The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) (9 page)

And a ball? Lucy frowned. She had attended a few country dances in the past and had not liked the experience at all. They had made her feel like a fraud. Dressed in a beautiful gown with her hair styled in a lovely coiffure, Lucy appeared like a demure and prettily behaved young woman. She knew how to act the part well, but any attachment formed at such an event would be doomed from the start, for Lucy was far from demure and only sometimes prettily behaved.

It wasn’t that Lucy was opposed to falling in love. She often fancied herself meeting a suitor in the woods surrounding her beloved Tanglewood. He would stumble upon her as she climbed to the top of her favorite elm, and instead of being shocked by her hoydenish ways, he would find her charming and fall immediately under her spell, accepting and loving her wholeheartedly as the wild and untamed creature she was.

Deep down, Lucy knew it was a silly fantasy. No eligible man would ever desire a woman like her for a wife. In her heart, Lucy knew that she was destined for spinsterhood.

But what a glorious and freeing spinsterhood she was determined to have.

“These horses are in sad shape, Miss Beresford,” was the first thing out of the earl’s mouth when Lucy stopped by the stables to look in on him. He was brushing down Athena’s tan coat with long, gentle strokes. “Do they never get exercised?”

Lucy was in no mood to be rebuked yet again. “Not often, Collins. My mother will hitch one to the cart whenever she goes to town, but I prefer to walk.”

“Walk?”

“Yes, walk,” she snapped. “It is when a person places one foot in front of the other to move oneself along. Even the most dignified of people do it now and again.”

Lucy noticed that despite his threats, Lord Drayson was wearing another white shirt, which was surprisingly clean, considering he’d been out here for hours already. He brushed the animal a few more times before giving it a final pat.

“We really ought to take them on a ride this afternoon.”

Athena seemed to stare at Lucy with an amused gleam in her eyes as though saying, “I dare you to mount me.”

Lucy took an inadvertent step back and cleared her throat. “I am . . . otherwise engaged this afternoon. Perhaps you could exercise Athena first and come back for Zeus later.”

“Zeus and Athena?” The earl laughed. “Who gave these poor creatures such impressive names? I’ll allow that they’re good, sturdy hacks, but that’s the extent of it. Better suited names would be Daisy and Bouncer, or, seeing as how you are a vicar’s daughter and their manes are in need of a good trimming, Samson and Delilah, perhaps?”

Lucy had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out the earl’s hypocrisy by allowing his own Arabian to be called Darling. “Do you think, Collins, that a person, or a horse, can become what he or she is called?”

“If you are implying these horses have the potential to become a Greek god and goddess, Miss Beresford, then no, I do not,” he replied.

Lucy nodded toward the animals. “These ‘hacks’ as you call them were at one point ornery beasts because their previous owner beat them for their stubbornness. My father purchased them from the horrid owner and brought them home to retrain. He explained that a horse behaved only as a horse was treated, and so he named the female Athena, so that she would become a wise warrior, carrying us wherever we needed to go in safety, and Zeus, so that we could command the weather as well.” She smiled softly at the memory. Command the weather indeed.

Lord Drayson rested an arm on Athena’s back. “And did you always have cheerful weather when Zeus was at the head?”

“Cheerful weather is in the eye of the beholder, Collins. Rain can be considered cheerful if one wishes for it to rain, after all.”

The earl watched her for a moment before setting down the brush. He took Athena by the lead rope and stepped nearer to Lucy, bringing the horse with him. With the animal so close, Lucy felt the anxiety she always felt around large animals, and she retreated farther. She tried to convince herself that her discomfort was because of Athena’s close proximity and not the earl’s.

“What does the name Lucy mean, I wonder?” the earl asked quietly, his gaze fixed on her.

“Light,” Lucy answered. Despite the chill in the air, warmth settled around her, and she felt her cheeks redden.
What sort of person are you?
she wanted to ask. Lucy had thought she knew him, or at least enough about him to ascertain his true character, but now she was beginning to wonder if there was more to his character. He had a heartless side to him, one that placed business before people, and yet she was beginning to see another side as well. A softer side. A kind side. But how much of him was kind and how much heartless?

Perhaps this kindness was a recent development, blossoming from his newly humbled state the way a rose blossomed from thorns and twigs. Or perhaps not. Deep down, a feeling troubled Lucy’s conscience, reminding her of something Mr. Shepherd had once said, that it was not fair to pass judgment on a book from the title or even the first chapter or two. One must get to know the book in its entirety before one could declare it a good book or not.

The same was true with people, no doubt. Lucy had only read the first chapter of Lord Drayson, and it had left her with a bitter taste in her mouth and a strong desire to slam it shut and never open it again. But now that she had been forced to read on, so to speak, she found the taste not quite so bitter and rather thought that further reading would not be so punishable as she had first thought.

A strong breeze swept through the stables, chilling Lucy and pulling some strands of hair free from her bun. She quickly swept them back. “I should go,” she said.

“Before you do,” said the earl. “May I ask you one more question?”

“Of course.”

“How do you expect Athena and Zeus to rise to their godlike potential if you keep them confined in a stall?”

