The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) (13 page)

His jaw tensed, and his hand dropped to his side. “You think me the sort of man who would run away from a wife or fiancée? You did say I appeared on your doorstep like a coward, fleeing something in my past.”

“Yes,” Lucy murmured, for that is precisely what she had said even though it was not even close to the truth.

“I would never leave a loved one to fend for themselves,” said the earl firmly. “That, I know.”

“Of course not,” Lucy said, berating herself for devising such a wicked lie in the first place. This was exactly the reason impressionable young ladies should not read novels. They placed silly ideas in one’s head that would pop out at the most untimely moments. She should have told Lord Drayson the truth as soon as he’d opened his eyes.

“You are right to shrink away from me though,” he said with a sigh, raking his fingers through his wavy hair. “You do not know me and I do not know myself.” He paused, staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. “There was a time when I was so certain you knew more about my past than you let on, but I don’t believe that anymore. You are not the sort of person who would intentionally deceive another. I know that now, and my sincerest apologies for ever thinking otherwise.”

Lucy had never felt the need to utter a curse more than now. In the skirmish of her emotions, guilt planted the others a solid facer and now stood triumphant, lording over the rest of them. Guilt, shame, remorse. What had she become? The earl had been right about one thing. He
did
hold her in too high of esteem. Lucy dreaded the day when she would come crashing down in his eyes.

She looked away from his handsome face, wishing she had the courage to blurt out the truth. Instead, she swallowed the words, needing time to think, to prepare, to figure out exactly how to tell him she was a worse person than he could imagine.

Why the devil had she ever broken her promise?

Lucy glanced up to see Lord Drayson watching her. Before he could verbalize his thoughts, her fingers fished the hairpin from her pocket, and she strode forward with purpose.

“Ready to learn how to pick a lock, Collins?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Miss Beresford.”

Lucy hesitated only a moment before shoving the pin into the old and rusty lock. She wanted to tell him she was not deserving of any sort of respect and that he ought to call her Lucille, for that is the name her mother used whenever she found it necessary to bring Lucy to task.

How very sad that one could exert a great deal of effort over one’s entire life and climb so far only to tumble all the way back down in a matter of days.

Much to Collins’s satisfaction, he and Miss Beresford discovered not only a wagon in the outbuilding, but a plow as well. It was quite ancient. The wood was dry and brittle and the metal rusted, but it seemed solid enough to do the job, so Collins hefted it into the back of the wagon, hitched up both horses, and assisted Lucy onto the seat before jumping in next to her. His arm brushed against hers, and she quickly scooted away, leaving enough space for a small child to fit between them. It was a far cry from the cozy horseback ride they’d shared earlier, but it was probably for the best. Although Collins had assured Lucy that he would never leave anyone behind, he really had no idea what—or who—laid in his past.

Was he capable of running away from a family, or simply running from life in general? Collins prayed not. He craved the return of his memory, but there were moments, like now, when he couldn’t help but wonder if he might be better off not knowing the events that had brought him to this point. But life could not continue as it was forever. Like it or not, he needed to know.

With Lucy quiet and stiff at his side, they rode back to the dower house in relative silence, each lost to their own thoughts. Once they arrived, Lucy quickly made her excuses—something about helping with luncheon—and disappeared inside. Collins watched her go, berating himself for his earlier actions. Who was he to take liberties with the daughter of a respectable vicar? Lucy had been right to remind him of his place and keep him firmly in it.

With a sigh, he jumped from the wagon and squinted into the sun. It was now high overhead, promising more than enough daylight to plow the area and return the borrowed equipment to its rightful place before dark. If he hurried, perhaps there would also be enough time for that jaunt into town, so Lucy could purchase her seeds and Collins could track down the doctor.

Unfortunately, the work didn’t go as quickly as he had hoped. It took some time to learn how to use the plow effectively, and when he was finally beginning to make progress, Georgina brought him some freshly baked bread, along with ham, cheese, and a pitcher of ale. He gratefully took a break and enjoyed the food before returning to the rigorous work.

Hours later, Collins paused to rub his sore and blistered hands. As he did so, he spied Lucy walking quickly away from the house in the opposite direction from him. He pulled Zeus to a stop and watched her rapid movements. She was heading down the carriage path, presumably in the direction of town. He frowned and glanced at the sky. Was she so determined to purchase seeds that she would travel on foot at this late hour? He could think of no other reason for her hasty departure.

Collins worked quickly to unhitch Zeus from the plow and returned the worn horse to the stables. Then he hitched Athena to the small cart and jumped in, giving the reins a quick flip. Not ten minutes later, he turned from the carriage path onto the road in a very slow pursuit of Lucy. He could only hope he was traveling in the right direction.

“Come now, girl. I know you can do better this,” encouraged Collins, whipping the reins yet again. At the rate Athena meandered along, they would not overcome Lucy until her journey home from town.

After a bit more encouragement, Athena finally broke into a canter, though it was still several bends in the road later before he finally caught sight of Lucy. She certainly had a quick stride.

As Collins neared, Lucy glanced back once, then again before stopping and spinning around to await his approach.

“What are you doing?” she spluttered as he pulled the cart alongside her.

“Accompanying you to town,” he answered, holding his hand out to help her onto the seat beside him. She looked beautiful in a fresh pink day dress and a matching straw bonnet.

“I did not ask you to accompany me, Collins,” she said, refraining from taking his hand.

“You did not have to ask,” he said calmly. “I know my duty as coachman.”

“I would prefer that you do your duty as gardener and finish plowing the garden.”

