The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1)

by Rachael Anderson

  Lucy glanced at the earl only to find that he was now watching her with a curious expression. She cleared her throat and pointed at the lawn. “You may start trimming the grass there, next to the wilderness. If left to its own devices too much longer, that area will soon become part of the wilderness.”

  The earl lifted the scythe and rested it against his shoulder. “Very well. But only if you revise my job description to butler, footman, coachman, and groundskeeper.”

  “Temporary groundskeeper,” she bargained.

  “I do like the sound of that better,” he answered with a smile before making his way to the area of the lawn she’d indicated. Lucy watched him go, unable to keep from staring at the wide line of his shoulders, his tapered waist, and strong legs. It took him a few attempts to figure out the best motion of the scythe, but once he did, his strokes became quick and efficient, with the muscles in his arms rippling against the fabric of his shirt. Lucy couldn’t help but wonder how he came by his strength. Did he enjoy a bout of fisticuffs with his friends? Did he like to hunt? Or was he, like her, not afraid of hard labor?

  At times, Lucy wished the earl’s memory would return so that she could ask him such questions and learn more about the various sides of him. The trouble was, once his memory did return, rather than answer her questions, he would likely wish her to the devil.

  Collins stopped scything for a moment to give his weary arms and shoulders a rest. As he did, he glanced at Lucy, who was still hard at work, trimming and yanking weeds from the ground near her still-dormant rose bushes. In their current state, they appeared tangled, untamed, and gnarly, and yet she treated them with a light touch, trimming a stem back here, overturning the dirt there, and humming all the while. She always hummed, and he was becoming quite fond of the sound.

  A rosy hue ripened her cheeks, and even in an old muslin dress, with her hair pulling free from the pins beneath her drab bonnet, she looked lovely. Her movements were graceful, her smile delightful, and the lines of her body beautiful. As she bent and stretched, crouched and snipped, Collins noticed every curve. He found himself unaccountably drawn to her. Lucy had a way of making him feel renewed and invigorated, as though he had just returned from a fast-paced ride through the country on an animal built for speed.

  Collins frowned at his thoughts, wondering where the comparison had come from. Though he could not remember ever taking such a ride—Athena was most certainly not built for speed—he knew he had, just as he knew riding was his favorite sport and that he enjoyed a good hunt every once in a while. Yet he couldn’t place a setting, a horse, or even a face. His memories felt lodged in the back of his mind, unable to break loose.

  With each passing day, Collins’s discontent increased. He wanted to know who he really was, where he had come from, and what had brought him to Askern in the first place. What had brought him here—to Lucy, service, and scything?

  Drawing in a frustrated breath, he clenched his fingers around the handle of the scythe and began whacking away at the unruly blades of grass, slashing them with each and every sweep of the blade. Perhaps if he worked his muscles to the bone it would somehow loosen all those memories.

  “I must say that you are quicker than the gardener,” Lucy said from behind, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder to find her standing not far away, staring at his upper body. “I can’t help but wonder what has made you so . . .” The rest of her words withered, and her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink.

  Collins lowered the scythe and finished her sentence. “Strong?” he asked with a grin. “Masculine? Devilishly handsome?”

  The escaped strands of her dark hair blew into her face. His fingers itched to sweep them away and feel the softness of her cheek, but she brushed them aside herself and tilted her face into the breeze to keep them away.

  Without looking at him, she said, “There is much I wonder about you.”

  Collins let the blade of the scythe drop to the ground and rested his palms on the top of the handle. “I believe I must have been a boxer at some point. It would explain my crooked nose, along with a few scars I’ve discovered on other regions of my body.”

  She frowned at that, peeking back at him. “Are they dreadful scars?”

  “Only small ones. A nick here, a scuff there. Apparently I must have been a very good boxer.”

  “A humble one too, I gather.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  Her lips twitched, and she quickly turned her back on him to look over the house and the surrounding property. After a moment, she pointed to a circular area near the far corner of the house that was currently infested with weeds. “See that small spot of garden over yonder?”

  “You mean the bed of weeds?”

  “Precisely. I have tried a number of times to grow roses there, but they will not take, and I have no idea as to why. Can you venture a guess?”

  “Afraid not,” he said. “If there is one thing I am certain of, it’s that I am no gardener. I take it you wish to make your business more profitable by growing additional flowers, is that it?” She already had so many beds filled with rose bushes. Did she really want another?

  “Yes and no,” she answered. “There is no real need for more roses, and yet I hate to leave such a happy spot as that barren. Not even Jeb, the gardener, can understand why roses refuse to grow there.”

  Collins leaned the scythe against a nearby tree and sauntered over to the spot to get a better look. Lucy stepped beside him, her hands clasped behind her back, apparently waiting for whatever conclusion he was supposed to have drawn.

  “Weeds seem to thrive here,” he said, stating the obvious. “Perhaps you should let them be. You could use them as the filler for your bouquets.”

  “You’re teasing me, I hope,” said Lucy. “But you are correct in that those dreadful plants have no problem growing here. So why not my roses?”

