Miss Beresford watched her leave before looking back at Collins. “She won’t eat, you know. Georgina will wash and change, only because she does not want to soil my bedchamber. But she will not eat until I am ready to receive Mrs. Bidding and she has prepared something to serve us.”
“Then she is a good, loyal maid,” said Collins, wondering why Miss Beresford appeared sad.
“Oh, Georgina is the most wonderful of maids. But she also works herself to the bone, and sometimes, well . . . I wish she didn’t feel the need. Someday, I will make her my companion, pay her a proper wage, and see that she finds some enjoyment in life.”
Collins walked toward Miss Beresford, still carrying the broom. “That is not the way of things, Miss Beresford, as you well know. Companions are ladies of genteel birth, not—”
“Not what, Collins?” Miss Beresford eyed him sharply. “Georgy may not sound genteel, but she is every bit as well-mannered as I, probably even more so.”
“Forgive me,” he said, unable to look away from her dark eyes. In them he saw fierce loyalty and kindness, along with a dislike of the ways of society. She intrigued him. Miss Beresford had a youthful face, and at times, an almost childlike demeanor, but other moments, when her chin lifted just that way and her eyes sparkled with conviction, she blossomed into a fiery woman. With her dark hair curling around her face, Collins found himself drawn to her like a wave drawn to land. He took another step nearer and caught a whiff of spring.
“Forgive me,” he said again, quieter this time.
She nodded, though her chest rose and fell rapidly, betraying that she was as affected as he by their closeness. The silence tightened around them, squeezing the air from the room. Collins couldn’t resist lifting his thumb to touch a smudge on her cheek, and as he did so, her breath caught.
His eyes continued to hold hers. “I may not remember who I am or how I came to be here, Miss Beresford, but I am quite certain I am not a butler, a footman, or a coachman by trade. I feel no hesitancy in meeting your gaze, touching your cheek, or challenging your views.” His gaze drifted to her rosy lips.
“Collins . . .” Her voice shook slightly and held a hint of warning, and his hand dropped to his side.
“I forget myself yet again,” he said.
“Yes.”
Collins passed the broom from one hand to the other and nodded at her on his way out. In the foyer, he paused and looked back. “In what way might I be of service when Mrs. Bidding arrives? Other than answer the door and show her into the parlor, that is.”
“Oh, I didn’t think—” Lucy looked surprised by his question, even discomfited. She hesitated a moment before saying, “I think I shall have Georgina answer the door this once. The stables are rather . . . untidy, and your services would be put to better use there.”
“But I am a butler first and a coachman third, am I not?” said Collins. “I can attend to the stables later.”
Miss Beresford approached him hesitantly, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “If it were any other visitor, I might agree. But Mrs. Bidding can be a bit . . .”
“Of a gossip?” he guessed.
Her eyes shifted to the side as though the word was not the one she intended to use, and then she cleared her throat. “I was going to say a bit much to take.”
“I am to assume that you do not wish her to know that you have acquired an addition to your staff—especially when that addition cannot recall his own name, let alone his past. She will have questions that neither you nor I can answer.”
Lucy let out her breath, appearing relieved. “Precisely. I am glad we understand each other.”
He nodded. “Very well. I shall go clean myself up a bit—but not too much as the stables are sure to wreak additional damage on my attire. Perhaps I should change into the ghastly pink shirt and . . . how did you put it? Speed up the process of ruination by rolling around in the muck.”
Miss Beresford’s charming smile appeared, along with an adorable dimple on her right cheek. “Why on earth would you wish to ruin your favorite shirt?”
“It is not my favorite shirt, Miss Beresford, which I am inclined to believe you already know. You seem to take great delight in teasing me.”
“Perhaps,” was all she said, though her eyes sparkled with mirth.
His lips lifted, and he could not help teasing her as well. “Have a care for what you sow, Miss Beresford. Your day of reaping is sure to come.”
