The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) (3 page)

He cleared his throat, perhaps attempting to gather his wits about him. “My apologies for not introducing myself in the beginning. I am Colin Cavendish, the Earl of Drayson and current owner of Tanglewood.”

Lucy’s forehead wrinkled. He appeared to be quite serious, and yet . . . “I find that very interesting, sir, considering I have met Lord Drayson not two years ago, and you look nothing like him.”

“I should hope not,” said the man. “My father was bald and portly, with a ruddy nose. I, fortunately, take after my mother’s side.”

All humor faded from Lucy’s being as an otherwise nondescript, three-letter word captured her attention. “Was?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He passed on last summer, I’m sorry to say.”

Lucy’s palm flew to her mouth. She didn’t know why she found the news so distressing—she had hardly known the man—but the late Lord Drayson had been so kind to her family after her own father had passed away. The earl had journeyed all the way to Askern for Mr. Beresford’s funeral and, upon learning that the widowed Mrs. Beresford had been left only a paltry income, had offered them the use of the dower house. Since that time, Lucy had held him in high esteem and was saddened greatly by this news. Her mother would find it even more upsetting, no doubt.

“I am sincerely sorry for your loss,” she managed to say. If anyone knew what it felt like to lose a beloved parent, it was Lucy. “I was not aware—nor was my mother—or I daresay she would have informed me. Goodness, he seemed so young and in good spirits . . . but then so did my father before . . .” She lifted sad eyes to his. “Life can be unpredictable in dreadful ways, can it not?”

“Yes.” Lord Drayson didn’t look at all comfortable at the turn the conversation had taken. He cleared his throat again and looked away from Lucy’s face. “I had hoped to speak to your mother, but I cannot stay in Askern for an additional fortnight to await her return, so I fear I must relay my message to you instead.”

“Message?” Lucy’s mind was still far away, recalling memories of a firm handshake, kind words, and the promise that her family could live in the dower house as long as they pleased.

“As the new Earl of Drayson, I have been looking into and making necessary changes to some of my family’s holdings. There is no easy way to say this, but I must inform you that the Tanglewood Estate is to be sold as soon as possible.”

The words “Tanglewood Estate” and “sold” effectively jerked Lucy’s thoughts to the present. “I beg your pardon?” she said. “You plan to sell Tanglewood?”

He fiddled with his hat, not meeting her gaze. “It will be listed as soon as you and your mother can make arrangements to live elsewhere. I am hopeful that two months should give you enough time.”

Lucy’s breath caught.
Other arrangements? Two months?
“But this is our home, my lord. How can you—”

“Forgive me,” he said gently, “but I believe it is
my
home.”

“No.” Lucy was determined to make him understand. “This is your
house
. It is
our
home.”

His dark and mysterious eyes finally lifted to meet hers. Though his tone remained gentle, it was also firm. “But you do not own this so-called home, do you?”

If Lucy’s face reddened, it was not because she was mortified at being taken to task. It was because her veins began to pulse with both fear and anger. Lord Drayson made it sound so easy. Make other arrangements, as though penning a quick note and sending it off to a close relative would do the trick. But the few relations the Beresfords had left were no better off then they, and Lucy and her mother would never sink to asking for help from those who could not afford to give.

Which left what alternative?

Already, Lucy’s mother mended clothing for a pittance, and Lucy, an adept gardener, sold her prized roses during the warmer months for a pittance more. It was the only way to keep Georgina, the horses, and food on the table. Without this house, the meager earnings the Beresfords brought in would barely cover the rent of another, far lesser home. How would they ever manage?

Apparently the new Earl of Drayson was in every way the opposite of his father—both in looks and disposition—for he did not seem to care that in two month’s time a widow and her daughter would be without a home.

Lucy lowered her pride enough to plead, “Your father gave us his word that we could live in this house indefinitely.”

“My father never mentioned you or your mother to me, and from what I understand, you have signed no contract.”

“No,” Lucy reluctantly agreed, feeling her spirits whither by the second. “It never occurred to us to ask for a contract. A gentleman’s words seemed more than sufficient at the time.”

“And yet that particular gentleman is no longer among the living.”

Lucy’s eyes sprang to his. How could he be so unfeeling? His father had been wonderful, and even his mother was said to be all that was good and kind. “So you will not honor the promise of your father even though you claim to be a man of
your
word?”

“It was his promise, not mine.”

“I see,” said Lucy, though the only thing she really saw was a despicable man who cared more about his purse than a person.

Lord Drayson sighed. “Surely you have noticed that Tanglewood Manor is going to ruin. It does not turn nearly the profits it would take to restore the house to the immaculate condition it ought to be. Yes, advances could be made to increase profits and make it lucrative once again, but why should I dedicate time or money to a property that my family no longer takes an interest in? This estate should have been sold when my family relocated to Danbury, but it wasn’t, and now I have been handed a property that will bring in much less than it is worth because of its current, worsening state. Surely even you can understand my predicament.”

“Not as much as I understand my own, my lord,” said Lucy woodenly.

“I am sorry for it. Truly, I am. But I have made up my mind. Tanglewood will be sold.”

“And,” Lucy added, “despite your father’s promise, my mother and I have only two months to find another place to live.”

