The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) (8 page)

“Did ya ever find the box?” Georgina asked.

Miss Beresford shook her head. “No. But it was probably for the best.”

“Why?” said Georgina.

“Because Ben thought it would be great fun to add a snake he had found in the woods, along with my pet toad. And well, I’ve since learned that snakes eat toads, so . . .” Miss Beresford shivered, her expression one of revulsion.

Collins chuckled, realizing he had not minded the work as much as he had thought he might. He grudgingly admitted that it likely had something to do with Miss Beresford’s presence, for it was easy to see why Georgina respected her employer so much. When not on the defensive, Miss Beresford had a likeable way about her. She had taken charge of the situation in a kind-hearted way and had even rolled up her sleeves as well. There were many who would look down on her for doing the job of a servant, and yet Collins could not find fault. It felt as though he’d just been taught a valuable lesson—one that he could put to good use when . . .

When what? Collins frowned. It was errant thoughts such as these that made him certain that he was used to being the master and not the servant, but . . . who was he, exactly? Did Miss Beresford know? Or was he really the equivalent of a runaway—hiding behind Miss Beresford’s skirts like a coward?

The thought didn’t settle well with him, for he was
not
a coward.

“I think that ought to do it,” said Lucy, examining the room with a critical eye. “Collins you are never to clean flues again.”

“Say it isn’t so,” he said dryly, making Miss Beresford laugh. It was a lovely sound, and he found himself wishing she would do it again.

Instead she gestured to the door. “Georgy, why don’t you wash up and get a bite to eat before Mrs. Bidding arrives? I would so hate for our conversation to be disturbed by a rumbling stomach. You too, Collins.”

Collins was both surprised and not surprised by her thoughtfulness. Mostly though, he was grateful, for he was feeling quite filthy and famished, and a wash and food sounded wonderful.

“Would ya loike me ter draw ya a bath before I go down, Miss?” Georgina asked.

“A bath sounds heavenly,” said Miss Beresford, “but there isn’t time for that now. Later, perhaps.”

Georgina dipped into a quick curtsy. “I’ll be back ter attend ter ya quick as a wink.”

“But not before you have had some luncheon,” said Miss Beresford. “I am quite capable of washing and dressing myself.”

“Yeah, Miss.” Georgina grabbed the rags and the bowl of grimy water before rushing from the room.

Miss Beresford watched her leave before looking back at Collins. “She won’t eat, you know. Georgina will wash and change, only because she does not want to soil my bedchamber. But she will not eat until I am ready to receive Mrs. Bidding and she has prepared something to serve us.”

“Then she is a good, loyal maid,” said Collins, wondering why Miss Beresford appeared sad.

“Oh, Georgina is the most wonderful of maids. But she also works herself to the bone, and sometimes, well . . . I wish she didn’t feel the need. Someday, I will make her my companion, pay her a proper wage, and see that she finds some enjoyment in life.”

Collins walked toward Miss Beresford, still carrying the broom. “That is not the way of things, Miss Beresford, as you well know. Companions are ladies of genteel birth, not—”

“Not what, Collins?” Miss Beresford eyed him sharply. “Georgy may not sound genteel, but she is every bit as well-mannered as I, probably even more so.”

“Forgive me,” he said, unable to look away from her dark eyes. In them he saw fierce loyalty and kindness, along with a dislike of the ways of society. She intrigued him. Miss Beresford had a youthful face, and at times, an almost childlike demeanor, but other moments, when her chin lifted just that way and her eyes sparkled with conviction, she blossomed into a fiery woman. With her dark hair curling around her face, Collins found himself drawn to her like a wave drawn to land. He took another step nearer and caught a whiff of spring.

“Forgive me,” he said again, quieter this time.

She nodded, though her chest rose and fell rapidly, betraying that she was as affected as he by their closeness. The silence tightened around them, squeezing the air from the room. Collins couldn’t resist lifting his thumb to touch a smudge on her cheek, and as he did so, her breath caught.