He had meant to elicit another laugh from her, but some of the sparkle disappeared from her eyes, replaced with a bit of guilt and a scrap of concern. How interesting. If only Collins could enter her mind and have a glimpse of her thoughts. He was sure he would find them most enlightening.
“Good day, Miss Beresford,” he said.
“Good day,” she responded in turn.
Collins sensed her stare following him down the hall, and as he rounded the corner and disappeared from her view, he immediately felt her absence. He paused a moment to reflect on this and quickly came to the realization that although he was far more fond of horses and stables than chimney flues, he’d likely choose to clean the latter if it meant another afternoon spent in Miss Beresford’s company.
“Lucy, are you attending?” a brusque voice intruded. “I have asked you the same question twice now with no reply.”
Pulled from her thoughts, Lucy’s eyes snapped to Mrs. Bidding’s. Even though they were both seated in the yellow salon, Lucy had to look up to meet the woman’s gaze. She was incredibly tall with mousy brown hair and a face that could easily be mistaken for a man’s if not for the elegant gowns and hats she wore. Mrs. Bidding had a commanding presence about her—one that had always intimidated Lucy even though she attempted not to show it. “I do apologize, Mrs. Bidding. I find myself a bit distracted today.”
The woman’s beady eyes squinted at Lucy for a moment before she sighed and tapped a napkin against the corner of her mouth. “What sort of trouble have you landed yourself in now, Lucy? I told your mother that I didn’t think it wise to leave you here alone with only your maid to look out for you, but would she listen to me? No. She was quite adamant that you would get on fine for a fortnight.”
“And I am.” Lucy was quick to defend herself. “I am simply missing Mama, is all.”
Mrs. Bidding’s expression softened, and she patted Lucy’s hand in a motherly way. “Not to worry, my dear. I have taken it upon myself to check in with you often. Why do you not dine with us at Eggington tonight? And every night, for that matter? I am sure Mr. Bidding would not mind at all.”
Lucy berated herself for not being able to think of a less sentimental reason behind her distraction. She had no notion Mrs. Bidding would be so concerned with her welfare. “You do me a great honor with such an invitation, Mrs. Bidding, but you know how I feel about horses, and Eggington is a long walk on foot.”
“I would never ask you to walk,” Mrs. Bidding rushed to say. “Of course I will send our carriage to collect you and bring you home safe and sound.”
Oh dear, Lucy thought frantically, this won’t do at all. Supping every night with the Biddings would be torturous indeed. Mr. Bidding was altogether too fond of telling the same story again and again. “You are a great deal too kind, Mrs. Bidding, but I could never impose on you in such a way. I am fine. Really, I am. I have Georgina to keep me company, and I am expecting a letter from Mama any day now. I’m sure as soon as I read her words, I will be greatly comforted.”
Mrs. Bidding did not look at all convinced, but she did not press the issue. She merely set down her teacup, rose to her full, towering height, and pulled on her gloves, signaling an end to their conversation. Lucy rose as well, though it did little to make up the difference in their heights. She practically strained her neck to look up at the woman.
“Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. Bidding. You are so kind to think of me in Mama’s absence.”
Mrs. Bidding’s mouth dipped into a frown as she looked past Lucy to a painting of
a Grecian vase hanging on the wall adjacent to the fireplace. She walked over to it and ran a finger across the frame, pulling it back to reveal a dark spot on her pristine glove.
“Good gracious, does Georgina not know how to properly dust a room? This painting is filthy!”
Lucy grimaced. The painting was her least favorite in the entire house, and she avoided looking at it whenever possible, so of course she had missed seeing the dusting of ash around the frame. Lucy attempted to conjure up a reasonable falsehood to explain away the dirt, only to berate herself for her desire to lie yet again.
How quickly I have fallen, she thought sadly. Thus humbled, Lucy squared her shoulders and answered the question. “We had a bit of a mishap with the chimney flue earlier, Mrs. Bidding. We thought we had scrubbed the room all clean, but apparently we overlooked one painting.”
“We?” Mrs. Bidding gaped at Lucy, her expression one of shock and disapproval.
