Emily Hendrickson (26 page)

“I shall see you later.” Dru sidled away, intent upon gaining her room.

“I understand we are to be given happy news from Lord Osman with our dinner this evening,” Lady Felicia pirouetted, pausing as she reentered her room. “I wonder just who Adrian intends to wed?” Her look was searching.

Dru forced a polite smile. “I imagine we will learn in time.” In her eyes time was her enemy. She hated to leave, for she loved the dratted man who lived here. How nonsensical could she be! Another downfall!

Once in her room she began to pack her belongings into her cases with Mary’s help. Leaving only the gown to wear this evening and a sensible traveling dress out for the morrow—or whenever she was sent away.

“You may as well pack your things, Mary. I fancy that when I am dismissed, my departure will be prompt.”

The young maid curtsied and went to the door. “I am thinking that her ladyship will not wish to part with you soon, miss. She has been dependent on you for some weeks now. Likely she will want you here for a while longer?”

“In that event I can always remove one of the practical dresses that we put on the top of that last case. It is difficult—not knowing precisely when I am to leave. His lordship requested I present myself at ten of the clock come tomorrow morning. I trust I shall learn more then.”

Mary gave her a dubious look before leaving the room.

A sleepless night caught up with her, and Dru dozed off, waking when Mary came in to help her dress for dinner.

She wore the sea blue silk again, the one likened to the color of the sea and her eyes. It was a favorite, and besides they all knew her circumstances. She did not have the vast wardrobe Lady Felicia had brought with her. What her maid must be doing with all the packing to be done before morning boggled Dru’s mind. But perhaps she had been forewarned and had begun this morning?

The drawing room was empty when she entered. The view to the rear of the house beckoned, so she walked to the far end of the room, where she stared off to the gardens. The late afternoon sun slanted golden rays across the various blooms, highlighting them in bright relief. It was a tranquil scene, one of which she could never tire, given the chance.

Lord Brentford came in then. She couldn’t see him, but she sensed he was there. It was like an extra sense, this consciousness of him.

“I like that gown.”

She rotated, turning her back on the gardens she loved. “Thank you. I am blessed to have a few I truly like.”

He strolled across the room to face her, hands behind him. He looked splendid in a burgundy coat over a cream Marcella waistcoat and black pantaloons. Even his black patent slippers were perfect, as was the cravat tied in a complicated fashion.

“Mother and Osman intend to marry soon. She will be gone before long.”

His charming grin did the most peculiar things to her breathing, not to mention her heart. “Why not? This is a lovely house, but I fancy life here could be very lonely without someone with whom to share it.”

“I am coming to agree with you.” He rocked gently back and forth, studying her with an intense gaze she found rather unsettling.

Dru took a deep breath. Was he perhaps going to share his personal news with her now? Or was she to be fobbed off with nothing more than a dismissal?

“Ah, you must be hungry.” Lord Ives wandered into the room, closely followed by Sir Bertram and Lord Somers. Lord Brentford murmured an excuse so he might offer the gentlemen a drink.

Dru felt very ill at ease and wished that either she hadn’t come down so early or the other women were here.

Her wish was granted. Lady Felicia swirled into the room, her cream gown trimmed with pink ribbons billowing about her ankles, Mrs. Twywhitt and Miss Knight right behind her.

Dru gave Lady Felicia a grateful look, going to meet her. If anyone had told her a few days ago that she would be in a charity with her, Dru would have pronounced him mad.

“I see Lady Brentford and Lord Osman are the last to join us. I can guess why.” Lady Felicia sent a warm look to her betrothed gentleman.

“Priddy said they were in the library,” Miss Knight offered. She still looked a bit lost without her dog.

“I fancy we shall know soon enough,” Mrs. Twywhitt commented wisely as the happy couple appeared.

“I shall put all curiosity to rest at once,” Lord Osman said immediately. “Lady Brentford has made me the happiest of men by consenting to be my wife.”

Lady Brentford sought her son, obviously pleased that he appeared to be delighted by her news, if news it might be considered, given that so many were expecting this announcement.

