Emily Hendrickson (12 page)

“Binky! Come back here, you naughty dog!” Miss Knight struggled to her feet, only to trip on a rug. There would have been a dreadful tangle had not Lord Somers saved the lady from disaster by catching her. Unfortunately, he couldn’t catch Binky, the little dog being far too quick for the stout lord.

Having finished the last of her berry treat, Drusilla set aside her dishes and dashed after the dog. “Binky! Stop! Come back here!”

No one else appeared to be concerned with the pet’s dash for freedom. Lord Brentford merely raised his head, a questioning frown on his brow. Miss Knight was close to fainting and demanding her own share of attention.

The spaniel was enjoying more freedom than it had ever known and was off like a shot, with Dru in hot pursuit. “Stop at once, you mangy mutt,” she muttered as she ducked under a low branch, then got hit with a smaller, more wicked limb. Her leather slipper came off, and she had to pause to stuff it back on. By that time it was almost impossible to catch the dratted dog.

But she did keep it in view. It was headed in the direction of a fence that had a hedge alongside it. She could only pray that the dog wouldn’t figure out how to go through it—or around as the case might be.

It appeared that Binky had never encountered a hedge or a fence, for that matter. The spaniel stopped, stared, and seemed to puzzle out that here was something he hadn’t expected to find in his delirious dash.

The pause gave Dru just enough time to dive into the long grasses to grab the dog in her arms. She held the little wiggling body tight against her, regardless of damage to one of her favorite dresses. She wearily returned to the open meadow and Miss Knight. It was an unrewarding experience.

“Poor little Binky! Did that naughty lady chase you through the weeds?” She gave Dru a scathing look. “Really, my dear, Binky is such a sensitive little creature. How could you chase him in such a way.”

“How strange, madam! I was under the obviously wrong impression that you wished him to be fetched back to you.” Dru was utterly furious. Not only had her bonnet fallen down her back, held by mere wisps of riband, but her hair also had partly come undone. Portions of the long strands straggled over her shoulder in a most unflattering way. When she looked down at her dress to brush it off, she discovered grass stains down the front and a few tiny tears. It was enough to make the most dauntless woman weep.

“My dear girl,” the marchioness cried. “What has happened to you?” She marched up, looking shocked. Of course her words carried across the meadow to where the others perched on cushions under a beech tree.

“I thought to collect Binky for Miss Knight, when the little dog ran away. It seems I need not have bothered.” Dru knew her bitterness could be heard in her voice, but there was no way she could keep from revealing it.

The marchioness gave her friend an annoyed look. “Cordelia, put the lead on your pet and keep him at your side, please do. Just look at the damage to dear Miss Herbert.”

All Dru could think of at that moment was to go somewhere and have a lovely cry. That dratted dog had ruined her beautiful day.

“I am sorry. Miss Herbert,” offered a chagrined Miss Knight.

Dru nodded, quite unable to utter a word. She turned away to accept help from one of the maids who apparently had ambitions to work as a lady’s maid. She removed the tattered bonnet, smoothed Dru’s hair into its usual shining arrangement. She brushed down the mussed dress, tutting at the green stains.

“I think this can be removed, ma’am,” the girl said hesitantly. “Mrs. Simpson will know just the thing.”

“I hope so,”
Dru said with resignation that her dress would never look quite the same anymore. It was all of a part with her day. Her heart would never be the same again, either.

But the afternoon was not done. Lady Felicia, with laughing demands that a thin cushion be placed on the board of the swing, kept Lord Brentford busy pushing her. Dru observed that he did not push her as high. Of course her bonnet did not come off, nor her short dark curls become disarranged.

“What was that sigh for, pray tell?” Lord Ives inquired with warm sympathy in his voice.

“Oh, many things.” Not wanting to sound like a complainer, Dru forced a laugh. “It has been a mixed day.”

“Most days are. Come stroll along the stream with me. I shall show you where the trout is hiding.”

She suspected her smile was a trifle wan. She already knew where the trout hid, but she appreciated his attempts to cheer her. “Fine.”

They walked along the stream. The water was so clear you could see every little pebble in spite of the ripples over the surface. Minnows darted here and there, unending in a quest for food. The toad still sat on the rock, his long tongue ever so often darting out to catch a tasty dragonfly or bug.

