The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1)

by Rachael Anderson

  “Oh my goodness, you do not know,” Harriett whispered, her eyes wide as well. Almost as suddenly, her jaw tightened, and she frowned at her mother. “Colin has not told her yet. Can you believe that? My brother is a fool of all fools. Even Prinny himself—”

  “Harriett, that is quite enough,” spoke her mother firmly, and Harriett clamped her mouth shut, still frowning. Lucy’s heart pounded as she waited for someone—anyone—to explain.

  Lady Drayson bit her bottom lip for a few moments before exhaling a sigh. “Colin should be the one to tell you this, my dear, but I shall not keep you in suspense until that time comes.”

  Harriett scoffed and muttered, “It should have already come.”

  Lady Drayson directed a warning glance at her daughter before continuing. “It seems a buyer has been found for Tanglewood. He would like to take up residence immediately and has asked that we be removed from the house in two week’s time.”

  The room began to wobble and tilt. Lucy’s fingers clutched the table as she struggled to breathe. Tanglewood was to be sold after all. The Draysons would be leaving. Colin would be hers no longer—not that he ever was hers, but there had been a few blissful days when she thought he could be. Lucy drew in a sharp intake of breath as the reality settled around her.

  Why had he kept this news from her? Why had he not prepared her in some way? Why had he given her the world, only to snatch it away at the first opportunity?

  Her body trembled even as her eyes began to sting. She wanted to throw her arms around her mother and sob until her heart stopped throbbing, but she refused to make such a spectacle of herself in front of the Draysons. And yet she could not remain standing about either, feigning indifference about something that she was not indifferent to at all. She did not have the strength for it.

  So Lucy did the only thing she could. She ran.

  Voices called for her to stop, but she quickened her feet instead, running and running until she had reached her bedchamber where she found Georgina laying out her gown for the evening. It was there she flung herself onto her bed and burst into tears.

  Colin sat hunched at his desk, attempting to read through the contract Erasmus had drafted, but his mind would not focus. It had already been signed by the buyer—a Mr. Jonathan Ludlow—and only awaited Colin’s signature to be official. And yet he could not bring himself to sign his name just yet. Unbeknownst to Colin, Erasmus had scoured the country to find a buyer willing to allow the Beresfords to remain on the property. By the time such a buyer had been found, Mrs. Beresford had already become Mrs. Shepherd, and an occupied dower house was no longer an issue—not that any of it mattered at all to Mr. Ludlow.

  The man wanted the property regardless. In fact, he wanted any property that was in a rundown state. If Tanglewood could not be his in two week’s time, he would go looking elsewhere. Colin had already put him off for a fortnight and wished he could continue to do so, but Mr. Ludlow had finally given him an ultimatum. Sign today or do not sign at all.

  Colin leaned back in his chair and sighed, rolling the pen between the palms of his hands. Through the open window at his side, he could see the dower house in the distance. He pictured Lucy kneeling in her gardens, wearing her worn straw bonnet and smiling—always smiling. One word or look from her was all it took to induce Colin to smile or laugh or have the strongest urge to shake her senseless. She had wriggled into his mind and heart to the point that the thought of losing her made him ill.

  She was the sole reason he could not bring himself to sign his name to the contract just yet.

  A loud rap sounded on the door before it burst open. His mother breezed into the room, skirts swishing, and the moment Colin saw her stern expression, he knew he was about to be read a lecture.

  “Colin, you are my son and I love you, but you are behaving like a nodcock,” she said.

  Colin had no idea why he found her comment amusing, but he smiled faintly, then steeled himself for what was to come. Any conversation beginning in such a way could not bode well for him.

  He gestured for his mother to take the chair opposite his desk, which she did. Then he lifted an eyebrow to indicate he was ready for her to continue, which she also did.

  “I have tried to stay out of your affairs, but I’m afraid I cannot any longer. After your behavior toward Lucy at Tanglewood, I was certain that you had at least some sort of understanding with her. Is that not the case?”