The ladies all clustered about the marchioness, with Dru content to remain to the rear of the little group.

“You are pleased.” Adrian came close to her.

“Did I not indicate so earlier?” Dru countered.

“This has been a successful party with two betrothals.” He handed Dru a glass of champagne, and she took a grateful sip.

“True. I believe that when I return home, it is possible I may have similar news from my sisters. At least from Mama’s last letter, she had great hopes.”

“And what about you? What hopes do you nurture? Is there some worthy vicar to whom you have given your heart?”

“Hardly. My brother Adam is training to follow in Father’s footsteps, but declares he will not settle for a curate post. The pay is abysmal, and often the living quarters are dreadful. A married vicar would have a better situation, but still, it is not an easy life.” Growing up in the drafty rectory,
Dru was well aware of this.

“It is the life he wants?”

Suddenly Dru wondered about Adam. Was the church what he wanted or was he being pushed into conforming to what her father wished him to do? “I am not sure.”

“And what about you, then? If there isn’t a worthy vicar waiting for you, what then?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Well, now, that ought to be changed.”

And how could that be when her heart was given to the very man who didn’t appear to want it?

Chapter Sixteen

An air of festivity marked the evening meal. Precedence again was forgotten as Lord Osman escorted in Lady Brentford to dinner while Lady Felicia went in on the arm of Lord Ives. Mrs. Twywhitt and Sir Bertram, deep in a discussion about a bird they were sure they had seen, happily walked together, while Lord Somers again consoled Miss Knight on her missing pet.

That left Drusilla and Lord Brentford.

She bestowed a wary glance on him before training her gaze on the floor. How difficult it was to place the tips of her fingers on his arm, as etiquette demanded. Of course with precedence out the window, surely she might omit this?

He foiled her plan by putting his hand over hers, quite as though he knew just what she was contemplating.

“I know the floor fascinates, but you could at least spare me a bit of conversation,” he complained.

Startled, she flashed him a look of concern.

“That is better. Ives and Lady Felicia leave in the morning, and I believe all the others—save Osman— will as well.”

“Pity about Miss Knight’s dog.” It was the polite thing to say, but Dru thought the spinster well rid of the little beast.

“Indeed.” He continued the bland conversation while he escorted her to her place.

For Drusilla, there was the tantalizing knowledge that she knew him as no one else did. His arms, for instance—she knew precisely what those beautifully bare, muscled arms looked like. Her mind skittered away from the image of the rest of him. She had no desire to blush.

“I’d give a pony to know what is going on in your mind at the moment,” he said as he again seated her next to him.

She had to smile. Really, it was too delicious not to smile. Her silence bothered him. She was so tempted to tease him about oak leaves, yet that would be asking for more trouble than she could handle.

“You enjoyed viewing the tapestry in my sitting room?” he murmured.

“Indeed. I have a distinct fondness for oak leaves— as depicted on the tapestry, of course.” She watched as he seated himself next to her at the bottom of the table. Keeping her expression as bland as his conversation, she batted her lashes as she had seen Lady Felicia do.

His eyes promised retribution, but he said not a word.

Champagne of the finest quality was used to toast Lady Brentford and Lord Osman. Mrs. Simpson and Cook had excelled themselves in planning and preparing the dinner. The dinner proceeded precisely as it ought. The soup was delicious, as was the fish freshly caught in his lordship’s fishpond.

She said nothing during the pause between the first and second courses, allowing the marquess to converse with Lady Felicia and Lord Ives. That didn’t mean she wasn’t conscious of everything he said or did.

It was when she was nibbling on an apple puff that he brought up the topic that had worried her.

“You will not forget to join me in the morning?”

“I said I would. In your library?”

“That appears to be as good a place as any.” He gave her a speculative look she couldn’t begin to interpret.

Dru’s pleasure in the splendid dinner was ruined. The apple puff, usually a favorite, tasted like nothing. She picked at it, pushing bits around on her plate and hoping his lordship paid no attention to what she ate.

The marchioness indicated it was time for the ladies to leave the room. Thankful to escape, Dru edged back her chair and slipped away, heading toward the door.

