Emily Hendrickson (11 page)

Adrian entered the house by the back entrance through the kitchens. He glanced about to see the preparations for the picnic well advanced.

“Aye, my lord, and busy you make us!” Cook declared. “But there will be one of my hams and pork pies, plenty of other foods, ye won’t be going hungry.”

“And do not, I beg of you, forget the strawberries that Jim Gardener will bring in shortly. Perhaps a bit of cream as well?”

His eyes gave him a shrewd look. “Indeed, I will.”

Adrian quitted the kitchen, knowing he disturbed the order of the place by his presence. He found Ives in the hallway and motioned him along. “Come on.”

In the central hall he found his mother surrounded by Lord Osman, Mrs. Twywhitt, Sir Bertram, and Lord Somers. Only Lady Felicia and Miss Knight were missing. And, of course, Miss Dru Herbert.

“Am I in time?” The high-fluting voice floated over the assembled guests like Gabriel’s trumpet.

Adrian altered his position so he could receive the full benefit of Lady Felicia’s apparel.

She swung a pink parasol about, narrowly missing a statue much favored by the marchioness, whose indrawn breath could be clearly heard. Dressed most inappropriately in pink silk with a deluge of lace trim here and there, she looked to be off to a tea rather than a picnic.

Lord Ives walked over to take charge of the wayward parasol. “Allow me, my dear. You ought not be encumbered by so mundane a thing as a parasol.”

Lady Felicia fluttered her lashes at the gentleman who was doing what Adrian knew was properly his job. He had enough on his hands without a temperamental young lady who sought to impress one and all with her stylish dress.

He began to urge the others to head out to where the carriages now awaited them. They all had just left the entry hall when Dru Herbert came dashing down the stairs with Binky in her arms, followed more sedately by Miss Knight carrying her parasol and a number of other articles.

“Binky would hide under my bed,” Dru whispered to Adrian as she came close, looking frustrated with her bonnet in disarray, strands of golden hair in wisps around her face.

“I cannot understand what has come over that dog,” Miss Knight complained.

“I trust you have a lead for him so he won’t run off?” Adrian inquired with a hint of firmness.

“Oh, Binky never runs away. He is always so good.” Which remark in view of recent antics seemed silly.

Chapter Seven

They set off in a gay mood, with Adrian whistling a happy tune. The other men shortly joined in, much to Lady Brentford’s displeasure.

“Gentlemen,” she said with a sniff, “do not whistle.”

“Do not spoil it. Mama. Enjoy your party.” Adrian rode beside the carriage, the better to check on things.

She gave him a thoughtful look and said no more.

Miss Knight had handed Binky to Dru as they entered the carriage. It was odd. Miss Knight usually had the little dog clutched in her arms. Perhaps that was why it sought to escape from time to time? Well, all Dru might do is hope for the best. She intended to be free for a little bit if the marchioness permitted. With Lord Osman to hover over her, Dru doubted she would be needed every minute.

The meadow proved to be a perfect site. A little stream wandered at the far end, not far from where a giant oak stood in splendid majesty. A footman was testing a rope that hung from a broad bough. There was a board at his feet, looking much weathered but still sturdy.

It was evident that cattle had frequented the meadow as the grass had been nipped close, almost as well as if it had been scythed. Other signs of their presence had been swiftly taken away so as not to annoy, her ladyship’s guests. Patches of wildflowers could be seen tucked here and there by trees and near the stream. It was bucolic England at its finest.

Servants were setting forth a proper picnic under the shade of yet another vast oak. A humble trestle table—no starched linen in sight—had a simple checkered cloth atop it with dishes holding the roast ham and pork pies, as well as all the other delicacies promised. In one especially pretty china bowl, a heap of bright red strawberries could be seen with a pitcher of cream next to it.

Dru was so happy she could have floated rather than merely walked. The sun was shining, spring flowers peeped from here and there, the little stream gurgled on its way to who knew where. Sheer heaven.

Drusilla saw to Lady Brentford’s comfort with pillows and cushions and rugs underneath. Lord Osman remained close to her side while Sir Bertram and Mrs. Twywhitt strolled about the meadow exclaiming over pretty wildflowers and discussing the various birds they spotted.

