“You are to marry Mr. Shepherd?” Lucy gasped, feeling overcome. She tried to picture Mr. Shepherd and her mother locked in a passionate embrace and immediately wished she hadn’t.
“I merely told him that I needed some time to think about it and that I would give him my answer after I returned from my sister’s, once I had a chance to speak with you.”
“And what have you determined?” Lucy asked, not knowing how she should feel about this latest revelation.
Her mother sighed. “To be honest, not much. I have only ever thought of Mr. Shepherd as a kind neighbor, not a prospective husband. I had planned to explain that I needed more time to see if I could come to think of him in a romantic way. He is so different than your father. But now . . . well, it seems I am destined to enter into another marriage out of necessity rather than desire.” She smiled as she said the words, but Lucy’s heart broke for her only remaining parent. Her mother had been down such a road before. It wasn’t fair she be required to go that way again.
“Surely there is something else we can—”
“It will be all right, Lucy,” said her mother, giving her hand a squeeze. “Mr. Shepherd is a good man and a lively conversationalist. I am confident that, in time, I will develop tender feelings for him as well. He has been so good to us.”
Lucy suddenly felt more grown up than she had the day her mother had left her alone with Georgina. She realized then that maturity had little to do with independence and more to do with discovering that life wasn’t all roses and lilies. It included thistles and thorns and complexities that a grown person faced head-on, with poise and courage, like her mother was doing now.
Still, Lucy wasn’t ready to allow her mother to take on this latest complexity—at least not yet. “I think you should hold off giving Mr. Shepherd your answer for now,” said Lucy. “Let us first wait to see how Lord Drayson retaliates.”
“Is that fair to Mr. Shepherd, do you think?” Mrs. Beresford asked quietly.
“Is it fair to marry him when your reasons for doing so are different than his?” Lucy countered.
“No,” came her mother’s answer, her mouth drawn down in a frown.
“Then let us wait and hope and pray,” said Lucy. “I have come to learn that Lord Drayson does, indeed, have a heart. Perhaps, once his rage has cooled, he will allow his heart to rule his head and will let us remain in the dower house.” Although Lucy’s voice sounded confident, deep down she felt like she was standing in an open field during a thunderstorm waiting for the lightning to strike.
The following morning, Lucy awoke early and made her way to Mr. Shepherd’s, anxious to interrogate him about his encounter with the earl and what he had meant by “All is well.” Unfortunately, all was not well in Knotting Tree. Mr. Shepherd had come down with a dreadful cold and had confined himself to his bedchamber.
“I hope he recovers soon,” Lucy told the butler, trying to persuade herself that she was distressed by the news because she was concerned for Mr. Shepherd’s welfare and not because it meant waylaying a conversation she very much wanted to have. But the sad truth of the matter was that she was as much concerned with her own welfare as Mr. Shepherd’s. What a sorry excuse for a vicar’s daughter she made.
Guilt-ridden, Lucy walked back to her home and, with Georgina’s help, made Mr. Shepherd some apricot cakes—one of his favorite snacks. It gave her mind something to think about, her hands something to do, and served to lessen her guilt somewhat. As she stacked them carefully in a basket, her mother walked into the kitchen.
“My goodness, I slept late, didn’t I?” said Mrs. Beresford, stealing a treat and popping it into her mouth. “You must think me a complete lazybones.”
Lucy kissed her mother’s cheek. “Perfectly understandable after the trying few weeks you’ve had. Mr. Shepherd is ill, so Georgy and I have made him some cakes, which I shall deliver to his butler straightaway. We left a few extra for you because we know they’re a favorite of yours as well.”
Mrs. Beresford’s forehead puckered. “Is he very ill?”
“No. I believe he’s just a bit under the weather is all. Geoffries thinks he should feel up to receiving visitors the first part of next week.”
“Very well. Take those treats to him, and let Geoffries know I will stop in to see him on Monday. Have we received any correspondence today?”
Lucy draped a napkin over the plate and said, “Not from Lord Drayson if that is what you mean. But there is a stack of letters in the study that came while you were away.”
