The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) (23 page)

Mr. Shepherd agreed to pay a call at Tanglewood the day after the coaches arrived. He would have given them a few more days to get settled had not Mrs. Beresford said, “We must know what is going on, Stephen, or poor Lucy will wear a hole in our carpet from all her pacing.”

“But it will not be your carpet much longer,” Mr. Shepherd said logically, earning a warning look from his intended.

“No, Stephen. But Lucy will be your step-daughter
always
, so . . .”

“I shall go straightaway tomorrow morning,” he said, earning a peck on his cheek from his soon-to-be wife and a hug from his soon-to-be step-daughter.

That had been yesterday—a gloomy, miserable day that had kept Lucy cooped up indoors because of the rain. She now sat at the breakfast table picking at her food and wondering who Mr. Shepherd would discover at Tanglewood Manor. Would it be the earl or a new owner? She wasn’t sure what to hope for. All she knew was that her stomach would not tolerate even a bite of toast.

A thick layer of clouds still coated the sky, but the rain had subsided, so Lucy left her breakfast plate uneaten and grabbed a pair of work gloves instead. She donned her boots and her straw bonnet and went outside. Weeds were beginning to encroach on her vegetable plants, so she decided to tackle them first. Her mother had often reminded Lucy that they would not be her plants much longer, but Lucy didn’t care. While she lived under this roof she would tend to this garden. And once she had removed to Knotting Tree, she would still tend to this garden. It had become more than just a plot of neatly lined vegetables. It was something that she still shared with Lord Drayson, and she wasn’t ready to let it go just yet.

One by one Lucy yanked the weeds, easily pulling them free from the damp soil. She breathed in the smell of earth and vegetation, feeling the invigorating, cleansing effects almost immediately. Her skirts and gloves soon became muddy but she did not care. She continued to extract the weeds, determined not to stop until they were all gone.

The faint sound of hooves pounding into soft earth met her ears, and Lucy stiffened, listening more intently. The sound grew louder until she knew with absolute certainty that a horse was coming toward the dower house from the direction of the manor house. Slowly her gaze rose, followed by the rest of her body. In the distance she spotted a man wearing a beaver hat and riding a beautiful black horse.

“Colin,” she whispered, unable to move. Her heart pounded in cadence with the horse’s hooves, thrumming loudly in her ears. Her breathing became short and irregular, as though she’d just raced across the meadow and could no longer catch her breath. All she could do was stand still and watch his handsome form grow closer and closer until the details became clear. A dark blue jacket that fit him far better than any of her father’s shirts had. Tan buckskins and dark riding gloves. A freshly shaven face, side whiskers, and those incredible eyes that she knew to be blue but appeared dark and mysterious under the brim of his beaver.

Lucy had never felt more ill-prepared for any moment.

He slowed his horse and gracefully slid from the saddle before it stopped completely. With deft movements, he tied the reins around a post and gave the horse a pat before turning to Lucy. Hands behind his back, one step at a time, he approached, and all Lucy could do was attempt to swallow a lump that refused to be swallowed.

Colin removed his hat and looked her up and down, finally quirking an eyebrow. “Do you normally receive visitors covered in dirt, Miss Beresford?” he finally said.

Lucy opened her mouth to respond, then immediately clamped it shut. She wasn’t sure what she had expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. She glanced down at her muddy skirt and hands and immediately tore the gloves from her fingers. “Do you normally visit people unannounced, Lord Drayson?”

His smile widened, and he dropped his gaze to his feet, shaking his head. Then he took a few steps closer, lifted his eyes to hers, and reached out to wipe something from her cheek. “There,” he said. “Now you are not completely covered.”

He wore gloves, but the thrilling sensation of his touch tickled her cheek even after his hand dropped back to his side.

“Are you here to ring a peal over my head, my lord?” she blurted, unable to keep the question at bay any longer. “If so, would you mind doing so at once and be done with it?”

He watched her a moment before cocking his head. “Are you under the impression that I am displeased with you?”

Lucy stared at him in confusion. He didn’t seem angry or perturbed that she and her mother were still living at the dower house. Nor did he comment about the fact that she was now calling him Lord Drayson.

“That seemed the most likely conclusion to draw, considering the way I so shamefully deceived you,” she said slowly. “But if you are not angry with me, why have you come?”

“To the dower house?” he asked. “Truth be told, I needed a break. We have had nonstop visitors since we arrived. First it was Mr. Gilbert. Then Mr. and Mrs. Hudson, along with a few others.”

“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.