“I am not so certain about that,” said Lucy, refusing to let him tease her so. “I trusted my toad and he trusted me.”
“He shouldn’t have,” said the earl. “Was it not you who buried the poor creature alive with a toad-eating reptile?”
Apparently some stories should be left untold, thought Lucy crossly. “I can see your memory is quite sharp since your accident.”
His eyes twinkled at her through the dimness in the stables. “Are you wishing another accident to befall me, Miss Beresford, so as to swipe my more recent memories?”
“No, Collins. But I do see that these animals require more care than I have been giving them. Perhaps I could . . .” Her voice trailed off. Would little Tommy be willing to exercise the horses if she increased her payment by a loaf of bread as well? Could Tommy even ride? He would look so small sitting atop Zeus. And what if he took a fall? She could never live with herself if something happened to a mere child because she, an adult, lacked the courage to ride.
“Have you never ridden?” said Lord Drayson.
Lucy really ought to chastise him for his impertinence and enforce at least a modicum of propriety, but she found that she wanted him to understand her reasons.
“My father attempted to teach me to ride when I was young, but I never could quite get the hang of it. I took a spill and broke my arm. My mother lost a close friend to a riding accident and refused to let me back on an animal, much to my relief. I had never been more afraid in my life than sitting atop that horse.”
“What about driving?”
Lucy sighed. “I prefer to let my mother handle the ribbons.”
He fiddled with the lead rope again, unwinding it from his fingers. “What if the day comes that your mother can no longer do the driving?”
Lucy had thought about that before and immediately dismissed it because she had preferred not to think on it further. “As I told you before, I am very good at walking.”
“Lucy . . .” he said.
Her eyes snapped to his in a stern look of reproof. Earl or servant, she had not given him leave to call her by her Christian name, nor did she appreciate being made to feel like a silly coward. It was too much.
“Forgive me, Miss Beresford,” he said, having the good sense to appear remorseful.
Too bad for him that Lucy was not in a forgiving mood. “How many times do you plan on asking my forgiveness, Collins? I should think more than once a day is too much.” Lucy picked up her skirts and whisked away, leaving him to exercise the horses alone.
Collins tossed a dusty saddle onto Athena’s back and tightened the strap with quick movements. This came easily to him—brushing a horse, saddling a horse, riding a horse. He realized he knew a great deal about horses and breeding and what constituted good blood. These hacks, for example, were good for pulling a wagon or cart, but not necessarily the best riding horses. Collins frowned. Perhaps he had been an insolent coachman in his former life. It made sense like nothing else had since his accident, and yet it didn’t at the same time. His cultured speech, his natural air of command, the fact that he knew more about Arabians and thoroughbreds than trotters or hackneys—he couldn’t have been in service.
More and more the question of his true identity bothered him, especially when it came to Miss Beresford. He had acted the perfect cad earlier, attempting to use whatever powers of persuasion he possessed to lure her on the back of an animal that she had made clear frightened her. And then he had called her Lucy.
Collins hadn’t meant to speak her Christian name. He had not said it to tease or even try her. The name had slid out of its own accord, the way an old friend’s name would roll off one’s tongue. Yet Miss Beresford was not an old friend. Those expressive eyes of hers had reflected hurt at his slip of the tongue, and Collins despised himself for being the cause of it.
He quickly hoisted himself onto Athena’s back and clicked his tongue, urging the horse forward. It responded slowly, the way an old rusty carriage might respond after sitting unused for years and years.
“Come now, girl. Surely you can do better than this.” Collins teased her belly with the heels of his boots, encouraging the horse to pick up the pace. It responded slightly, bouncing Collins along at barely a trot. Good grief. How long had it been since this horse had done more than trot? After further coercion, the animal finally broke into a canter, but it wasn’t long before Athena’s breathing became labored and her coat glistened with perspiration.