  Colin pressed his lips together a moment before answering. “No. At least not yet.”

  His mother gaped at him. “What in heaven’s name are you waiting for? Father Christmas? And why on earth would you agree to sell Tanglewood at such a time?”

  “I have not signed the contract yet. The situation is . . . complicated.”

  His mother’s expression hardened and her jaw became taut. “Perhaps you can uncomplicate it so that a simple female mind like my own can understand.”

  He let out a breath and barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “That is not what I meant, and you know it, Mother. I only meant to say that this is my problem, not yours.”

  “Like all of your father’s business dealings became your problem and not mine when he died?”

  “Exactly.”

  She shook her head as though her son was very much in the wrong. “Colin, you have always been fiercely independent, and while it is a great asset to your character, it is also a flaw. From the time you were a babe, you have never wished for my—or anyone’s—help with anything. You preferred the sofa to your nursemaid’s hand when learning to walk. You would drag over a stool to help you reach high places instead of asking an adult to reach something for you. You learned to eat on your own, shoot on your own, and ride a horse on your own.”

  “Your point, Mother?” Colin was not finding her lecture nearly as amusing now.

  She slowly rose from her chair and bent forward, planting her palms on the desk as she met her son’s gaze. “My point is this. From the moment you took over your father’s holdings, you have kept me out, insisting that it was now your burden to carry and you would handle matters yourself. You were so adamant that I stepped back and allowed you to do so, thinking you would eventually come to your senses. But I can no longer stand back for I have lost all patience with you.”

  Colin pressed the end of the pen against his chin and frowned. It seemed he was getting reprimanded for attempting to be a gentleman and not burden his recently widowed mother with the troubles associated with business. Despite the fact that she had needed time to grieve, a man didn’t burden his mother—or wife—with such things. It was Colin’s responsibility—and his alone—to see that the family’s holdings stay strong throughout the remainder of his life and for future generations to come.

  “Mother, I don’t understand what has you so upset,” he finally said.

  She stood to her full height, which was rather tall for a woman. Colin would have stood as well, but he had a feeling that she wished to tower over him in this moment, so he remained in his seat.

  “If you had bothered to ask my opinion about Tanglewood, not only could I have informed you that a lovely family called the Beresfords were living in the dower house, but I could have told you the reasons as to why.”

  The pen froze between his palms. “You knew?”

  “Of course I knew. It was my idea.”

  “What?” Colin had never felt more shocked in his life. Why had she not said as much before now? Never mind the fact that he hadn’t asked. She could have volunteered the information.

  “Your father had the habit of consulting me on all important matters, which I appreciated. We had been discussing the possibility of selling Tanglewood for quite some time and had finally decided to move ahead with it when we received news that Mr. Beresford had died. I knew his wife, having no connections of her own, would be left with nothing. So I told your father that even though it didn’t make financial sense, we should consider holding onto Tanglewood a while longer and offer the dower house to
the Beresfords. He agreed and left London that very day, arriving in time for the funeral.”

  His mother walked around the desk and placed a hand on Colin’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “There is a reason a man and a woman complement each other. A woman thinks with her heart and a man with his head. When the two come together to work through difficulties, more perspectives can be evaluated and a better solution can be found.”

  Colin let out a slow breath as he considered his mother’s words. They were wise words, spoken by a wise woman. In that moment, he realized that he had never looked up to his parents in the way he should have.

  He covered his mother’s hand with his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I am sorry for not consulting you about Tanglewood. Truly, I am. I had no idea you had any knowledge of . . .” He wasn’t sure how to word the rest of the sentence, so he let it dangle.

  “Anything beyond tea parties, menus, and fripperies?” his mother finished for him with a smile.

  “Apparently I am a nodcock.”

  His mother laughed. “I have a feeling you will be cured of that very soon.”

