bring up such a thing at this moment. Lucy glanced around, noting a few questioning glances from those gathered around them, and immediately directed the earl a piercing look before dropping to a quick curtsy for the countess and her daughter.
“A pleasure,” she murmured. “May I introduce my mother as well?”
Lady Drayson appeared unruffled by her son’s remark. “It is lovely to meet you both. I hear you are to be married soon, Mrs. Beresford. May I offer my felicitations to you and Mr. Shepherd? He was good enough to extend an invitation to the wedding when he came to call a few days past.”
Mrs. Beresford smiled. “It will be a small affair at our church, but you are more than welcome, Lady Drayson. As are you, Lady Harriett.”
“I adore country weddings,” Lady Harriett said, clasping her hands together in a somewhat dramatic gesture. “In fact, I adore everything having to do with the country. I find myself quite in love with Yorkshire already.”
Lucy immediately liked the Drayson women. Despite their elevated stations, they did not seem high in the instep at all. And Lady Harriett’s natural enthusiasm was such a contrast to her more subdued and dignified brother.
“Do you plan to stay long in Askern?” Lucy asked, unable to keep the question inside any longer.
Lady Drayson flickered a glance at her son before answering. “Our plans are somewhat undecided, I’m afraid. All of us were in need of a change of pace. We thought the Yorkshire air might do us some good, and here we are.”
“It feels like a grand adventure,” gushed Lady Harriett. “I believe I shall want to travel the world after this.”
Lucy kept her smile pasted on her face even though she didn’t feel like smiling any longer. The earl’s mother and sister were adept at avoiding straight answers as well. Lucy looked Lord Drayson, whose mouth, in contrast to hers, strained not to smile. No doubt he found it humorous to keep her in suspense. Perhaps this was his way of seeking revenge. Apparently, he’d returned to taunt, tease, torment, and stir up trouble for Lucy. It was the only explanation that made sense.
Lucy remained silent and allowed her mother to carry the conversation—at least until Patience returned with her mother in tow, who quickly begged for an introduction to the newest residents in town.
Patience did not waste any time engaging the earl in conversation. “Tell me, my lord, what has brought you to such a humble village as Askern?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Lord Drayson’s face before he composed himself and bowed over the lady’s hand. “I heard rumors that all other women paled in comparison to those found in Askern, so I had to come to see for myself.”
Lucy fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Patience smiled coyly. “Have you decided such rumors are true or false, my lord?”
“True, of course. For I am now standing before the loveliest women I have ever beheld.” His gaze strayed to Lucy as he spoke. Though there was a twinge of humor in his eyes, there was also warmth.
“Lord Drayson,” Patience said. “I can already see you are quite the rogue.”
His attention returned to Patience. “How can you accuse me of being a rogue when I speak the truth, Miss Brooke?”
“If you’ll excuse me.” Lucy took the opportunity to escape and went off in search another drink, hoping it would sooth her pounding heart. Along the way, she was stopped by some friends, but the moment they asked about Lord Drayson, Lucy pled a headache and slipped out a side door, walked through the adjoining library, and onto the darkened terrace, where she could breathe a little easier.
It was a chilly evening, so Lucy wrapped her arms around her chest in an effort to stay warm as her gaze strayed across the gardens. In two weeks’ time, her life would change yet again. It would be a good change, but another change noneth
eless. From the moment her father fell ill, it had been one alteration after another. The absence of a loved one, the move to the dower house, her mother’s return to sewing for pay, and Lucy’s newfound love of roses. Her father’s casket had been adorned with a pile of the flowers. They had looked so beautiful nestled there that Lucy had determined to grow a rose garden and bring more of that beauty into the world. Her father would have liked that. He would have also liked that her mother had found someone new to share her life with.
Lucy looked up at the night sky that showed patches of glittering stars between the scattered clouds. “I miss you, Papa,” she whispered, wondering if he could hear. Even if he couldn’t, it felt good talking to him again.
“Mama is getting married in a fortnight, and I will be removing to Knotting Tree. It is an improvement from the dower house, but I am afraid it will feel more lonely. Mama has Mr. Shepherd now, and although I technically will have him as well, it won’t be the same. The truth is, I am feeling a little lost as of late. I used to believe I could live out the remainder of my days as an eccentric spinster, but that isn’t enough anymore. I want more than that, Papa. I want something that fills me up inside, like the life you and Mama had together—a life with a purpose and someone to share it with. Is that even a possibility for one as untamed as I? I simply feel so . . . empty. And cold.” Lucy chuckled quietly at that, needing to lighten the disheartened mood she’d brought on herself.
In the whisper of the breeze that touched her cheeks and arms, her father seemed to answer. Cheer up, my dear. A spirit that is down cannot see so clearly as a spirit that is up.
How many times had he told her that whenever she had come to him downcast about one thing or another? He always had a gentle way of infusing her with hope and showing her the sunshine through the clouds.
“I love you, Papa,” she whispered.
Lucy shivered and wrapped her arms more tightly around her. It didn’t make her any warmer, so she grudgingly pushed away from the railing and walked back inside the darkened library. Not ready to return to the party, Lucy lingered, breathing in the smell of aged parchment and leather. She ran her finger along the spines of a few books, wishing she could pull one out, curl up in the large armchair, and pass away the rest of the evening in a different world than the one she lived in. But she had been gone from the party too long as it was. Her mother would likely be looking for her.
The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) Page 17