Soon Lord Ives motioned her to stop, pointing out the small trout motionless in the depths of the water. Only little side fins kept it stable and in position. It was a pretty sight and she said so.

“You like nature?” He tucked her arm in his and continued to saunter by the stream.

“Indeed, I do. Very much. The country suits me.”

“You wouldn’t like to live in Town?”

“As others have said, it would be a fascinating place to visit but a dreadful place to live.” Although Dru admitted to herself that she would be happy to live anywhere with the man she loved.

Across the meadow she glimpsed Lady Felicia clinging to one of Lord Brentford’s arms, smiling coquettishly and laughing a bit too loud, although she seemed conscious of Lord Ives.

“You always know where she is,” Lord Ives commented.

“True. I’d not thought of that.” Dru smiled.

Lady Felicia summoned Dru and Lord Ives to join them where they lingered under the great oak. “I think we ought to have a contest.”

“What sort of contest?” Dru was wary of the young woman. She might look like a sugared plum, that didn’t mean she was sweet.

Lord Brentford gave her a roguish look. “She wants to see if Ives can push you as high as I did. And she thinks I ought to push her higher.”

Relieved it was no worse than that, Dru nodded. “Shall you go first, Lady Felicia?”

Apparently it had never occurred to that young woman that she would ever be second at anything. She gave Lord Brentford a demure smile, then after insisting the little cushion be replaced for her, she allowed Lord Brentford to assist her onto the swing.

Dru watched with puzzled eyes. What the purpose of this so-called contest might be was beyond her. Silly, that is what it was. She glanced back to check on the elderlies. The six of them reclined on cushions and rugs, talking with more animation than she would have believed possible. She was free for the moment.

She wondered if Lord Brentford had pushed her as high in the air as Lady Felicia. How could they prove it one way or the other? “Can you pull off a leaf, my lady?”

The swing wobbled when she made a grab at the closest leaf. She screamed theatrically, clutching the ropes with a frantic grip. “Oh, that is impossible.”

Dru could see that Lady Felicia was not high enough to grab a leaf, even if she did try.

Eventually the swing slowed to a stop, and the haughty piece left it to again cling to Lord Brentford’s arm.

“I doubt if Lord Ives can match that exhibition.”

Dru met his gaze with an amused glance. “We can but try our humble best.”

“I do not know about you, my dear girl, but I am never humble.” Lord Ives waited for Dru to position herself on the swing, taking care to use the same cushion her ladyship had used. There would be no talk of unfair advantage because of a lighter weight.

Dru sailed forth into the sky, soaring higher than ever before. If this was a contest, she liked it. The leaves were tantalizingly close. After several sweeps into the air, she was able to stretch out her arm and with ease pluck a branchlet from the tree. True, the swing wobbled a smidgen, but that was simple to manage. No screaming for her. She could have swung for an hour without tiring, but she feared Lord Ives was already wearied with the game.

She waved her little branch of leaves, a signal for him to cease his pushing. It was a good thing the maid had tied Dru’s bonnet on firmly, and there was no problem of falling hair this time. Aside from her grass-stained dress, she looked reasonably presentable when she slowly swung to a halt. “Here it is.” She waved her leaves in the air.

Lord Ives took it from her to hold over her head. “We are the winners, I declare. Now, what will be my reward?”

The others looked at him with varying expressions. Dru was leery of the glee in his eyes. A glance at Lord Brentford showed he was not pleased. Lady Felicia looked downright angry, spots of pink burning on her cheeks.

“I shall claim a kiss from my partner. Surely that is within bounds?” Before anyone could reply, he drew Drusilla up in his arms.

Within moments she found herself well and truly kissed. It was brief, but most certainly not unpleasant. She pulled away, but smiled up at him to show she was not displeased with his action.

“Well,” Lady Felicia exclaimed, “I never!”

“You really should,” Dru said sweetly. “It is quite lovely.” She tucked her arm close to Lord Ives, as it had been before all the foolishness of a contest. “Why don’t we pick wildflowers, sir? There should still be a number of them remaining.”

