How much of that had she seen? he wondered. More than enough, no doubt. It would do no good to deny the occurrence. He could hardly claim to be an innocent victim of an attack by her sister, no matter how true that might be. Blood would tell then, he was sure. If Dru had brought them all this far for the girl and not the gentleman, then she would never forgive him if he said anything less than flattering about the foolish little trollop they had rescued.
He turned to her, giving a short formal bow. ‘Lady Drusilla, I apologise for my behaviour. Your sister was overwrought. I offered comfort and the situation got quite out of hand. It will not happen again.’
‘See that it does not, Mr Hendricks.’ Her demeanour was as cool as it had been on the first day, but when he looked into her eyes he saw hurt. Tears. Damn it to hell, he had made her cry, when nothing else had. ‘Priscilla, come away from Mr Hendricks this instant.’
Her sister gave a saucy smile and a half-shrug of apology to him. And then she winked, as though to say the only thing she was sorry for was the fact that they had been caught. ‘Coming, Silly. Do not raise such a fuss.’
Dru’s eyes narrowed and she pulled her body in tight, proud and studiously unaffected by what she had just seen. It was as though, in a heartbeat, she could somehow draw the tears back up her cheeks and inside of her again, so that no one would know her feelings. She gave John a withering glare, then turned her disdain on to her sister. ‘I can see, Priscilla, that we will need to have another talk about the sort of people it is proper to associate with. First you run away with a dancing master. And now?’ She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘This.’
He tried to cast his eyes in the direction of the open door and held out a hand in supplication, hoping that Dru would understand the awkwardness of the situation and his need to speak to her alone, to explain.
But either her almost preternatural perception failed her, or she chose to ignore it. And him as well. She was looking at him as though he was something less than a man, less even than a piece of furniture. Worse than that, after all that had happened between them, it was as if he did not even exist as a part of her world.
‘My Lady Drusilla,’ he said hurriedly, not wanting her to leave. ‘I spoke hastily last night, when I tendered my resignation. If you still require my services…’
Dru glanced from him, to her sister, and he saw the slight slump of resignation in her shoulders. Did she seriously think he could change his heart so quickly?
Of course she did. She seemed to think Priscilla was irresistible and her superior in all things related to the male sex. And what reason would she have to trust him after all he had told her of Emily, and his undying love that had not lasted out a week of separation? If she thought him faithless, it was because he had given her ample reason.
When she spoke, her voice was cold and superior, and she sounded as one might when speaking to a servant that one did not much like. ‘You still deserve compensation for what has gone before, and will receive it if you return to London with us. But neither of us will need or accept the kind of personal attention that you have provided these last few days. Is that clear, Mr Hendricks?’
‘Of course, my lady.’
She gave another sharp gesture to her sister, demanding that she follow. Then she turned from him, retreating at an unhurried pace. But as she went, he saw her reach for the handkerchief tucked into her sleeve.
Chapter Sixteen
The Benbridge carriage rambled on at a sedate pace towards London, with the windows open to fight the oppressive summer heat that had followed the rains. Dru fanned at herself with the open book in her hand. For all that had occurred since she’d left London, it was perhaps the best use for sermons. Priss seemed to be unaffected by the temperature. She looked just as fresh as she had when they’d found her and fully recovered from her bout of tears.
Apparently, it had done her good to casually take the only thing of value from her older sister’s drab life. The image sprang fresh in her mind of Priss in the arms of John Hendricks. And with it came the heat of rage, and the desire to clout Priss repeatedly with the book in her hand. The girl was unlikely to gain any sense from the disaster she’d made of the trip. But if Dru could raise a drop of sympathy in her heart for the feelings of others, and maybe a small bump on that pretty blond head…
She fanned herself all the faster, trying to cool her blood. She should have been prepared for the inevitable, when it happened. Men invariably turned from her, once they had met her sister. But it had never hurt so much as this.
Of course, no other man had held her in his arms, nor whispered of her beauty and his uncontrollable desire, nor acted upon those feelings so enthusiastically before. While she understood that what had happened did not always mean marriage was forthcoming, was it too much to expect a day would pass before she was betrayed by both lover and sister?
If Priss had been willing to think of anything other than her own feelings, then Dru could have requested that, of all the men in the world, with just this one she might make an effort to be less than her completely charming self. And to try to act as though she was a little shamed by the trouble she’d caused, and not on a week-long holiday.
Of course, there was little wonder that Priss looked happy and rested. She had not been forced to drag herself through the mud, skip meals and sleep in the hay. When Dru had managed to part her from the contents of her reticule, she had found more than enough money to take them home properly and in comfort, stopping wherever they liked and sleeping in proper beds.
Dru’s eyes narrowed as she looked at her sister. It was just like Priss to create a disaster, yet suffer no discomfort from it. But she did not usually finish by reducing her older sister to broken-hearted tears in the public room of an inn.
‘Do stop harumpfing at me, Silly; it is quite a waste of your time,’ Priss said. ‘It is not as if I mean to learn my lesson from the experience. Better you should learn not to follow me.’