  “Perhaps you should hum while planting them,” Collins suggested, liking the way her lips twitched when she tried her best not to smile. But she could not keep her eyes from smiling. They twinkled and glowed with mirth.

  “As a matter of fact I did hum to them,” said Lucy. “I didn’t exactly mean to, but I always find myself humming while working so that is obviously not the answer.”

  “Have you tried singing instead?” said Collins, wishing she would.

  “Heavens no,” said Lucy with a laugh. “That would do far more harm than good, I’m afraid, for I most definitely am not a singer.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Three years ago, I accompanied my parents to an assembly. I had always thought myself a decent sort of singer, so when asked to perform, I readily agreed and sang my heart out. The applause that followed was tepid at best, and only my parents met my gaze with smiles. Everyone else looked vastly uncomfortable. One woman even patted me on the arm afterward, and said, ‘I’m sure you have many other talents, my dear.’ I was never asked to sing again, so I took up humming instead. But only in my gardens and in my own home.”

  She looked down at the bed of weeds and pursed her lips in thought. “Perhaps that is why the roses never took. The sorry sound of my humming likely shriveled their tender roots.”

  Collins chuckled. “If that is the case, I think you should sing your heart out to these weeds. It would be far easier to kill them off that way rather than plucking each from the ground. What do you think?”

  “I think that is another story I should not have told you,” she said, making him laugh again. “Really, Collins, if you refuse to be of actual help, you should return to your scything.”

  He squelched his laugh immediately and strove to maintain a straight face. “If those are my only options, then I will do my best to be of actual help.” He studied the weeds again and nudged a few with the toe of his boot. “Have you considered planting something other than roses here?”

  Her expression became quizzical. “Such as?”

  Collins shrugged. “Another kind of flow
er, perhaps? Or, better yet, a . . .” He glanced around. “Do you have a vegetable garden?”

  She shook her head. “Georgy grows some berries on the other side of the house, but that is the only food grown here. I know nothing of growing vegetables.”

  “Why not try that?” Collins suggested. “You could plant some cabbage, potatoes, and turnips, or whatever else Georgina prefers to cook with. And, should you produce more than you need, you could always sell the extras in town with your flowers.”

  “Or use them for trade,” said Lucy. Her gloved finger tapped against her chin as she stared at the plot of ground. “Do you think vegetable plants would grow here when roses will not?”

  “Only one way to find out,” he said, examining the small plot. “It is not a large area, so I propose we cut away some of the grass and create a larger rectangle. We will need a plow, of course.”

  “A plow?” Lucy repeated, biting on her lower lip. “We do not have a plow.”

  “One of neighboring farms might,” he suggested.

  “But . . . I have never used a plow before,” said Lucy. “And I daresay neither have you, considering you had no idea how to use a scythe.”

  “I am certain we can figure it out,” said Collins. “What do you say?”

  “What if we were to cut away the lawn, plow the dirt, invest in seeds, and still nothing grows?”

  “I guarantee the weeds, at least, will make a home of it,” teased Collins. “Come now, Lu—I mean Miss Beresford. I would have thought you, of all people, would be more optimistic.”

  “I do believe in optimism, but . . .” She sighed, then faced him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher. Worry, perhaps? Anxiety? “What if Mother and I should need to leave Tanglewood before our crop arrives?”

  Collins blinked, wondering where such a worry stemmed from. “Why should you need to leave?”

  Lucy cleared her throat and looked away. “If you must know, the ownership of Tanglewood has recently changed hands, and . . . well, there are no guarantees in life, are there?”

  “No,” agreed Collins, feeling a bit sad at the thought of Lucy moving away. Hopefully the new owner would take better care of the estate. But would he also care about roses as Lucy did? Would the dower house be filled with warmth and laughter as it was now? Or would it lay dormant and forgotten, like the manor had become?

  Collins quickly shook off the depressing feeling, reminding himself it was of no concern to him what happened to the house or its current occupants.

  “Suppose you do leave,” said Collins. “All you would be out is some wasted effort and a few packages of seeds, correct?”

  Lucy nodded slowly, her brow wrinkled in thought. After a moment, a spark of determination appeared in her eyes, and she lifted her chin. “You’re right, Collins. I have very little to lose. A vegetable garden it shall be.”

  “That’s my girl,” said Collins without thinking. He quickly cleared his throat and amended, “What I meant to say was—”

  “That we should not waste any more time,” Lucy finished for him. “Let us hitch the cart to the horse, purchase some seeds in town, and stop at the Coopers’ on our way home. I am certain Mr. Cooper will lend us his plow for the day.” Lucy paused, rethinking the plan. “And by ‘us’ hitching the cart to the horse, I mean you.”

  “Considering I am the coachman, I gathered as much,” he said, thrilled at the prospect of finally having a reason to drive into town. “But I feel the need to point out that if you would like to bring the plow home with us, we will need something larger than a cart.”

  She frowned and pursed her lips in thought. After a moment, she brightened and nodded in the direction of the manor house. “Perhaps we might find a wagon in one of those outbuildings.”