His eyes continued to hold hers. “I may not remember who I am or how I came to be here, Miss Beresford, but I am quite certain I am not a butler, a footman, or a coachman by trade. I feel no hesitancy in meeting your gaze, touching your cheek, or challenging your views.” His gaze drifted to her rosy lips.

“Collins . . .” Her voice shook slightly and held a hint of warning, and his hand dropped to his side.

“I forget myself yet again,” he said.

“Yes.”

Collins passed the broom from one hand to the other and nodded at her on his way out. In the foyer, he paused and looked back. “In what way might I be of service when Mrs. Bidding arrives? Other than answer the door and show her into the parlor, that is.”

“Oh, I didn’t think—” Lucy looked surprised by his question, even discomfited. She hesitated a moment before saying, “I think I shall have Georgina answer the door this once. The stables are rather . . . untidy, and your services would be put to better use there.”

“But I am a butler first and a coachman third, am I not?” said Collins. “I can attend to the stables later.”

Miss Beresford approached him hesitantly, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “If it were any other visitor, I might agree. But Mrs. Bidding can be a bit . . .”

“Of a gossip?” he guessed.

Her eyes shifted to the side as though the word was not the one she intended to use, and then she cleared her throat. “I was going to say a bit much to take.”

“I am to assume that you do not wish her to know that you have acquired an addition to your staff—especially when that addition cannot recall his own name, let alone his past. She will have questions that neither you nor I can answer.”

Lucy let out her breath, appearing relieved. “Precisely. I am glad we understand each other.”

He nodded. “Very well. I shall go clean myself up a bit—but not too much as the stables are sure to wreak additional damage on my attire. Perhaps I should change into the ghastly pink shirt and . . . how did you put it? Speed up the process of ruination by rolling around in the muck.”

Miss Beresford’s charming smile appeared, along with an adorable dimple on her right cheek. “Why on earth would you wish to ruin your favorite shirt?”

“It is not my favorite shirt, Miss Beresford, which I am inclined to believe you already know. You seem to take great delight in teasing me.”

“Perhaps,” was all she said, though her eyes sparkled with mirth.

His lips lifted, and he could not help teasing her as well. “Have a care for what you sow, Miss Beresford. Your day of reaping is sure to come.”

He had meant to elicit another laugh from her, but some of the sparkle disappeared from her eyes, replaced with a bit of guilt and a scrap of concern. How interesting. If only Collins could enter her mind and have a glimpse of her thoughts. He was sure he would find them most enlightening.

“Good day, Miss Beresford,” he said.

“Good day,” she responded in turn.

Collins sensed her stare following him down the hall, and as he rounded the corner and disappeared from her view, he immediately felt her absence. He paused a moment to reflect on this and quickly came to the realization that although he was far more fond of horses and stables than chimney flues, he’d likely choose to clean the latter if it meant another afternoon spent in Miss Beresford’s company.

“Lucy, are you attending?” a brusque voice intruded. “I have asked you the same question twice now with no reply.”

Pulled from her thoughts, Lucy’s eyes snapped to Mrs. Bidding’s. Even though they were both seated in the yellow salon, Lucy had to look up to meet the woman’s gaze. She was incredibly tall with mousy brown hair and a face that could easily be mistaken for a man’s if not for the elegant gowns and hats she wore. Mrs. Bidding had a commanding presence about her—one that had always intimidated Lucy even though she attempted not to show it. “I do apologize, Mrs. Bidding. I find myself a bit distracted today.”

The woman’s beady eyes squinted at Lucy for a moment before she sighed and tapped a napkin against the corner of her mouth. “What sort of trouble have you landed yourself in now, Lucy? I told your mother that I didn’t think it wise to leave you here alone with only your maid to look out for you, but would she listen to me? No. She was quite adamant that you would get on fine for a fortnight.”

“And I am.” Lucy was quick to defend herself. “I am simply missing Mama, is all.”

