The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) (2 page)

“I understand, my lord.”

The earl sighed as he considered his options. This news certainly complicated matters. The Beresford family would have to take up residence elsewhere before the estate could be sold, but how long would that take? “What sort of agreement did Mrs. Beresford make with my father? Is there a written contract of some sort?”

“No, my lord. Your father gave only his word as a gentleman. He journeyed from Danbury for the funeral, and I shall never forget the sight of him taking Mrs. Beresford’s hand in his and saying, ‘As long as I’m alive, you will have a home in the dower house at Tanglewood.’” The bailiff stared at a copse of trees that the earl could only assume hid the dower house.

The earl let out a breath. Finally, some good news. “So nothing in writing then.”

Erasmus swung his gaze toward the earl, seemingly indifferent to the water dripping in his eyes. “You intend to give them the boot then?”

“Unless you can find a buyer who is willing to purchase a home with tenants in the dower house, I see no other option.”

“I shall do my best to find such a buyer, my lord.”

The earl let out a humorless laugh. “I was only jesting, Erasmus. A buyer like that could take years to find, and I am unwilling to dedicate that sort of time. I have made my decision. The Beresfords will need to make other living arrangements as soon as possible. You may tell them they have a month to vacate the premises.”

“A month! But, sir—”

The earl lifted his hand. “Two months then, and there shall be no further argument on that.”

The bailiff shook his head slowly but forcefully. “I will not do it, my lord. I will not be the one to tell Mrs. Beresford and her daughter they must find somewhere else to live.” The set line of his jaw told the earl that he meant what he said.

Colin cast him a warning glance. “My father spoke highly of you when he was alive, Erasmus. Do not give me a reason to give you the sack.”

“I will give myself the sack before I will deliver such news, my lord.”

The earl blew out a breath as his horse danced anxiously beneath him. “Very well. I am bound for London once we have concluded our business. When I arrive, I will have my barrister draft a letter to—”

“You are here now, my lord,” said the bailiff. “Why not speed up matters by delivering the news yourself? Your father made the agreement in person. I would think it only right to break it in person.”

Colin considered the bailiff’s words. It would be a disagreeable conversation to be sure, but not the first he’d experienced. And, as much as the earl hated to admit it, Erasmus was right. The Beresfords deserved to hear the news from him.

“Very well, Erasmus,” said Colin. “I will deliver the news myself.” Surely, once the earl explained, they would understand why he must sell and why they must move. The matter would be well in hand by nightfall, and he would be that much closer to finally gaining the upper hand on all his newly-acquired holdings.

On her hands and knees, Lucy scrubbed a particularly stubborn spot on the kitchen floor when the only servant the Beresfords could afford to retain breezed through the back door. Petite and rail-thin, with her blond hair tucked under a worn straw bonnet, Georgina had always been more of a friend than a maid.

Georgina immediately set down the basket of food she carried and rushed to Lucy’s side. Her skirts were soaked from the rain. “Miss Lucy, ya shouldn’t be doin’ that!”

Lucy sat back and drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with air that tasted like it had been stuck inside the kitchen far too long. “What should I be doing, Georgy? Pretending to care about needlepoint or the pianoforte? You know as well as I that I have no drawing room talents, and one person cannot be expected to do everything around here. You work much too hard. It is only right that I should help out once in a while.” Besides, thought Lucy, it was rather interesting to play at being a maid, especially on such a dreary morning as this when she was trapped indoors. With her mother off helping a sister during her confinement, Lucy could do as she pleased, for though Georgy attempted to tell her to behave, she could not insist on it.

“I work nah ‘arder than anyone else in me position, Miss,” said Georgina, “and ya ‘ave plenty of drawin’ room talents.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Georgina stood and pulled Lucy to her feet, no doubt attempting to come up with at least one of Lucy’s so-called “talents.”

“Ya always like a good book, Miss,” came the answer after a time.

Lucy pressed a finger to her lips in a teasing way. “Shh, Georgy. Do not go spreading that around. I would so hate to be considered a bluestocking.”

Georgina extracted the scrubbing brush from Lucy’s grip and tossed it on the table. “Better a bluestockin’ than a maid, Miss. And that stain ‘as been there since before I came ’ere. It will not budge, nah matter ’ow ’ard ya scrub. Na take off that apron and cap and try ter be’ave proper-like for once. Word in town is that you’re ter expect a visitor soon. Mr. Graham told me ’isself.”

Lucy left the apron tied around her waist and rested her palm on the table. “Oh, what fun. Is it a rich, long-lost relative, do you think?”

“Nah.”

“A constable on the hunt for an outlaw?”

Georgina giggled at that. “I think not, Miss.”

“Perhaps an eligible man who has heard all about my, er . . . talents and delightful personality and is coming to pay court? Yes, I am sure that is it,” Lucy teased as she dusted off her apron. “I think it best to let him see me as I really am, don’t you, Georgy?”

“We can agree on that, Miss,” said the maid as she pulled the cap from Lucy’s head. “Ya always be forgettin’, but you’re the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Beresford.”

Lucy sighed. “You make me sound very dull indeed.”

Georgina smiled and patted Lucy’s cheek. “You’re anythin’ but dull, Miss. Na take off that apron. I’m off to fetch some fresh milk from the McCallisters, so mind your manners whilst I’m away, and don’t let anyone in before I get back.”

“I thought you are to take orders from me and not the other way around,” said Lucy.

“Not wif your ma away and me the only grown up ’round ’ere.” Georgina’s lips quirked into a grin before she stepped out the door and pulled it closed behind her, leaving Lucy alone in the kitchen.