  “Will they not be locked? Or has the new owner taken up residency already?”

  “I don’t believe he ever will,” said Lucy as she tugged a pin from her hair. “But that is of little consequence.”

  Collins watched her in confusion. “I am almost afraid to inquire as to what is going through that pretty head of yours.”

  She blushed slightly but grinned, holding up the hairpin for his inspection. “Do you recall my youthful friend, Ben? The one who convinced me to bury my toad with a snake?”

  “Yes,” he said the word slowly.

  “He also instructed me on how to pick locks with a hairpin.”

  Collins blinked, staring at her. Good gads, the woman was serious. She could pick a lock, or at least believed she could, and she was contemplating breaking into the outbuilding.

  “That is a highly unusual skill set for a vicar’s daughter,” Collins said.

  Merriment filled her expression, and she linked her arm through his and began pulling him toward the manor house. “Not to worry, Collins. We are only borrowing the wagon, not stealing it.”

  “Why do I find no comfort in that?”

  She gave his arm a pat. “Take comfort in this then. If you are anxious about borrowing a wagon from an absentee owner, it is highly unlikely you were a thief in your former life.”

  “Just in my new life, it seems,” he muttered, pulling her to a stop. “Before you drag me across the overgrown meadow, might I ask a question?”

  “Certainly.”

  “How do you propose we remove the wagon from the building without the aid of a horse or two?”

  She bit down on her lower lip and glanced back toward the stables. “Drat, you are right. We will need Zeus and Athena, won’t we?”

  “Unless you are planning to add ‘horse’ to my list of responsibilities and hitch me to the wagon, then yes.”

  Her lips twitched before settling back in a straight line, and she nodded. “Perhaps you can fetch the horses while I pick the lock?”

  Was she that frightened of horses that she would not even lead one across a meadow? How a woman as adventurous as she did not wish to learn to ride completely baffled him. Somehow, someway, Collins vowed, he would find a way to get Miss Lucy Beresford on the back of a horse and show her exactly how glorious it felt to ride with the wind.

  Collins released her arm and gestured toward the outbuilding. “Very well, Miss Beresford, go ahead and pick your lock. But should we get caught, I ought to warn you that I can play deaf, dumb, and incredibly thick. The constable will have no one to point the finger at but you.”

  “Ah,” she said. “So you are an actor then. Tell me, does the name Drury Lane sound familiar? What about Haymarket or Covent Garden? Do you sing, perchance? Opera? I think you should try a few notes so that we might see.”

  The girl was incorrigible and, though he hated to admit it, irresistible. He could not help but play along. “I am not an actor nor an opera singer, though apparently I can play the part of a hero rather well.”

  “To which heroic acts are you referring?” she asked as her hair whipped about her face.

  “Rescuing a damsel in distress, of course.”

  “What damsel?”

  “You, of course.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I am no damsel in distress.”

  “Are you quite certain?” he said, challenging her with his eyes. “Because I believe you only just asked me to save you from having to lead a horse across a meadow to that outbuilding.”

  Lucy’s fingers clutched the lead rope, as though a tight grip would somehow keep the horse from nearing her. She soon learned that she had nothing to fear. Athena did not intend to chase Lucy down and trample her underfoot because Athena, as it turned out, did not intend to do anything. The horse merely sniffed the ground and occasionally flipped her tail.

  Lucy tentatively pulled on the rope. When the horse did not budge, she pulled harder. Still, no movement.

  “What is wrong with her?” Lucy asked the earl, annoyed at how easily he had swung onto Zeus’s bare back and was now guiding the horse around.

  “You simply need to show Athena who is in charge,” he said. “I think you would find it an easier thing to do if you mounted
the animal. I can toss a saddle on her, if you’d like.”

  “No, I would not like.” Lucy frowned at the horse, wondering how one went about showing an animal who was in charge and who wasn’t. She cleared her throat. “Athena, we are going to steal—I mean borrow—a wagon from that building across the meadow, and I’m afraid I need your help.”

  Athena raised her head for a moment only to drop it back down and continue sniffing.

  “Apparently this horse does not wish to break into the building any more than you do, Collins.”

  He chuckled. “Perhaps I was a bit hasty in suggesting a vegetable garden.”

  “Perhaps you were,” Lucy agreed. “But it is too late to retract the suggestion now. It has already taken root in my mind and will not budge. We will plow that spot of ground, we will plant seeds, and we will watch vegetables grow.” Although the idea of a garden did excite Lucy, her desire to proceed with the plan wasn’t necessarily fueled by her desire to see vegetables grow. Rather, the garden gave her conscience something to think about that did not weigh her down with guilt.

  “We could begin smaller, you know,” Lord Drayson said. “We can remove the weeds in the existing area and plant only a few things. If all goes well, then perhaps next year . . .” His words trailed off quickly, for they both knew that next year would be very different from this year.

  “No,” said Lucy firmly. “If we are going to do this, we are going to do it right. We will get these stubborn animals to the shed, hitch them to the wagon, and collect that plow.”