Miss Knight and Lord Somers threw a ball for Binky to chase. The dog was off its leash and behaving nicely. Dru cast a wary eye at the spaniel. She didn’t quite trust the gleam in those little brown eyes.

“Well, what do you think? Is it a proper picnic?” Lord Brentford said when he unexpectedly popped up at her side.

“Indeed. It is beyond words marvelous. How you managed to conjure all this,” and she swept her arm to encompass the meadow, “in such a brief time is amazing. I am impressed, my lord.”

“Good. I was hoping you might be.” He took her hand in his to lead her across to the table, directly to the bowl of strawberries. He took a fine ripe one, popped it into her mouth, and stood looking like a magician.

Dru cast him a reproving look, munched the berry, and then said, “That was delightful. But I believe there is another lady who would enjoy such attentions.” She glanced at Lady Felicia, who was happily chattering to Lord Ives. Yet Dru had the distinct feeling her ladyship was well aware of Lord Brentford’s whereabouts.

“Leave her to Ives. Come, I would show you my swing.” Again he took her hand in his to lead her across the meadow to the great oak from which dangled the stout rope. “I had this when I was a lad.”

“I haven’t tried a swing for ever so long,” Dru said, with a laughing glance at his lordship. What a strange mood he was in—particularly for a man whose mother fully intended he should wed the pink-and-white beauty strolling along the little stream with his good friend. Dru wondered what caused
his
change of heart regarding the beauty. His initial coolness had changed to warm regard.

“Take off your bonnet, lest it fly away.” He looked ready to do it himself if she delayed, so she did as requested. He took the straw bonnet from her and tossed it to a shady spot before motioning her to sit on the weathered wood seat.

“This would not be kind to pink silk, I believe,” Drusilla said consideringly as she positioned herself squarely on the swing.

He made no reply to her remark, rather drew her back to let her swing forth.

She had forgotten what a heavenly feeling it was to soar up into the trees, then rush downward again, only to be thrust up higher yet when pushed. Scented spring air rushed past, young leaves teased her with their nearness. Only strong arms could send her so high, and she had observed before that Lord Brentford was far from being a weakling. Oh, such delight, such pure pleasure!

Her skirts flew about her ankles, and she suspected that Lord Brentford saw far too much of them to be proper. But for once she didn’t care. Swinging was like being transported to another world, almost like flying, as if one could be a bird for a few moments.

She could peer down into the stream as it meandered beneath her. There was a small trout, a lot of minnows, plus a fat toad sitting on a rock. Tall grasses grew along the stream, thrusting their verdant spires in the air with impudence. A chaffinch swooped past, and she made a face at it, thinking she was near to flying herself.

Wisps of her hair floated about her face, and she cared not a whit. She would be proper when she returned to earth. And return to earth, she would in more ways than one. She’d think about that later.

Adrian pushed her higher again, noting with satisfaction that her hair was coming loose. Oh, he was a rogue for doing this, but he wanted to see that golden drift of silken hair again, and there were few means of doing so. She was always so properly garbed. He appreciated Ives keeping Lady Felicia occupied some distance away. He wanted nothing to interfere with this.

Then the golden shower he had hoped to see occurred. The pins holding Dru’s hair lost their hold, and her hair, all that lovely molten gold, came cascading down her back.

“Oh!” Her cry came with an attempt to halt. Rather than cause damage to her leather slippers, Adrian gallantly stopped the swing, bringing her almost into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said quite without an ounce of truth. “Let me help. It is the least I can do.” Without waiting for a reply, he gathered her hair in his hands, twisting it around into a rope as he had seen her do before. Her hair was all he had expected; like finest silk, scented with lavender, and as wondrous as he had desired. He deliberately fumbled, allowing the silken length to slide through his fingers in what had to be the most erotic sensation he could recall. He had never dreamed of doing anything like this, but here he was, enthralled with a web of golden enchantment. What would it be like to be alone with her, to see that golden length spread over his pillow?

“Allow me,” she commanded quietly, obviously not wishing to draw attention to her
deshabille.
She bent over, gathering up what pins she could find. Adrian did the same, finding almost as many as she did.