The damp chill in the air went straight through Collins’s thin shirt, but he did not care. He felt free in a way he had not since he’d awakened without a memory. He luxuriated in the feel of it. Even on rusty Athena, the wind whipped at his hair and recharged his soul. How could Miss Beresford not live without this euphoria? Did she have any idea the freedom that awaited her if she could overcome her fears?
Collins leaned forward over the horse as they crossed the meadow, and at the top of a small rise on the other side, he finally slowed the animal to a stop, allowing it to catch its breath. Looking around from this vantage point afforded him a glimpse of the manor house. Tangle-something-or-other, Miss Beresford had called it. There was a halo of familiarity surrounding the stone walls and the overgrowth, but no matter how much he tried to place where he had seen the structure before, the memory eluded him.
What if the doctor was wrong and Collins’s memory did not return? Would he remain here indefinitely, struggling to understand his place, or would Lucy—er, Miss Beresford, finally lose all patience with him and send him packing?
The more Collins thought on it, the more questions surfaced, to the point that he began to think that he ought to pay the good doctor a visit himself. Perhaps if he found a reason to venture into town, someone might recognize him or at least shed some new light on his current predicament. At the very least, he could meet with the doctor and, with any luck, discover a few of the answers to his many questions.
For the next two days, Collins attempted various strategies to find a way to town.
“Do you need supplies? I am happy to drive the cart to town and collect them for you,” he said one morning.
“That is good of you to offer, Collins,” answered Miss Beresford, “but my mother made sure we had sufficient for our needs before she left so that we would not have to make such a trip while she was away.”
“What about fresh milk and cheese?” he had asked.
“Georgina collects them from a nearby farm when we have a need.”
“Do you have any social calls you would care to make? Now that you have a coachman, I would be happy to take you any direction you choose.”
“Thank you, Collins, but I shall wait for Mother’s return to call on our friends. She enjoys a good visit as much as I and would be saddened if I went without her.”
When no other excuses came to mind, Collins finally asked which afternoon he would be free from his duties and reconciled himself to walking to town on that day. If Miss Beresford could make the trip on foot, so could he.
“Sunday,” Miss Beresford had replied. “You will have the entire afternoon to yourself on Sunday.”
But Sunday was still three days away.
On Friday morning, the clouds parted, revealing the full magnificence of the sun. Lucy found the sight of it breathtaking. She tipped her face to its warmth and leaned close to her window, allowing the feeling to radiate through her body. Blessed sun, she thought as she washed and dressed in her one of her older day dresses. She quickly pinned up her hair and burst from her bedroom, nearly knocking down poor Georgina holding a breakfast tray.
“Thank you, Georgy,” said Lucy, stealing a piece of toast and eating it as she trotted down the stairs. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”
“It is, Miss,” agreed Georgina, following quickly behind. “Ya ’re up and about earlier than usual.”
“How could I sleep with such wonderful light gleaming through the windows?” Lucy answered as she entered the kitchen. “Good morning, Collins.”<
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“It is,” he agreed, munching on a light fare of scones and a poached egg. “A very good morning. What would you like me to do with such a day?” he asked.
Lucy leaned toward the kitchen window, smiling. The outdoors beckoned to her in the most alluring and delightful way. She spun around and faced Collins and Georgina.
“I think we should spend some time in the gardens.”
Georgina bustled around the kitchen, and Collins arched an eyebrow. “We?” he asked.
“Yes, we,” said Lucy, turning to face the window once again. “We can trim and prune and rid the beds of those vile weeds and perhaps even take a jaunt through the woods to collect some firewood.”
Collins cleared his throat and flicked a look of confusion at Georgina before returning his attention to Lucy. “Georgina’s schedule is quite full already. Surely you don’t mean—”
“Of course not,” said Lucy, slightly piqued by his question. She didn’t appreciate his assumption that she would further burden Georgy, nor did she like that he always used Georgina’s full Christian name and yet continued to slip up with her own. More and more often, Collins was heard to say, “Lu—I mean, Miss Beresford.” For whatever reason, it poked at Lucy’s nerves the way one might poke at a fire to stoke it. He had no problem showing Georgina respect, whereas with Lucy, it felt forced, as though he was merely trying to keep up the pretense of respect and didn’t actually feel it.