‘As if Papa would ever let me forget it, should I leave you get up to such foolishness,’ Dru bit back, annoyed at her own shrewishness.
‘Papa would not let you forget it, even if I had behaved,’ Priss said in disgust. ‘I swear, Silly, you think far too much of him, and what he approves or disapproves. His favour is hard to earn and seldom lasts.’
‘That is no way to speak of our father,’ Dru said, almost as a reflex.
‘But it is the truth,’ Priss said firmly. ‘Read that book in your hand and I am sure you will find something favourable on the subject of speaking the truth. Especially when it is plain before your face.’
‘It also demands that we honour our parents,’ Dru snapped.
‘And so we have,’ Priss replied. ‘For we have little choice in the matter but to do so.’ And then, wilting a little under her sister’s critical gaze, she amended, ‘And you do enough of that for the both of us, I think. And you get far too little of the credit for it.’
The compliment was surprisingly welcome. And though it did not make up for even half of what had occurred, Dru managed a weak but sincere, ‘Thank you.’
Priss sighed. ‘I have inherited Father’s temperament, I am afraid. Being just as headstrong as he is makes it difficult to obey without question. And you are too often forced to play peacemaker.’
‘Someone must,’ Dru said, wishing she could stay angry with a girl who so heartily deserved a scolding.
‘For the moment, you could try to enjoy your time away from that abominable house,’ Priss encouraged, in a way that seemed like sincere concern. ‘And I promise that I shall give you no trouble at all.’
Making trouble came as naturally to Priss as breathing did. There was no point in commenting on it.
And then her sister said, with a sly smile. ‘I suspect that you would have no real complaints about travelling with Mr Hendricks, if you
would allow yourself to relax. He really is the most fascinating man.’ She was staring out the window, to where Mr Hendricks rode beside the coach. ‘Although, behind those ridiculous glasses, it is hard to see the colour of his eyes.’
‘Golden brown,’ said Dru, absently, looking down at her hands. ‘His eyes are amber.’ In the moonlight, one might even call them gold.
Her sister continued, as though she had not heard. ‘I wonder, can he see without them? For I expect he would be much more handsome, were he to forgo them.’
‘It would be quite foolish of him to do so,’ Dru snapped. ‘He is very sensible, not the sort of man at all who would sacrifice clear vision in the name of vanity.’ Surprised at her own outburst, Dru bit her lip to prevent herself from mentioning some of the occasions that had caused him to forgo the spectacles.
Priss smiled. ‘But I am sure that he is not unaware of the effect he has on women when he takes them off. There is not a man alive who is as proper as you make him sound, Silly.’
Dru pulled her skirts more tightly around her legs. Last night should have proved to her that he was as prone to sins of the flesh as the worst of his kind, and willing to take advantage of a helpless female, without regard to her reputation or modesty. And to make no mention at all of it the next day, but instead, to begin a systematic wooing of the female’s sister.
She could feel her knuckles going white as the nails cut little crescents in the palm of her hand. It was all the more foolish that she could not seem to manage the correct response to what had happened. She should have cried out last night, and to devil with the consequences. This morning, she should have been racked with guilt and shame and fearing for the safety of Priscilla while the villain stalked her under the guise of assisting them.
Instead? She felt…
Jealous. The sight of Priss in his arms had left her burning not with shame, but with anger. And not at him alone, but at her sister. It was Priss who had led them to this pass, and who now could not seem to understand the gravity of the situation for both their reputations, and the difficulties she faced in the future. After all the fuss over running off with Gervaise, she seemed not bothered in the least that the man was for ever gone from her life.
Instead, she had moved on to the next available man, using charms that had brought the males of the ton to their knees. Did she bother to think, even for a moment, that her quarry might have formed an attachment elsewhere? Or that someone might have formed an attachment to him?
Not that Dru had any real evidence that what had happened on the previous evening was any more than a biological reaction to stress. It was wishful thinking on her part that filled every corner of her head with fancies about John Hendricks on one knee before her, pleading for a chance to make things right. Or sweeping into her bedroom tonight, as he had on the previous one, overcome with desire and with no cares at all about right or wrong.
Instead, this morning she had found him, warm and soft with her sister, but stiff and formal to her, as though she no longer mattered to him, now that she had been bedded. It had given her the strangest feeling inside, cold and sharp and painful, as though she was full of broken glass. And so she had done what came naturally to her. She had focused her mind on them until the shards were on the outside, where they belonged. There, they would hurt others and not herself, and she would be protected, safe and untouched inside the barrier they created.
However, she was conscious of the emptiness at their absence and the way that John Hendricks had retreated to a safe distance. It was just as she had commanded him to do this morning. He was not bothering her, or her sister. He rode just outside the carriage, where she could catch only the occasional glimpse of him.
Now Priss was craning her head out the window, waving to catch his eye. She glanced back at her sister. ‘It is a shame that he does not ride with us, is it not? I asked him to. But he told me that he does not enjoy being closed up in the body of the carriage.’