  Colin fingered the paperwork on the desk before sliding it toward his mother. “The contract for the sale of Tanglewood,” he said. “It’s a good offer and one we would both be nodcocks to turn down for we will likely never see such an offer again. But, as I have already informed you and Harriett, he wants us gone soon.”

  He glanced up at his mother. “What are your thoughts on the matter?”

  Lady Drayson eyed the paperwork but did not pick it up. At long last, she slid it back toward him. “I believe you are asking the wrong woman that question. Perhaps once you discuss it with the right one, everything will look a little clearer.”

  Colin swallowed, forcing himself to voice his greatest fear aloud. “I do not want to ask her to choose, Mama, and yet . . .”

  “Choose she must?” Lady Drayson finished for him.

  He nodded and swallowed again. “If we had more time. If . . . well, what if it isn’t me?”

  His mother lifted his chin with her finger and looked at Colin with eyes that seemed far wiser than they had only moments before. “What if it is?” she said quietly. With a slight smile, she kissed him on the forehead and left him alone with thoughts that were a little less muddled than they had been before.

  Colin set the pen on top of the paperwork and stood. It was past time to dress for Lucy’s ball.

  Her emotions spent, Lucy submitted to Georgina’s ministrations to dress her for the ball with a countenance devoid of any feeling. Her heart and mind had run through the entire gamut, and all that remained was a vast emptiness, which was actually preferable to the excessive weeping she’d indulged in earlier. Georgina had done her best to console Lucy until her mother had arrived to do the same. But it wasn’t until Mr. Shepherd entered the wretched scene that Lucy had finally seen reason.

  He had walked to the bed and gently lifted Lucy’s tear-stained and undoubtedly blotchy face, and with a tender look in his eyes, said, “Your story is not near to being over, my dear. There is still much to be written. Chin up, and let us see how it will all turn out, eh?”

  His words had somehow given strength to her shattered heart and had finally stopped the flow of tears. Her new papa was right. Her story was not over. It had simply hit a very large rut in the road and had broken down for a bit. Lucy had landed in ruts before and had always managed to find a way out. She would do the same with this one.

  As she looked at her reflection in the glass, Lucy studied the white on white embroidered linen gown. Slightly out of style, it had a lovely square neckline and puffed sleeves over longer, sheer sleeves. Her parents had given it to her on her seventeenth birthday, right before her father fell ill. Only weeks later, she had tucked the gown away in the back of her wardrobe to make room for mourning clothes. Though she’d attended a few country balls since that time, the dress had remained untouched. It had never felt right to wear it when her father would not be in attendance.

  But tonight, it had felt more right than the new gown Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd had presented her with after their trip. Though the rose silk was far lovelier than any gown Lucy had ever owned, she had passed it over for the white embroidered one that her parents had given to her with so much love years before. It were as though her father’s comforting arms now surrounded her, giving her the strength she would need to make it through the night. She could almost hear his voice whispering in her ear. Wear it, my darling girl. It’s time.

  Georgina had styled Lucy’s hair in an elegant twist that erupted into a mound of curls that spiraled down from the crown of her head. Lucy had never looked finer, and she wrapped her maid in a quick hug. “Thank you, Georgy. You have worked wonders with the red puffs that used to be my eyes.”

  “Ya look beautiful, Miss. I ‘ope ya ‘ave a grand time.”

  As ready as she could ever be, Lucy stepped down the stairs to join her mama and papa in the receiving line. All the guests faces were a blur as they passed by, and Lucy couldn’t remember a thing she said to anyone, only that the Draysons had not yet arrived. Would Colin even come?

  When it was time to take her place for the opening dance with Mr. Shepherd, Lucy’s face ached from the strain of feigning a smile.

  “A smile is not a smile unless it can be seen in one’s eyes,” Mr. Shepherd teased as the music began for the cotillion.

  “You think I ought to drop the act entirely?” Lucy asked, grateful for the lightness of his tone. For a brief moment her smile almost felt genuine.

