The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) (10 page)

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.”

“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.”