“I am nearly finished, and Zeus was in need of a break.” Both of which were true. It would take Collins an hour at best to finish the plowing now that he knew what he was doing. “Had you bothered to come and have a look, you would have seen for yourself.”

She glanced behind at the road from whence they’d come. “But—”

“Surely you did not intend to walk to town unaccompanied at this hour,” said Collins. “What would your mother say?”

“She would give me a kiss and say, ‘hurry back,’ for I do it all the time. This part of the country is more lenient about silly proprieties.”

“Or perhaps it is the Beresfords who are lenient,” teased Collins.

Her beautiful brown eyes flashed at him in anger, reminding him of the conversation they’d shared when he’d first awoken, along with another distant memory that he couldn’t quite place. How many times had she been angry with him in the past?

Collins cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, Miss Beresford. It seems that I must call upon your forgiveness yet again. But if I may be so bold, would your mother really condone a trip to town this late in the afternoon? It will likely grow dark before your return.”

Lucy opened her mouth to argue before snapping it closed and looking away. When she finally spoke, it was to quietly say, “No, Collins, she would not. I suppose I should have waited until tomorrow.”

“So this part of the country is not as lax as all that,” said Collins with a hint of a smile. “Is not Georgina coming this way to visit her family soon? Why did you not beg a ride with her and . . . Mr. Crandall, was it?”

“They are not to go until after dinner, and the mercantile will be closed by then,” explained Lucy.

“Well then,” said Collins, holding his hand out to her once again. “Might I offer you a ride, Miss Beresford, so that you may purchase your seeds and return home before the sun retires for the day?”

Still she hesitated, biting down on her lower lip. “The townspeople,” she said finally. “There might be talk.”

Collins lifted a brow. “A great many people employ a coachman, Miss Beresford.”

“Yes, but—” she quickly cut herself off. “Oh, never mind. I suppose it is a silly concern anyway. Yes, Collins. I shall be glad for the ride.” She accepted his hand only until she was up in the cart, then quickly let go, sitting as far from him as possible.

Collins whipped the reins and they were off, trotting toward town at a leisurely pace. This time he did not mind the slowness of the journey. He let the horse go as it pleased.

“Have you decided on which seed packets you will purchase?” Collins asked in an effort to make conversation. He’d missed Lucy’s company these past few hours and refused to spend what remained of the ride in silence.

“It will depend on what is available, I suppose,” said Lucy. “I am sure the owner of the mercantile will be able to offer suggestions.”

“I’m sure he will,” agreed Collins, and the conversation ended. Something told him that he had never been one for small talk. It felt much too trying and not at all his style. Perhaps silence was preferable, for he absolutely refused to comment on the weather.

“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” said Lucy. When Collins chuckled, she cocked her head at him. “What was so amusing in that?”

“I do not think small talk suits us very well, do you?”

She laughed softly. “Not at all. I’m quite dreadful at it, actually. You already know how fond I am of lovely days.”

“You did make that very clear this morning.”

She lapsed into silence. Another bend in the road later, she said, “You are very good with the ribbons. Who taught you how—” She immediately stopped and blushed. “How silly of me to ask a question you cannot answer.”

“My absent memory does make conversation difficult,” he said, trying not to be annoyed by the large void in his past. He cast a quick glance Lucy’s way, noticing her pensive expression, and pulled on the reins, bringing Athena and the cart to a stop.

“What are you doing?” Lucy glanced behind them. “Is something the matter with the cart?”

“The cart is fine.”

“Why have you stopped?”

“I was merely thinking that you cannot answer that question either.”

She frowned in confusion. “What question?”

“Tell me, Miss Beresford. Who taught you how to drive?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Isn’t it interesting that neither of us can provide an answer to that question but for completely different reasons?”

Her body stiffened, and she clasped her fingers in her lap, eyeing him warily. “Your point, Collins?”

“Only that it would be a great feather in my cap if you could one day say that your butler/footman/coachman/gardener taught you to drive.’”

“And what if I do not wish you to add that particular feather to your cap?”

Ignoring the question, Collins shifted to face her and propped an elbow on his knee. “Perhaps we can make it a competition.”

“Make what a competition?” she said a bit testily. “You already know how to drive.”

“Yes, but I do not know who taught me how to drive. It could have been my father, a friend, a cousin, a sibling, or perhaps I taught myself. Someday, I hope to recall the answer, but for now, it is a mystery. So what I propose is this: The first to provide an answer to the question wins.”

Her gaze moved from his face to the reins and back to him. “Wins what, exactly? A feather in one’s cap? Because I don’t care a farthing for boasting privileges.”

Collins studied her with interest. Was the lovely vicar’s daughter proposing an actual wager? It caught him off guard a bit, only because Collins had been expecting her to dismiss the challenge completely. Yet here she was, not only considering it, but desiring to set terms.

He ran his finger across his chin as he gave the matter some thought. “I have it,” he said after a moment. “The other day I was doing the unthinkable and poking around below stairs when I stumbled across something that one might call a hat. It is tall and black, with a wide brim that is stitched up on one side. I believe it is made of felted wool and has the most intriguing matted red feather sweeping up the side of it.”

“I know the one,” said Lucy. “It was left there by the previous occupants, and as I wasn’t sure what to do with the thing, I left it alone. It is quite ghastly, is it not?”

“And therefore perfect for our wager.”

Her eyebrow lifted in an intriguing way. “Go on,” she said.

“I propose that the loser must wear that hat for an entire day. A mandatory visit to town might also be required.”

“But it is a man’s hat!” Lucy protested.