“When I said ‘we’ I was referring to you and me, Collins,” said Lucy. “Georgy has far too many other duties to attend to this day, and her mother is ill so she has requested the evening off to see to the needs of her family.”
Georgy gave Lucy a grateful smile. “Thank ya ever so much, Miss. Ma will be so grateful ter ya as well.”
“It is no problem at all, Georgy. The health of your mother and family should always come first.”
“Where is your family home, Georgina?” asked the earl.
“The ovver side of town,” answered Georgy.
“If Miss Beresford will allow it, I should be glad to take you in the cart when you are ready,” he offered.
“Thank ya, Collins, but Mr. Crandall is goin’ that way and ’as already offered me a ride.”
“I see.”
Did the earl look a little downcast at that news? Lucy’s smile wilted a little. Could it be that the earl was developing a fondness for her maid? Surely not. That would never do. He was an earl and she a maid and . . . no, that wasn’t it. The truth of the matter had nothing to do with proprieties and everything to do with an emotion Lucy did not enjoy experiencing in the least—envy. It was beyond silly for her to feel such a thing. She wasn’t even sure she liked the man, and even if she did, what chance did she have of gaining his affections? Some day he would discover the truth of her deception and would likely never want to speak to the likes of Lucy Beresford again. She needed to remember that and push aside the nagging sense of loss that accompanied it.
“Do not ya worry,” said Georgina to Lord Drayson. “Ya will not be laborin’ alone. Miss Beresford loikes noffin’ more than ter roll up ’er sleeves and dig in the dirt. There is nah stoppin’ her from tendin’ ter ’er roses. Believe ya me, I’ve tried.” The indulgent smile on Georgina’s face unwilted Lucy’s smile.
“’Tis true,” Lucy agreed. “I do love my roses.”
“As does the rest of the town,” Georgina added. “They’ll sell loike mad come summer.”
Lucy wished Georgina had not been quite so open with the fate of the roses, especially when she saw Lord Drayson’s brow wrinkle in confusion. “Sell?” he questioned.
Georgina was quick to amend her slip of the tongue. “Wot I meant ter say was . . .” Her voice trailed off, probably because no other explanation came to mind. Obviously, she wasn’t nearly as good at story-telling as Lucy, who sighed and came to her rescue.
“What she meant to say was that I sell flowers in the summer. Or rather, Georgy sells my flowers for me.” She lifted her chin, challenging the earl to find fault with her for being involved in the business of trade.
He surprised her. “Is it a very profitable business?”
“Not very profitable,” answered Lucy hesitantly, because it was far from that. “Just . . . profitable.” Enough to hopefully enable her to splurge on a new gown for her mother and a new pair of shoes for Georgina and herself. It had been too long since they had splurged on anything.
Lord Drayson nodded slowly, apparently mulling it over. Whatever conclusion he drew was unbeknownst to Lucy for he said nothing more. He merely gulped down the last of his ale and stood. “Where might I find pruning shears and a shovel?”
“Our gardening equipment is housed in a little shed off the back of the house,” said Lucy. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you there now.”
“What of your breakfast?” asked the earl.
“I had a bite of toast earlier,” said Lucy, tying on her straw bonnet. “It’s too glorious a day to remain inside a moment longer.”
The earl’s lips lifted into a slight smile as he held the door for her. She breezed past with a “Thank you, Collins,” and he followed her to the shed.
In no time at all, Lucy had them both outfitted with work gloves and began handing tools to Lord Drayson. They would need a scythe, a dibble, a—
“What is this?” Collins asked when she handed him a long-handled tool that ended in an angled pick.
“A daisy grubber,” she said. “It is used to rid the lawn of unwanted wildflowers.”
“I would think you, of all people, would want to keep every flower, regardless of where it grows.”
“Not when they have the tendency to overtake the lawn. As much as I love wildflowers in the wilderness area, when it comes to the more formal gardens, flowers should grow only where flowers ought to grow.”