  “Certainly not,” he said. “You may not be able to fool me or your mother, but you are doing a splendid job of duping the rest. Even Mrs. Bidding seems to believe you are quite thrilled to be the belle of the ball.”

  The steps of the dance carried them apart for several paces, and when they were together again, Lucy asked, “Mrs. Bidding was not curious as to where the Draysons are this evening?” Lucy couldn’t deny her own curiosity on the matter.

  “I’m sure she believes, as I do, that they will be here shortly. Perhaps a wheel has broken on their carriage, stranding them somewhere between here and Tanglewood.”

  “Or a highwayman has detained them,” suggested Lucy.

  “Or they spotted a rabbit hopping by, and Lord Drayson has decided to hunt it.”

  Lucy almost giggled at that. “Or perhaps they stopped in at the dower house to snack on some of my carrots. They are quite delicious, you know.”

  He chuckled. “Carrots, indeed. Ah, there is that genuine smile I do so love.”

  Lucy felt lighter after that and found herself enjoying the rest of the cotillion. When the music came to an end, she felt much more ready to face whatever came next, even if it was most unexpected.

  A rather tall, elegantly dressed gentleman stepped in front of her and bowed over her hand. “Again we meet, Miss Beresford. Mr. Shepherd.” His hair was a nondescript brown, but styled like a wild and unruly Bedford crop that had been allowed to grow beyond what was fashionable, and yet it seemed to suit the hardness Lucy noticed in his rather striking green eyes. She recognized that look immediately. It was probably very similar to the look in her own eyes.

  How could Lucy not remember meeting this man earlier? She glanced at her papa for help.

  Mr. Shepherd tried to hide his amusement at her obvious bafflement. “How do you do, Mr. Ludlow? I hope you are enjoying yourself.”

  “I shall enjoy myself more if this beautiful young lady will agree to dance with me.”

  Feeling more than a little confused, Lucy allowed him to lead her onto the floor, wondering when she had met Mr. Ludlow—the receiving line, perhaps?—and what he had already told her about himself.

  “In the event you may not remember,” he said, correctly interpreting her expression as they walked across the dance floor, “we met at the door. I am here from London to see about a property.”

  “Oh,” was her only response. Nowhere, in Lucy’s sea of memories, could she pla
ce his face.

  “Lady Harriett extended the invitation,” he continued. “As I told your parents before. I do hope that you are not displeased that a stranger has come to your ball.”

  Feeling utterly ridiculous for not recalling her introduction to him, Lucy lifted her chin and smiled. “As you are a stranger no more, Mr. Ludlow, you are perfectly welcome. Please forgive my deplorable manners.”

  “No apologies necessary, Miss Beresford.” He smiled as well, and a charming dimple appeared on his left cheek. The hardness about him remained, however, and Lucy found herself wondering about his past and how he came to wear that look.

  The music began, and he took her hand in his. Lucy was about to ask which property he had come to investigate, only to recall that Lady Harriett had issued the invitation and therefore the property was likely none other than . . .

  Her eyes flew to his as her feet began the steps of the dance. “You are to be the new owner of Tanglewood.” It was said as a statement, not a question.

  Mr. Ludlow lifted an eyebrow in a show of surprise before he joined hands with another partner. When the steps brought them back together, he said, “It was my mention of Lady Harriett that gave it away, wasn’t it?” he asked dryly.

  Something about his tone bothered Lucy. In fact, everything about this man suddenly bothered her. However handsome Mr. Ludlow may be, it was not his face Lucy wished to see at dinner parties or dances or other gatherings from now on. She especially didn’t want to see his face anywhere near Tanglewood, not when it would take the place of another, much more dear face.

  Why have you come? she wanted to demand. Why can you not withdraw your offer and return to wherever it is you came from? You are not welcome here.

  The steps carried them apart again, but Lucy could feel his gaze following her movements, and when they rejoined, she wasn’t surprised when he asked, “Is something amiss?”

  Yes, she wanted to shout. Everything is all wrong, and it is all your fault.