Mrs. Bidding’s expression softened, and she patted Lucy’s hand in a motherly way. “Not to worry, my dear. I have taken it upon myself to check in with you often. Why do you not dine with us at Eggington tonight? And every night, for that matter? I am sure Mr. Bidding would not mind at all.”

Lucy berated herself for not being able to think of a less sentimental reason behind her distraction. She had no notion Mrs. Bidding would be so concerned with her welfare. “You do me a great honor with such an invitation, Mrs. Bidding, but you know how I feel about horses, and Eggington is a long walk on foot.”

“I would never ask you to walk,” Mrs. Bidding rushed to say. “Of course I will send our carriage to collect you and bring you home safe and sound.”

Oh dear
, Lucy thought frantically,
this won’t do at all
. Supping every night with the Biddings would be torturous indeed. Mr. Bidding was altogether too fond of telling the same story again and again. “You are a great deal too kind, Mrs. Bidding, but I could never impose on you in such a way. I am fine. Really, I am. I have Georgina to keep me company, and I am expecting a letter from Mama any day now. I’m sure as soon as I read her words, I will be greatly comforted.”

Mrs. Bidding did not look at all convinced, but she did not press the issue. She merely set down her teacup, rose to her full, towering height, and pulled on her gloves, signaling an end to their conversation. Lucy rose as well, though it did little to make up the difference in their heights. She practically strained her neck to look up at the woman.

“Thank you so much for coming, Mrs. Bidding. You are so kind to think of me in Mama’s absence.”

Mrs. Bidding’s mouth dipped into a frown as she looked past Lucy to a painting of a Grecian vase hanging on the wall adjacent to the fireplace. She walked over to it and ran a finger across the frame, pulling it back to reveal a dark spot on her pristine glove.

“Good gracious, does Georgina not know how to properly dust a room? This painting is filthy!”

Lucy grimaced. The painting was her least favorite in the entire house, and she avoided looking at it whenever possible, so of course she had missed seeing the dusting of ash around the frame. Lucy attempted to conjure up a reasonable falsehood to explain away the dirt, only to berate herself for her desire to lie yet again.

How quickly I have fallen,
she thought sadly. Thus humbled, Lucy squared her shoulders and answered the question. “We had a bit of a mishap with the chimney flue earlier, Mrs. Bidding. We thought we had scrubbed the room all clean, but apparently we overlooked one painting.”

“We?” Mrs. Bidding gaped at Lucy, her expression one of shock and disapproval.

Lucy realized her mistake and quickly amended her explanation. “How could I be sure the room would be up to Mama’s standards if I had not stayed to supervise the cleaning of it?” There, that wasn’t a lie, was it?

Mrs. Bidding seemed to accept the explanation, for she nodded and glanced at the painting once again. “It seems, my dear, that your supervisory skills could use some work.”

“I could not agree more, Mrs. Bidding,” said Lucy. “Thank goodness you are here to point out my lack of observation. I will ask Georgy to clean that painting immediately.”

Appearing mollified, Mrs. Bidding nodded. “Do have a care, Lucy. You are no longer a child. It would do you well to learn to behave like a competent young woman. Your poor mother will never find you a suitable match otherwise.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bidding.” Lucy was all too aware of her unsuitability and didn’t appreciate the reminder.

“Cheer up, now,” said Mrs. Bidding, patting Lucy on the head the way a mother would a child even though she had just proclaimed Lucy otherwise. “I have a wonderful plan to see you married as soon as possible. It may even involve a ball,” she whispered conspiratorially, her eyes bright with excitement. “When your mother returns, I shall bring her into my confidence. You may take comfort in the knowledge that I have things well in hand.”

With that, she bustled out the door, leaving Lucy in the most uncomfortable state she’d been in since her mother’s departure. She pictured herself being wedded to a tall, tall man who looked at the world through a quizzing glass.

No. Mrs. Bidding might mean well, but Lucy would never agree to marry a man chosen by her.