“I see,” said Lord Drayson with another hint of a smile. “Obviously, I was not a gardener in my former life. Is there anything else you would like me to carry? As you can see, my head is still free and possibly my boots. I am sure I can balance something on top of them. A bucket, perhaps?”
Lucy stopped her pillaging of the shed to look at Collins. As he’d implied, his arms held a precarious looking heap of tools. It was a wonder he hadn’t dropped any as of yet.
“Oh dear,” she said, wondering which she could take from him without sending the rest toppling to the ground. “I’ve quite loaded you up, haven’t I?”
“I’m glad we are in agreement on that. Will you be so kind as to tell me where I might put down my burden?”
She went to reach for the grubber, thought better of it, and pointed to the closest rose garden instead. “If you can manage to drop them near those roses, I shall be most impressed.”
The earl had to crane his neck to see around the pile of wood and metal in his arms, but he managed to make it to the spot Lucy had shown him without incident and immediately relinquished his hold, allowing the tools to crash to the ground in a disorganized heap.
Lucy snickered. “When I said ‘drop’ I didn’t exactly mean ‘drop,’” she said, hoping nothing had broken in the fall.
“Perhaps you should clarify that next time,” said Lord Drayson, brushing his gloved hands together to rid them of some dust. “What now?”
Lucy grabbed the shears and walked over to where the earl stood. She bent down next to the heap and picked up the scythe, shaking it loose from the rest of the mass. “Why don’t you begin taming the grass while I tend to my roses?”
He took the scythe and studied it a moment. “I am definitely not a gardener for I haven’t the faintest notion what to do with this contraption. Am I to sweep it across the ground like so?” he said, his movements a little awkward and not quite right.
Lucy held out her hand for the tool, demonstrating how to grip it and move it across the ground in a smooth side to side motion. “You sweep it both directions,” she explained. “One way cuts the grass, and the other way lifts it back up to make the cutting
easier for the next swipe.”
“Do not say you have operated this before,” said the earl, not bothering to hide his surprise and perhaps displeasure. “Surely the manor house employs groundskeepers, who should also take care of your grounds.”
Lucy studied the earl, wondering about the extent of his knowledge of Tanglewood before the accident. Had he known how minimal a staff had been retained for the manor? Could he not see that the grounds around the dower house were in a much better state than the grounds surrounding the manor house?
“The owner employs one groundskeeper,” she said carefully. “His name is Jeb and he is a dear man, but one man cannot maintain the entire estate on his own. He does what he can for the manor house and helps us now and again, but mostly we do the work ourselves. So in answer to your question, yes, I have operated a scythe before.”
“Why the devil does the owner maintain only one gardener?”
Lucy made a valiant effort to keep her laughter at bay. If only he knew he had just condemned himself. “I haven’t the faintest notion, Collins. Perhaps his attics are to let.” She couldn’t resist smiling at her joke.
“Then he ought to sell his estate to someone who will do a proper job at managing it.”
Lucy’s smile immediately diminished for she did not like that answer in the slightest. “If he should sell,” said Lucy, choosing her words carefully, “my mother and I would be out of a home. Surely you would not wish that on us.”
He continued to stare across the expansive meadow to where the manor house sat. “No, I would not. But I can only assume the inside staff is as paltry, which means something must be done soon or the only valuable part of the estate will be the dower house.”
This conversation was doing nothing for Lucy’s desire to maintain a happy disposition. She preferred to not think about the other end of the equation in her plan to gain the earl’s sympathies. What would happen to Tanglewood if things continued as they were? Would it truly become of little worth? Would it become a drain on the family’s finances? Before the earl had arrived, it had never occurred to Lucy to think about the property from a business perspective, but now that he had brought it up as Collins, the impartial servant, she could help but think about it. This entire charade hinged on the hope that she could somehow convince him not to sell for the sake of her and her mother. But what if there was far more at stake than she realized? The discouraging thought weighed on her the way a large peony weighed down its stem.
The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) Page 7