Lucy realized her mistake and quickly amended her explanation. “How could I be sure the room would be up to Mama’s standards if I had not stayed to supervise the cleaning of it?” There, that wasn’t a lie, was it?
Mrs. Bidding seemed to accept the explanation, for she nodded and glanced at the painting once again. “It seems, my dear, that your supervisory skills could use some work.”
“I could not agree more, Mrs. Bidding,” said Lucy. “Thank goodness you are here to point out my lack of observation. I will ask Georgy to clean that painting immediately.”
Appearing mollified, Mrs. Bidding nodded. “Do have a care, Lucy. You are no longer a child. It would do you well to learn to behave like a competent young woman. Your poor mother will never find you a suitable match otherwise.”
“Yes, Mrs. Bidding.” Lucy was all too aware of her unsuitability and didn’t appreciate the reminder.
“Cheer up, now,” said Mrs. Bidding, patting Lucy on the head the way a mother would a child even though she had just proclaimed Lucy otherwise. “I have a wonderful plan to see you married as soon as possible. It may even involve a ball,” she whispered conspiratorially, her eyes bright with excitement. “When your mother returns, I shall bring her into my confidence. You may take comfort in the knowledge that I have things well in hand.”
With that, she bustled out the door, leaving Lucy in the most uncomfortable state she’d been in since her mother’s departure. She pictured herself being wedded to a tall, tall man who looked at the world through a quizzing glass.
No. Mrs. Bidding might mean well, but Lucy would never agree to marry a man chosen by her.
And a ball? Lucy frowned. She had attended a few country dances in the past and had not liked the experience at all. They had made her feel like a fraud. Dressed in a beautiful gown with her hair styled in a lovely coiffure, Lucy appeared like a demure and prettily behaved young woman. She knew how to act the part well, but any attachment formed at such an event would be doomed from the start, for Lucy was far from demure and only sometimes prettily behaved.
It wasn’t that Lucy was opposed to falling in love. She often fancied herself meeting a suitor in the woods surrounding her beloved Tanglewood. He would stumble upon her as she climbed to the top of her favorite elm, and instead of being shocked by her hoydenish ways, he would find her charming and fall immediately under her spell, accepting and loving her wholeheartedly as the wild and untamed creature she was.
Deep down, Lucy knew it was a silly fantasy. No eligible man would ever desire a woman like her for a wife. In her heart, Lucy knew that she was destined for spinsterhood.
But what a glorious and freeing spinsterhood she was determined to have.
“These horses are in sad shape, Miss Beresford,” was the first thing out of the earl’s mouth when Lucy stopped by the stables to look in on him. He was brushing down Athena’s tan coat with long, gentle strokes. “Do they never get exercised?”
Lucy was in no mood to be rebuked yet again. “Not often, Collins. My mother will hitch one to the cart whenever she goes to town, but I prefer to walk.”
“Walk?”
“Yes, walk,” she snapped. “It is when a person places one foot in front of the other to move oneself along. Even the most dignified of people do it now and again.”
Lucy noticed that despite his threats, Lord Drayson was wearing another white shirt, which was surprisingly clean, considering he’d been out here for hours already. He brushed the animal a few more times before giving it a final pat.
“We really ought to take them on a ride this afternoon.”
Athena seemed to stare at Lucy with an amused gleam in her eyes as though saying, “I dare you to mount me.”
Lucy took an inadvertent step back and cleared her throat. “I am . . . otherwise engaged this afternoon. Perhaps you could exercise Athena first and come back for Zeus later.”
“Zeus and Athena?” The earl laughed. “Who gave these poor creatures such impressive names? I’ll allow that they’re good, sturdy hacks, but that’s the extent of it. Better suited names would be Daisy and Bouncer, or, seeing as how you are a vicar’s daughter and their manes are in need of a good trimming, Samson and Delilah, perhaps?”
Lucy had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out the earl’s hypocrisy by allowing his own Arabian to be called Darling. “Do you think, Collins, that a person, or a horse, can become what he or she is called?”