A peek at Lord Brentford almost made her laugh. He looked like a thunderstorm had settled over his brow.

Lady Felicia still looked angry, too. And why that should be when she had Lord Brentford at her beck and call was beyond Dru. But then some people were never satisfied with what they had, always yearning for what was just beyond them. Or did she care for Lord Ives?

“Adrian,” Lady Felicia said just loud enough for it to carry to Dru’s ears, “are you going to permit your mother’s companion to speak to me like that!”

“I saw nothing amiss with her remark.”

That was obviously the wrong thing to say, for she looked about ready to explode.

Dru and Lord Ives turned away from the stormy couple. Within moments they were discussing the flowers to be found and wondering how many birds Mrs. Twywhitt and Sir Bertram had been able to name. That led to other topics.

Dru found that Lord Ives was very good company, and she liked his pleasant good nature. His gray eyes seemed to see a great deal more than one would think.

“You mustn’t allow Lady Felicia to rile you. She is a rather spoiled young woman. She has always been catered to and allowed her way. She needs someone strong to take her in hand.” He led Dru to the trestle table, where lemonade and scones still sat.

“Do you think Lord Brentford aspires to that position?” Dru inquired daringly. It was not a question she ought to ask, but she dearly wished to know.

He poured a glass of lemonade for her. “No, in spite of what his mother wants, I have reached the conclusion that he has his own plans.”

Dru knew better than to ask what they might be. Even if Lord Ives knew, he would hardly confide these to Dru.

“My, you are far too serious for a picnic,” Lady Felicia cried much closer to them than Dru had believed.

Had either Lord Brentford or Lady Felicia overheard her query? She hoped not. She set her glass on the table.

“Let’s have a race,” Lady Felicia demanded. “I shall pair with Miss Herbert. We shall run from here to the stream.” She grabbed Dru’s hand, a hard clutch from which Dru couldn’t possibly extricate herself.

“Really, I don’t think that is a good idea.” Dru spoke quietly, not wishing to create a scene.

“It’s a bit of fun. Come!” She dragged Dru with her.

There was little point in protest. Dru decided she might as well go along with the peculiar demand. They ran across the meadow. Lady Felicia pulling faster and faster.

Dru saw the stream nearing and was thankful the ordeal would soon be over. All of a sudden Dru found herself tumbling into the cold waters of the stream.

She came up sputtering, knowing her bonnet must be a sopping ruin, her grass-stained dress even worse, and her pretty leather slippers a total loss. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the looks of disdain on various faces.

“Oh, dear,” Lady Felicia cried, “I fear I was carried away in my enthusiasm. I am sorry, my dear.” Dru thought she had been pushed, but couldn’t be positive.

Lord Brentford removed his coat. He helped Dru from the water, allowed the little maid who had assisted before to blot some of the water off with a few napkins, then put his coat around Dru’s shoulders in a surprisingly protective manner. He untied her bonnet, tossing it aside in a bedraggled heap, as it quite deserved. “What a shame that you had to fall like that. You must have tripped.”

Lord Ives stepped up to escort Lady Felicia away. Dru would thank him later, for she had been very close to pushing Lady Felicia into the stream as well, considering that she probably had propelled Dru into the water. And that would have surely put paid to Dru’s employment.

“I would like to go home.” What she must look like with her gown plastered to her body, clinging to every curve and hollow, she didn’t wish to consider.

His instant agreement was not balm to her spirit.

Chapter Eight

Dru stood silently by the carriage, too humiliated to move. The little maid who had come to her aid before stationed herself beside Dru, murmuring comforting sounds.

Lord Brentford’s fine coat was probably ruined, and Dru felt even more dreadful about that, were such a thing possible. She wrapped it more closely about her, taking comfort in the brush of fine wool against her cheek and the scent of costmary. It was almost like having his arms about her to offer comfort.

She dropped her gaze to the ground, not wishing to see any condemnation in his eyes—or worse yet, amusement at her predicament. She must present a very droll picture. She risked a peep at him to find that he stared at her. She couldn’t have felt more miserable with her hair in tangles, her soaking dress clinging limply to her form, and her bonnet consigned to the meadow. No doubt the cattle might find it tasty.