That was little more than a polite and unconvincing lie. He had not seemed to mind it much as he’d ridden with her. ‘The way he was carrying on with you this morning, I think it is just as well that he remains outside, as I requested. It will save him from the stern lecture I would give, to remind him of his place. For the duration of this trip he will aid us in the task at hand. Just as Mr Gervaise was brought into the house to teach you to dance. Such men should know better than to get above themselves, and you should learn not to stoop.’
Perhaps if she could persuade Priss, she could learn the same thing herself. But after so long in his presence, just the sound of his voice as she scolded him would be a welcome thing. She missed the feel of his body close beside her, his leg pressed against her skirt and his arm at her waist to protect her.
Of course, the family carriage was exceptionally well sprung, and she hardly needed a sheltering body to guard her against the bumps and the jolts of the road. But luxury had never felt so empty and unwelcome.
Priss shook her from her reverie with a sharp tap upon the hand. ‘Really, Silly, you mustn’t brood so. One kiss is hardly a sign that I do not know a servant from a suitor.’
Nor, Dru supposed, did one night mean anything. No matter how much she might wish it did.
‘The scenery is quite beautiful, and yet you are glaring out the window as though it were a dark day in December. Can we not stop for a time and enjoy the countryside?’
‘It is only three miles to the next inn,’ Dru cautioned, pulling herself away from the window to stare at her sister. ‘If we are continually stopping, it will take ages to get home.’
‘But now that you have your way and I am returning to there, must we rush the trip? There is no one fashionable in London in the summer.’
‘Father is there,’ Dru said, firmly. ‘And that is where we will attend him.’
‘And I know you well enough to be sure that you have notified Papa of our return. You can tell him just as easily that we are delayed. It is nearly noon. I am stifling, and hungry as well. It would be delightful to have a picnic. Please tell the driver to stop and get down the hamper so that we might refresh ourselves.’
Dru sighed; now that her sister had the idea in her head, there would be no peace until she had her way. So she signalled the driver to stop at a wide spot in the road.
Mr Hendricks reined his horse and displayed no emotion save one barely raised eyebrow when he realised the purpose of the delay. He was likely eager to meet her father, receive his payment and be totally out of their lives.
The thought made her jaw clench; she ordered him sharply to lay out the blanket and help with the opening of the wine and the slicing of meat and bread. If he wished to act like a servant towards her, as though there was nothing more between them, so she would treat him.
Once he had seen to the comfort of her and her sister, he moved a respectful distance away, taking a small portion of the food for himself and leaning his back against a nearby tree.
‘This is much better, is it not?’ Priss insisted, then glanced at their companion. ‘Mr Hendricks, would you not be more comfortable sharing the blanket with us?’
‘I am quite fine here, my lady.’
‘Oh, but I insist.’ She patted the ground at her side.
‘Oh, yes, Mr Hendricks. Do come and join us.’ The sarcasm in her own voice was so thick that even Priss recognised it and stuck out her tongue in response, before sending another hopeful look in the direction of Mr Hendricks.
There was the barest hesitation before he pulled himself smoothly to his feet and joined them, dropping into the space between the two of them and allowing exactly the same distance so as not to show any partiality. Then he went back to the piece of bread he had been eating, as though nothing had changed.
‘There. That is much better, I think.’ Priscilla favoured him with another brilliant smile
. ‘It is a lovely day, is it not?’
‘As you remarked earlier,’ he responded.
She considered for a moment. ‘When we were at the inn, the air was not quite so fresh. Here, we have the scent of the dog roses growing along the road.’
He noted the position of the flowers and nodded politely.
‘Are they not lovely as well?’ Priss coloured up in a way that looked almost sincere. Dru wondered how she could manage to control what should have been an autonomic response.
He turned his gaze on them again and answered. ‘Indeed, my lady, they are most pretty, if one likes such things.’
‘I doubt there is anyone in England that does not like a rose,’ Priss said with a definitive nod of her head.
‘But those are rather common flowers,’ Dru answered, in some annoyance. ‘And I expect they have thorns.’ The cloying scent of the things, combined with Priss’s annoying prattle, was giving her the most abominable pain in her head.
‘A wise man learns to look past the thorns, at the beauty,’ Mr Hendricks said, after a small pause. ‘There is much reward to be had if one is willing to get past the prickly bits.’
Dru looked down at her hands, worrying that, if she looked up at him, she would find him staring at her in a most improper manner. Or, worse yet, that she would see him staring at Priss, with no idea of how his last statement might have sounded to her. When she finally gained the nerve to check, he was staring at nothing in particular, eating the sandwich he had made of cold meat and cheese.
Dru’s eyes wandered to their surroundings, which were as annoyingly beautiful as Priss had said. Sunshine and roses—a lover at her side whom she dared not speak to, not even in anger, and a sister who was both chaperon and rival. Priss might find it pleasant and long to dawdle. But to Dru it felt unnatural, as though she were play-acting at being Priscilla. Everything was unbalanced. Someone had to keep their head, even when the roses were in bloom. And Lord knew there was not room in any family for two of them to behave like Priscilla.
Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin Page 16