Lord Drayson fiddled with his hat and looked away. “If it would help, my man of business can locate a new residence for—”

“Thank you, sir, but we are perfectly capable of finding our own home,” said Lucy. Her pride refused to allow her to accept one ounce of help from this man.

“I’d consider it an honor if you would allow me to help you in some way.”

What shred of self-control Lucy had left evaporated. “How can you speak of honor when you so obviously have none? You have shown your true colors, sir, and I will not assuage your guilt by accepting any help from you or anyone else in your family. So please, take your leave and be on your way.”

His body stiffened, and his jaw tightened. He said nothing for a moment before giving her a curt nod. “Very well. Good day, Miss Beresford.”

“Not at all, my lord,” Lucy muttered before closing the door with a hearty shove. Her fingers clenched into fists, and she stormed into the parlor to pace off her frustrations, adding more wear to an already worn carpet. Concern after concern flew through her mind, fueling her anger and frustration. The beastly earl had failed to see anything beyond his own perspective. He hadn’t asked what would become of the Beresfords—only assumed that he was merely inconveniencing them with a move. Had it ever occurred to him to wonder why she and her mother were living on the charity of others? It was a most unusual arrangement, to be sure, and any person of substance would at least attempt to understand the circumstances before threatening to remove a family from their home.

Yes, Tanglewood needed improvements, but the fact of the matter was that Lord Drayson had money and therefore options. He could improve the property. He could try to find a new owner who would allow the Beresfords to remain in the house. He could be the sort of man who did everything in his power to take care of a family who had once offered a service to his.

The Beresfords, on the other hand, had no options. But had Lord Drayson cared to consider that? No. He did not want to be bothered by anyone’s plight but his own. He viewed Tanglewood as a noose around his neck, and the Beresfords as the knot that held that noose in place. The sooner he could cut them off, the sooner he would be free.

And the sooner Lucy and her mother would be out on the streets.

Colin swung into the chilled, wet saddle and gathered the reins in his gloved hands. He clicked his tongue, and Darling responded immediately, carrying his master away from the house and the difficult woman inside it.

Now that he had finally met the young Miss Beresford, Colin could understand why Erasmus had rather quit his job than confront the chit with bad news. She had obviously been raised with no notion of propriety or she would not have appeared as a maid, spoken to him with such frankness, or transformed into a spoiled child who accused him of having no honor.

Had she accepted the help he had offered? No. Had she tried to be understanding? No. Had she, at the very least, remained civil? No. She had been brash and curt and blind to the fact that no one should be required to retain a useless piece of property for the sake of two tenants.

And now, because of her lack of self control, Colin was made to feel like a veritable cad.

“Blast it all,” he muttered under his breath, urging his horse to a faster pace. The sooner he could be rid of Yorkshire the better. Colin had done what Erasmus could not. He had delivered the news, and, like it or not, his bailiff could take it from here.

Colin leaned low over the horse, willing it to move even faster. As they rounded a bend in the drive, Darling cut into the turn, but his hooves hit a slippery patch, and the horse stumbled off the road and into some deep mud. Colin’s body flew sideways, and he experienced a brief moment of shock before his head crashed into something solid.

“Miss Lucy, Miss Lucy, come quick, come quick!” Georgina’s shrill voice echoed through the sparsely furnished room, where Lucy still paced angrily, thinking of all the ways she could do away with the new Earl of Drayson.

Picking up her skirts, she rushed to meet her maid, who clung to the banister, appearing as gray as the clouds.

“There’s a m-man,” Georgina stammered. “D-dead, in the road. ’E’s so p-pale and blue. Looks as though ’e’s been there a while. And—”

Lucy didn’t wait to hear anymore. She bolted out the front door, not bothering to don her coat or bonnet or even some boots, and ran down the carriage path. The sleet slapped against her face, feeling like hundreds of needle pricks and making it difficult to see. Her slippers soaked up the water, chilling her feet and toes, while pebbles dug into the soles. Still she continued on, running as fast as she dared on the slippery path.

A few bends in the road later, she finally saw the man and stumbled to a stop, her eyes wide. It was as she’d feared. Lord Drayson lay sprawled across the road in a limp and awkward position. The bluish hue of his skin did, indeed, make him appear dead—the exact fate Lucy had wished on him only moments before. Not far from his person lay his hat, now sodden and mashed.

Oh no.
One hand rested against her queasy stomach while the other covered her mouth. Had she caused this? Surely God knew that she hadn’t really meant such a fate to happen to anyone, even to someone as horrid as the earl.

What now?

Lucy had no idea what to do. The cold seeped into her body, triggering a fit of the shivers. First her chest, followed by her arms and legs, and finally her lips. As she stood there in shock, a slight movement captured her attention, and her breath caught in her throat. She took a few steps nearer, watching the earl’s chest closely. Sure enough, his chest rose and fell ever so slightly, indicating that he was somehow still breathing. Lucy let out the breath she had been holding. He wasn’t dead. Her dreadful wish had not come true.

Thank heavens
.

Lucy’s relief was only momentary, however, for while she
was
grateful that Lord Drayson was still among the living, she had little desire to help him—he, who had caused her so much distress. Why couldn’t he have tumbled from his horse far enough away for someone else to find him?