He held the pins in his hand, watching as she caught the strands of hair up, pinning them neatly in place to his sorrow. To his way of thinking, her hair was a treasure to be admired. Then he realized he was selfish enough to desire it all for himself. And wasn’t that a fine kettle of fish?

“Adrian! Whatever are you doing? Come here. You must see this dear little flower I have found.” The high-fluting voice floated across the meadow, its annoyed accents clear.

Adrian knew that Felicia would never understand why any man would ignore her and pay attention to a companion.

“You had best go,” Miss Herbert urged. “I do not think she will be pleased to see you playing lady’s maid for me.”

“But I like playing lady’s maid for you.”

Her eyes looked shocked, although she said nothing more, only shooing him away. Ah, well, he’d had a brief glimpse of heaven. He could always scheme for another.

Dru watched Lord Brentford walk across to where Lady Felicia stood waiting for him. Whatever the little flower was that she had found couldn’t have come close to what Dru had discovered. She very much feared that rather than disliking his lordship, she was becoming far too fond of him. It was a frightening sensation, like a dip in the road that you didn’t anticipate and your stomach felt as though it would sink to your toes.

She recalled her sister Tabitha reading out a poem by Ben Jonson called
The Dreame.
One line in particular she remembered,
“I am undone tonight, love in a subtle dream disguised hath both my heart and me surprised.”
She did not claim to be in love, but she certainly had a surprised heart. It would never do to allow her foolish fancies to be evident. That she was attracted to him she could not deny, try as she might fight it. What a dilemma!

She suspected he might toy with her for some absurd reason of his own. His eyes had looked amused, their rich brown depths having golden sparks in them she had not noticed before.

Once she had finished pinning up her hair, she plopped her bonnet on again and walked to where Lady Brentford rested among her pillows. She had a pretty rose tint to her cheeks and was as unlike the pallid woman who had first greeted Dru as could be.

Lord Osman rose to greet her with his usual gallantry.

“Is there anything I might do for you, ma’am?” Dru wanted to be kept busy, really busy. She would think later, not now with the sight of Lady Felicia clinging to Lord Brentford’s arm. From the corner of her eye, she could see them slowly walk to where the others were clustered not far from the laden table. His head bent close to hers, listening to her chatter. Lord Ives walked close behind, looking none too pleased.

“I see you survived the swing.” Lady Brentford gave a nostalgic sigh. “My, how Adrian loved to swing as a child. I had forgotten it was here.”

“Indeed, he showed me how pleasant it is.” Dru managed a tight smile, hoping she looked somewhat her usual self.

“As long as no one is hurt.”

“Now, my dear lady, as you can plainly see, Miss Herbert looks in fine fettle.” Lord Osman said nothing about rosy cheeks or flustered mien. He assisted her ladyship to her feet, and they wandered over to the table, where they selected an ample assortment of delicacies.

Dru looked after them, then bent to straighten the rugs and pillows, thinking it was a bit too late to worry about someone being hurt. She feared that had already happened.

“My dear, you simply must try the ham,” Lady Felicia caroled in Dru’s direction. It reminded Dru of someone tossing a bone to a dog.

Rather than raise a question as to why she wasn’t hungry out in the fresh air and activity, Dru nodded. It took but a few minutes to select a bit of ham, a roll, and some of Cook’s best salad.

“I promised you strawberries, and have managed to gather up the finest. Enjoy them.” Lord Brentford cast a glance back to where Lady Felicia debated between a roll and a scone. He thrust the little dish into Dru’s hand, ignoring the small plate of food held in her other hand. Then he strolled back to join the others, giving no sign he had left them even for a moment.

Somehow Dru managed to sit down on one of the pillows while balancing her plate and the dish of fat, succulent strawberries. And cream, as well. He had thought of everything—except how his actions might affect her.

She wondered if Lady Felicia had observed Lord Brentford’s attentions? For some reason, she suspected that she had. It wouldn’t surprise Dru in the least if there were a reprisal of some sort. But then, perhaps she was being too mistrustful. She might have imagined those sly glances darted her way. And pigs might fly.

The food on the plate quickly consumed, Dru savored each red strawberry in the dish, licking the juice from her lips, enjoying the taste of the berries with a dash of cream. What a marvelous treat!