Almost instantly, Lucy felt a return of her earlier boredom. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter and her chin in her palms. What now? Perhaps she could walk to the neighboring estate and visit Mr. Shepherd. He was always good for some interesting conversation, although lately he seemed preoccupied with the science of etymology, having recently read a book on the subject, and Lucy had no desire to learn the Latin or Greek origins of words like “candid” and “procure.”

A loud knock echoed through the house, startling Lucy. Was the mysterious visitor here already? She patted the sides of her hair as she strolled out of the kitchen and down the hall. In the foyer, she drew in a deep breath before pulling open the heavy, wooden door, only to discover a man standing in front of her.

His eyes caught her attention first. Under the brim of a black beaver, and sandwiched between trimmed side whiskers, they were blue and intelligent, brimming with complexity and mystery.

He doffed his wet hat, revealing thick and wavy hair the color of molasses. Lucy studied his person, wondering who he was and what business he had with her family.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Beresford, if you please.” The deep timbre of his voice matched the depth of his eyes, and Lucy was sure she had never beheld such a handsome creature. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was dressed impeccably, from his traveling coat and simple cravat to his perfectly shined riding boots—a sharp contrast to her own untidiness.

Aware that she was practically gaping at him, Lucy forced her gaze back to his face, where she found a hint of an amused smile.

She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Beresford is away, I’m afraid. Perhaps I might be of assistance?”

Apparently he didn’t care for that answer. His jaw tightened, and his lips became a straight line. When he didn’t respond right away, Lucy glanced past him through the sleet, to where a beautiful black Arabian stood tethered to the post.

“Is that your horse, sir?” she asked, ready to offer the use of the stables as shelter for the poor animal.

He followed her gaze before turning back to her. In a dry tone, he said, “I have never seen that animal before in my life.”

Lucy’s lips twitched. “You are bamming me, sir. Is this your way of pointing out the silliness of my question? You know as well as I that the animal is, indeed, yours.”

“You should never assume anything about a stranger,” he said.

“Are you a stranger?” she countered, her curiosity growing by the second.

“Perhaps,” was all he said.

Unperturbed, Lucy nodded toward the horse. “Does the animal have a name, or is that a silly question as well?”

The man studied her for a moment, as though assessing whether or not she was worthy of knowing such information, before answering. “Darling.”

“Pardon?”

“His name is Darling.”

She studied him for a moment. There was a hint of humor in his eyes, as though he was challening her to believe him. “I do think you are serious.”

“I am.”

“Surely not. No respectable man would name his horse Darling.”

“Perhaps I am not respectable.”

“I’m beginning to think that might be the case.”

His lips twitched a moment before settling back into a straight line. “If you must know, I experienced a moment of weakness when I promised my mischievous niece that she could name my next horse. Once decided, there was no talking her out of Darling. I should probably forget my promise and give the animal a name more suited to his sex and disposition, but alas, I am a man of my word. So I must either sell it, which would be a pity, or call him Darling.”

Charmed by the fact that he had a soft spot for his niece, Lucy said, “You could always omit the L and call him Daring, or something a little more masculine.”

He pressed his lips together as though considering it. “Not a bad idea. Perhaps my niece would allow Darling to be his surname instead.”

“And Daring his Christian name?”

“Exactly.”

“Daring Darling?” Lucy laughed. “That could twist one’s tongue, couldn’t it?”

“Ah, but therein lies the genius of it, as my niece is vastly fond of alliteration. And with a name like Amelia Applegate, how could she not be?” His expression was now relaxed and somehow more handsome than before.

“I must adjust my earlier judgment of you, sir. Any man who dotes on his niece in such a way must be at least a little respectable.”

The praise had a perplexing effect on him. Instead of smiling, his lips straightened. In an instant, he became the formal and stiff gentleman who had first appeared at her door.

“You give me too much credit, I’m afraid,” he said. “Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me when I might expect to find Mrs. Beresford at home?”

“A fortnight.”

“A fortnight!” If he had not been displeased before, he certainly was now. Apparently two weeks was far too long for Lucy’s mother to be away.

Her mouth lifted into an impish smile, and she gestured inside. “Would you care to wait for her?”

He blinked for a moment, obviously taken aback by such an offer. “Surely you jest.”

“Of course,” Lucy said with a laugh. “As diverting as this conversation has been, I think it would be most unseemly to allow you entrance into our home when neither my mother nor our maid is present.”

His eyes widened, and his gaze swept over her appearance in a show of surprise. “Are you Miss Lucy Beresford?”

She dropped into a quick curtsy. “How do you do, sir? Did you think me the maid?”

He did not try to pretend otherwise. “Of course I thought you the maid. You answered the door and are wearing an apron, for heaven’s sake. And your hair is . . . ahem, never mind.” At least he had the presence of mind to refrain from finishing that sentence.

Lucy’s insides were positively whirling at what he must be thinking. It wasn’t every day a handsome man mistook one as the maid, but she refused to let his obvious shock at her appearance and lack of propriety unsettle her. She lifted her chin instead, holding out her palms for his inspection. “Have you noticed the deplorable state of my hands as well? They are red and blotchy from scrubbing the kitchen floor.”

He continued to stare at her, his mouth opening and closing a few times before finally speaking. “Are you in such dire straits as that?”

Pity or concern was the last thing Lucy wanted from this man. She dismissed his question with a wave of her hand. “No, of course not. I was simply bored, is all.”

“You scrub floors to stave off boredom?”

“Only when the alternative is embroidery or practicing the pianoforte,” she said, her eyes dancing merrily.

Once again, his lips twitched and quirked, but the stubborn man refused to smile. Perhaps it was for the best. Lucy’s heart would likely turn to jelly if he became any more attractive.

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” said Lucy. “Apparently you know me, and yet I haven’t the faintest notion of who you are.”