Her mother sank down on a stool and sampled yet another cake. “Those can wait a few minutes. I find myself quite famished this morning, and I intend to enjoy these delicious treats. Georgy, you are a wonder in the kitchen.”
Georgina blushed with pleasure. “Thank ya, ma’am. Me ma says I could be a cook in a great kitchen, and I tell ’er I wouldn’t get treated nearly so good elsewhere.”
Mrs. Beresford covered the maid’s hand with her own. “You’re a dear, Georgy. I am certain you’re as concerned about having to leave the dower house as we, but I want you to know you that will always have a place with us if that is your wish.”
A look of relief and joy lit Georgina’s face. “Thank ya, Mrs. Beresford. That is ’appy news for sure.”
Lucy realized that she could have put Georgina’s worries to rest hours ago, but she had been too caught up with her own concerns to spare a thought for her maid. Mrs. Beresford, on the other hand, always put the troubles of others ahead of her own, and someday, Lucy vowed, she would learn to be more like her mother.
Basket in hand, Lucy slipped out the door and tilted her face toward the sun. It peeked through the clouds, teasing and taunting her as she traveled once more to Knotting Tree. When she broke through the trees and spotted the large stone house, she felt a renewed sense of peace that quieted the more selfish side of her. She could wait to speak with Mr. Shepherd until he had fully recovered. And when she saw him again, it would be as a caring friend and not an anxious neighbor ready to pounce.
After she had delivered the cakes, Lucy planted the seeds in her new garden. She took her time, sowing them in neat rows and even went so far as to carve the name of the vegetables into wooden stakes so that she could remember where she had planted which seeds. Then she watered each row with a rusty watering can and tried her best not to think of Lord Drayson as she hummed.
The weekend was a gloomy one, filled with thick gray skies, chilly temperatures, and rain—all of which kept Lucy confined indoors. The inner peace she had clung to with such relief began to fade as more days passed with no word from Lord Drayson. Even her mother seemed on edge, unable to sit for long periods of time and in a constant state of distraction. Lucy had tried to engage her in a conversation or two, but after repeating herself for the third time, she gave up.
The rain finally let up Tuesday morning, and Lucy stopped on the threshold of the yellow room to behold a glimpse of blue sky out the window. In the fireplace, the logs snapped and crackled, and the memory of the earl covered in soot and ash assailed her. Lucy’s face became warm as she thought of another, more intimate moment they’d shared on the rug. From the garden and stables to the kitchen and this room, every spot held a memory that Lucy could not shake no matter how hard she tried.
In the beginning, it had been about not losing this wonderful house that she and her mother called home. But as she glanced around and allowed the memories to flow, Lucy realized that it had become about a great deal more. It wasn’t just her home she stood to lose. She had also lost someone who had become very dear to her, and that hurt worst of all.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Lucy turned to see her mother coming down, tugging on a pair of worn kid gloves.
“Going somewhere?” asked Lucy.
“Knotting Tree. Now that the rain has let up, I would like to see how Mr. Shepherd is getting on. Would you care to accompany me? I asked Georgy to hitch Athena to the cart after breakfast, so it should be ready fo
r us.”
“Er . . .” Despite Lucy’s resolve to care more about Mr. Shepherd’s physical health than her own emotional well being, she desperately wished to speak to him. But her mother needed to speak with him as well about other, more personal, matters—matters that could not be discussed with Lucy in the room.
“I would very much love your company, my dear,” said her mother, as though she could read her daughter’s mind.
“Are you certain?” Lucy asked.
“Very certain. Perhaps we can learn what we are to expect from Lord Drayson when we finally do receive word from him.”
Lucy nodded. “I would be happy to accompany you, Mama. But should you need a few moments alone with Mr. Shepherd, simply say the word and I shall take the footpath home.”
“You will do no such thing. It will be a mucky mess after all that rain. Besides, whatever I have to say to Mr. Shepherd can wait another day or two. In fact, it probably ought to wait as I do not yet have an answer for him.”
Mrs. Beresford remained in the foyer while Lucy ran to retrieve her gloves and shawl. Together they walked down the front steps to where Georgina stood holding tightly to Athena’s halter.
“May I drive, Mama?” Lucy asked, anxious to display her recently acquired skills with the ribbons.
