The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) (11 page)

Lucy’s smile immediately diminished for she did not like that answer in the slightest. “If he should sell,” said Lucy, choosing her words carefully, “my mother and I would be out of a home. Surely you would not wish that on us.”

He continued to stare across the expansive meadow to where the manor house sat. “No, I would not. But I can only assume the inside staff is as paltry, which means something must be done soon or the only valuable part of the estate will be the dower house.”

This conversation was doing nothing for Lucy’s desire to maintain a happy disposition. She preferred to not think about the other end of the equation in her plan to gain the earl’s sympathies. What would happen to Tanglewood if things continued as they were? Would it truly become of little worth? Would it become a drain on the family’s finances? Before the earl had arrived, it had never occurred to Lucy to think about the property from a business perspective, but now that he had brought it up as Collins, the impartial servant, she could help but think about it. This entire charade hinged on the hope that she could somehow convince him not to sell for the sake of her and her mother. But what if there was far more at stake than she realized? The discouraging thought weighed on her the way a large peony weighed down its stem.

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 flower, 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.”