She made the mistake of looking back at the bottom of the table, where Lord Brentford sat watching her. He winked. It was a very knowing wink, and she suspected her color rose as a result. Gracious, the man wasn’t going to put her on the spot for her indelicacy of bathing him when he had that high fever was he?

She supposed she might have called Colyer to handle the task. Why it had not occurred to her at the time, she really couldn’t say. Mama would have said she had matched her outspokenness with outrageous behavior, which led to her downfall. How had he guessed? Then she remembered her utterly stupid comment on the oak leaves. Why had she not learned to hold her tongue? Mama had declared it would get her into trouble someday. Dru had the bitter feeling that that day had arrived.

“Play for us, Drusilla, my dear.”

The marchioness made her request so sweetly, Dru knew she must obey. Lady Felicia offered to turn the pages while Dru worked her way through a Mozart sonata. Since she had to concentrate on the music, there was no attempt at conversation. Dru wondered how early she might escape.

A footman entered the room, an air of excitement about him. In his arms a bundle of fur that made hoarse little yaps struggled. He made his way straight to Miss Knight.

“Your dog has returned, ma’am.”

She shot up from her chair to hold out her arms to the scruffy little creature. “Binky, my precious doggy!” She clasped the animal tightly to her thin bosom.

“Well, she leaves tomorrow and so will that dratted dog,” Lady Felicia murmured.

“Poor Kitty will have to go into hiding until they do,” Dru added.

The little spaniel was dirty, although the footman explained they had made an effort to wipe him down.

“I shall have him bathed at once. Oh, I am so happy to have him back.” She patted the matted head. “You naughty doggy. No more running away.”

Lady Felicia exchanged a look with Dru. “What say this time of freedom gives it a taste for more?”

Dru returned to her music that had been interrupted when the footman made his dramatic entry.

“Well, Cordelia, if you want to see to your dog, by all means do so. I am glad he returned before it was time for you to depart.” The marchioness waved the spinster on her way.

“What she means,” whispered Lady Felicia, “is that she is thankful Miss Knight didn’t insist upon remaining so she might look for that dratted animal.”

“If she could break it of its habit of nibbling at ankles, that dog wouldn’t be so bad,” Dru replied.

“Nasty beast! Ives said I could have a poodle. They are far more intelligent dogs.”

The men sauntered into the room at that point. Dru abandoned the pianoforte at once. She didn’t think she could play with Lord Brentford’s gaze upon her.

Only—he wasn’t with the men. She looked to the marchioness, who wore a puzzled expression.

Lord Osman nodded. “Brentford was not feeling quite the thing, so begged to be excused. I suspect that nasty chill he took was harder on him than we realized.”

The marchioness met Dru’s concerned gaze. “Perhaps all he needs is a good night’s sleep?”

No one offered any comment to that. Sir Bertram and Mrs. Twywhitt went off to the library to find a book on birds to settle a matter of identity. The remaining four of the older set chose to play a game of whist.

Lord Ives and Lady Felicia were polite, but Dru suspected they would far rather be in private conversation.

Dru waited for the right moment, then said, “I shall go to my room. It has been a long day, and I have some packing to finish.”

Lady Felicia gave her a perplexed look. “I had no notion you were to leave tomorrow—as we do.”

Dru shrugged. “I must depart soon, and I dislike being unprepared. I hate a last-minute scramble.”

Since they were just as happy to be alone, no demur was made. Dru escaped with little more than a gentle query from Lady Brentford about refreshments. Since Dru had already discussed this with Mrs. Simpson, there was not the slightest trouble.

The problem with going to her room was that there was little to occupy her thoughts other than Lord Brentford and why he was feeling worse.

At long last she poked her head from her door, resolved to ask Colyer how his master did. There was no one in the hall, and she decided it as safe to go on. The only trouble with this scheme was that Colyer didn’t answer the door when she lightly scratched on it.

Lord Brentford, arrayed in a navy dressing gown of some magnificence, opened the door to survey her, making her feel like a silly schoolgirl.

“I was concerned when you didn’t join us after dinner. I was-er-going to inquire of Colyer how you are.”