Her mother shot her a look of surprise. “You want to drive?”
“Yes. I may not be so proficient as you, but thanks to Lord Drayson, I am confident I can get us to Knotting Tree without incident. He challenged me to learn to drive, and I have.” More memories came. The wager she’d made with Lord Drayson. Riding bareback with his arms about her. His smile, his laugh, his warm breath on her neck.
Mrs. Beresford cleared her throat, and Lucy glanced up to see her mother already on the seat. She gestured to the ribbons. “Very well then. Let us see how accomplished you’ve become.”
Lucy quickly climbed into the cart and lifted the reins, saying to Georgina, “Hopefully we shall be back with some news.”
“I cannot wait to ’ear it, Miss.” Georgina gave a quick curtsy, and Lucy encouraged Athena into a slow saunter. It probably took longer to drive to Knotting Tree than it had ever taken to walk the path through the trees, but the road was a little dryer.
“I must say, I’m impressed,” said Mrs. Beresford when they arrived. “Well done, my dear. Did Lord Drayson teach you anything else?”
Lucy immediately thought of his kisses and heat rushed to her face. “Only that I should not give up on a plot of garden, that I should never show fear to an animal, and that I should always tell the truth.”
A humorous gleam appeared in her mother’s eyes. “And did you teach him anything?”
Lucy cast her mother a mischievous look. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I taught him how to pick a lock with a hairpin.”
Mrs. Beresford chuckled softly. “I should very much like to meet this Earl of Drayson someday. He has me most intrigued.” A familiar stable boy materialized from somewhere, and Mrs. Beresford accepted his help as she stepped down from the cart. Beneath a mop of sandy curls, the boy was small and thin and couldn’t be much more than twelve or thirteen.
“Thank you, Roddy,” Mrs. Beresford said to the boy. How she knew his name, Lucy had no idea, but it was yet another thing that made her proud of her Mama.
The boy blushed and dipped his head, saying, “Mr. Shepherd says we’s ter treat the Beresfords loike royal folk.”
A gentle smile touched her lips. “Did he now?”
“Yeah, Mrs. Beresford. That ’e did.”
The ladies were ushered inside by Geoffries and shown into the morning room. Mr. Shepherd sat in a large armchair by a blazing fire holding a book, which he set down the moment he spied them.
He shifted forward as though to rise, but Mrs. Beresford quickly lifted her hand. “Please do not stand on our account, Mr. Shepherd. You are still recovering from your illness and ought to conserve your strength.”
He ignored her and rose, albeit a mite slower than usual, then arched an eyebrow at Mrs. Beresford. “What is this, Juliet? I make you an offer of marriage and suddenly you think you can order me about, is that it? If you must know, I will always stand for you, my dear.”
“Honestly, Mr. Shepherd.” Lucy’s mother blushed rosily, whether from the compliment or the frank way Mr. Shepherd spoke of his offer, Lucy did not know. She held back a smile.
“I thought we agreed that you would call me Stephen,” said Mr. Shepherd.
“And I thought we agreed that you would say nothing more on the subject of marriage until I was ready to speak of it,” Mrs. Beresford shot back.
“Ah, but you broke our agreement first by calling me Mr. Shepherd, thus allowing me to bring up my offer, which you have yet to accept, I might add. Perhaps I will apply to Lucy for help in persuading you. We would make the perfect match, would we not, Lucy? The reclusive scholar and the beautiful, kind, and vivacious widow. I must say I am quite sold on the idea.”
“I’m beginning to think I am as well.” Lucy laughed. It was beyond delightful to see her mother color and squirm under such attention. When was the last time any man had publicly noticed her?
“Stephen, you must stop, or my answer will be an emphatic no.”
He grinned. “And if I do stop?”
“Then I will finally be able to inquire about your health.”
His eyes still sparkling with humor, he settled back in his seat and steepled his fingers against his chin. “No need to inquire, Juliet. As you can see, I am perfectly well.”
“You look a mite pale and weak,” said Mrs. Beresford. “Perhaps you should lie down. We can return tomorrow or the next day.”