“If you are implying these horses have the potential to become a Greek god and goddess, Miss Beresford, then no, I do not,” he replied.
Lucy nodded toward the animals. “These ‘hacks’ as you call them were at one point ornery beasts because their previous owner beat them for their stubbornness. My father purchased them from the horrid owner and brought them home to retrain. He explained that a horse behaved only as a horse was treated, and so he named the female Athena, so that she would become a wise warrior, carrying us wherever we needed to go in safety, and Zeus, so that we could command the weather as well.” She smiled softly at the memory. Command the weather indeed.
Lord Drayson rested an arm on Athena’s back. “And did you always have cheerful weather when Zeus was at the head?”
“Cheerful weather is in the eye of the beholder, Collins. Rain can be considered cheerful if one wishes for it to rain, after all.”
The earl watched her for a moment before setting down the brush. He took Athena by the lead rope and stepped nearer to Lucy, bringing the horse with him. With the animal so close, Lucy felt the anxiety she always felt around large animals, and she retreated farther. She tried to convince herself that her discomfort was because of Athena’s close proximity and not the earl’s.
“What does the name Lucy mean, I wonder?” the earl asked quietly, his gaze fixed on her.
“Light,” Lucy answered. Despite the chill in the air, warmth settled around her, and she felt her cheeks redden. What sort of person are you? she wanted to ask. Lucy had thought she knew him, or at least enough about him to ascertain his true character, but now she was beginning to wonder if there was more to his character. He had a heartless side to him, one that placed business before people, and yet she was beginning to see another side as well. A softer side. A kind side. But how much of him was kind and how much heartless?
Perhaps this kindness was a recent development, blossoming from his newly humbled state the way a rose blossomed from thorns and twigs. Or perhaps not. Deep down, a feeling troubled Lucy’s conscience, reminding her of something Mr. Shepherd had once said, that it was not fair to pass judgment on a book from the title or even the first chapter or two. One must get to know the book in its entirety before one could declare it a good book or not.
The same was true with people, no doubt. Lucy had only read the first chapter of Lord Drayson, and it had left her with a bitter taste in her mouth and a strong desire to slam it shut and never open it again. But now that she had been forced to read on, so to speak, she found the taste not quite so bitter and rather thought that further reading would not be so punishable as she
had first thought.
A strong breeze swept through the stables, chilling Lucy and pulling some strands of hair free from her bun. She quickly swept them back. “I should go,” she said.
“Before you do,” said the earl. “May I ask you one more question?”
“Of course.”
“How do you expect Athena and Zeus to rise to their godlike potential if you keep them confined in a stall?”
It was a fair question and probably one that Lucy should have asked herself before now. She suddenly felt shamed by her neglectful treatment of the horses, though they had never lacked for food or warmth. In exchange for two dozen of Georgina’s fresh scones, a local farmer’s son would clean out the stalls every morning and see that fresh hay and water were fed to the animals. But that was the extent of it. The only exercise the animals received was a jaunt into town now and then, pulling the cart for her mother.
Lucy glanced down at her hands, not knowing how to explain or even correct such negligence.
The truth is always best, her father’s voice came to mind. But when the truth was bookended in lies, was it still best? Or did it not matter at that point?
“I . . .” Her voice sounded small and pathetic, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I am afraid of horses, Collins.”
He did not respond right away, but a slight smile touched his lips as he carefully wrapped the lead rope around his hand, keeping Athena securely at his side—another perplexing kindness. “You, who has dug up worms, gutted your own fish, and once captured a toad to keep as a pet, are afraid of horses? Please explain. I am extremely intrigued.”
Is the answer not obvious? she thought. All one had to do was compare the differences between a toad and a horse to understand. “A horse is vastly larger than a toad,” she said finally, hoping he would leave it at that.
Lord Drayson’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Yes, but a toad is also slimy and unpredictable. There is no trust or loyalty to be earned from a friendship with an amphibian. A horse, on the other hand, can offer wisdom and protection and even”—he smiled—“cheerful weather.”
The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) Page 6