“No,” blurted Lucy at the same time Mr. Shepherd said, “I’d rather you stay.”
Lucy clamped her mouth shut while Mr. Shepherd turned his appraising eye on her. “I know why I do not wish to lie down, but why do you not wish me to, Lucy?”
It was Lucy’s turn to squirm. If only she could be as selfless and patient as her mother. “It’s just that . . . well, sir, you look perfectly robust to me. I think it would be a shame for you to sleep away such a beautiful morning.” There, Lucy congratulated herself. That sounded much better than Because I refuse to leave this house until you explain to me exactly what transpired between you and Lord Drayson.
“Yes,” Mr. Shepherd said, a slow smile appearing on his face. “My thoughts exactly. Now then, shall I ring for some tea?”
“I would love some,” said Lucy, clasping her fingers together and wondering how she could delicately bring up the subject of Lord Drayson. She waited as he put the request into Geoffries, but the moment the butler left the room, Lucy inquired, “Have you had any visitors lately, Mr. Shepherd?” She attempted a nonchalant tone and purposefully kept her gaze away from her mother’s. Fishing for information was not very ladylike.
“I do not know,” came Mr. Shepherd’s reply. “Until this morning, I’ve been ensconced in my bedchamber for days, though it felt more like weeks. If I did receive visitors, Geoffries no doubt turned them away.”
“What about before you fell ill?” prodded Lucy, quickly adding, “It seems an age since I’ve last spoken with you. Surely something exciting has happened to you between then and now.”
A gleam appeared in Mr. Shepherd’s eyes as though he knew exactly to what she was referring and planned to tease her about it. “Not that I can recall at the moment.”
Lucy tried again. “Have you been introduced to any new acquaintances of late?”
Mr. Shepherd chuckled and finally nodded. “Now that I think on it, the Earl of Drayson did stop by for a chat some days ago.”
Lucy had reached the end of her patience. “Mr. Shepherd, for heaven’s sake please stop this nonsense and tell me what it is you said to Lord Drayson.”
“Lucy has been most anxious over the matter, Stephen,” added Mrs. Beresford.
Maybe it was Lucy’s pleading tone or the fact that Mrs. Beresford had made the request, but Mr. Sheph
erd finally ceased his teasing. “I am afraid I don’t have much to tell you. Our conversation was quite brief.”
“You did tell him his name, did you not?” Lucy pressed, hoping the earl was not wandering about somewhere, oblivious to his true identity.
“There was no need,” said Mr. Shepherd. “The gentleman already knew his name. Geoffries announced him as Colin Cavendish, the Earl of Drayson.”
“What?” Lucy’s eyes widened. How could that be? Georgina had not said anything; she would have told Lucy as much. Perhaps he had found a calling card in his purse with his name written on it. Yes, that must be it.
“What is it you spoke to him about?” Mrs. Beresford asked, interrupting Lucy’s thoughts.
“As I said, not much. He merely wished for me to know that he had regained his full memory and that he needed to return to Danbury.”
Lucy’s brow furrowed at this news. His full memory had returned? When? Perhaps when he had spied his name on his calling card—if, indeed, he had? How long, exactly, had Colin Cavendish known he was Lord Drayson? Her brow furrowed as she thought about her last days with him. The way he had continually put her off told Lucy it had likely been longer than she thought.
“What about the house?” pressed Lucy. “And my deception and . . .” me? she thought, unable to voice her last concern out loud. Her frown deepened as she realized the ridiculousness of such a thought. Had she honestly believed Lord Drayson had grown to care for her as she had him? Not only did he not wish to remain in Askern, but he was a lord and she the poor daughter of a vicar.
“As to the house, I do not know,” Mr. Shepherd continued. “Lord Drayson did not confide his plans to me. The only thing I can tell you is that he did not seem angry or upset, merely guarded.”
So much for getting answers, Lucy thought dismally. The waiting was not over, nor the fretting either. How long did Lord Drayson plan to wait before he showed his hand? Hopefully not too long. Lucy could not continue to live life normally when so much could be taken away at a moment’s notice. Perhaps she and her mother should begin preparations to leave the dower house as soon as possible. But where would they go?
The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) Page 15