It was a fair question and probably one that Lucy should have asked herself before now. She suddenly felt shamed by her neglectful treatment of the horses, though they had never lacked for food or warmth. In exchange for two dozen of Georgina’s fresh scones, a local farmer’s son would clean out the stalls every morning and see that fresh hay and water were fed to the animals. But that was the extent of it. The only exercise the animals received was a jaunt into town now and then, pulling the cart for her mother.

Lucy glanced down at her hands, not knowing how to explain or even correct such negligence.

The truth is always best,
her father’s voice came to mind. But when the truth was bookended in lies, was it still best? Or did it not matter at that point?

“I . . .” Her voice sounded small and pathetic, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I am afraid of horses, Collins.”

He did not respond right away, but a slight smile touched his lips as he carefully wrapped the lead rope around his hand, keeping Athena securely at his side—another perplexing kindness. “You, who has dug up worms, gutted your own fish, and once captured a toad to keep as a pet, are afraid of horses? Please explain. I am extremely intrigued.”

Is the answer not obvious?
she thought. All one had to do was compare the differences between a toad and a horse to understand. “A horse is vastly larger than a toad,” she said finally, hoping he would leave it at that.

Lord Drayson’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Yes, but a toad is also slimy and unpredictable. There is no trust or loyalty to be earned from a friendship with an amphibian. A horse, on the other hand, can offer wisdom and protection and even”—he smiled—“cheerful weather.”

“I am not so certain about that,” said Lucy, refusing to let him tease her so. “I trusted my toad and he trusted me.”

“He shouldn’t have,” said the earl. “Was it not you who buried the poor creature alive with a toad-eating reptile?”

Apparently some stories should be left untold, thought Lucy crossly. “I can see your memory is quite sharp since your accident.”

His eyes twinkled at her through the dimness in the stables. “Are you wishing another accident to befall me, Miss Beresford, so as to swipe my more recent memories?”

“No, Collins. But I do see that these animals require more care than I have been giving them. Perhaps I could . . .” Her voice trailed off. Would little Tommy be willing to exercise the horses if she increased her payment by a loaf of bread as well? Could Tommy even ride? He would look so small sitting atop Zeus. And what if he took a fall? She could never live with herself if something happened to a mere child because she, an adult, lacked the courage to ride.

“Have you never ridden?” said Lord Drayson.

Lucy really ought to chastise him for his impertinence and enforce at least a modicum of propriety, but she found that she wanted him to understand her reasons.

“My father attempted to teach me to ride when I was young, but I never could quite get the hang of it. I took a spill and broke my arm. My mother lost a close friend to a riding accident and refused to let me back on an animal, much to my relief. I had never been more afraid in my life than sitting atop that horse.”

“What about driving?”

Lucy sighed. “I prefer to let my mother handle the ribbons.”

He fiddled with the lead rope again, unwinding it from his fingers. “What if the day comes that your mother can no longer do the driving?”

Lucy had thought about that before and immediately dismissed it because she had preferred not to think on it further. “As I told you before, I am very good at walking.”

“Lucy . . .” he said.

Her eyes snapped to his in a stern look of reproof. Earl or servant, she had not given him leave to call her by her Christian name, nor did she appreciate being made to feel like a silly coward. It was too much.

“Forgive me, Miss Beresford,” he said, having the good sense to appear remorseful.

Too bad for him that Lucy was not in a forgiving mood. “How many times do you plan on asking my forgiveness, Collins? I should think more than once a day is too much.” Lucy picked up her skirts and whisked away, leaving him to exercise the horses alone.

Collins tossed a dusty saddle onto Athena’s back and tightened the strap with quick movements. This came easily to him—brushing a horse, saddling a horse, riding a horse. He realized he knew a great deal about horses and breeding and what constituted good blood. These hacks, for example, were good for pulling a wagon or cart, but not necessarily the best riding horses. Collins frowned. Perhaps he had been an insolent coachman in his former life. It made sense like nothing else had since his accident, and yet it didn’t at the same time. His cultured speech, his natural air of command, the fact that he knew more about Arabians and thoroughbreds than trotters or hackneys—he couldn’t have been in service.

More and more the question of his true identity bothered him, especially when it came to Miss Beresford. He had acted the perfect cad earlier, attempting to use whatever powers of persuasion he possessed to lure her on the back of an animal that she had made clear frightened her. And then he had called her Lucy.

Collins hadn’t meant to speak her Christian name. He had not said it to tease or even try her. The name had slid out of its own accord, the way an old friend’s name would roll off one’s tongue. Yet Miss Beresford was not an old friend. Those expressive eyes of hers had reflected hurt at his slip of the tongue, and Collins despised himself for being the cause of it.

He quickly hoisted himself onto Athena’s back and clicked his tongue, urging the horse forward. It responded slowly, the way an old rusty carriage might respond after sitting unused for years and years.

“Come now, girl. Surely you can do better than this.” Collins teased her belly with the heels of his boots, encouraging the horse to pick up the pace. It responded slightly, bouncing Collins along at barely a trot. Good grief. How long had it been since this horse had done more than trot? After further coercion, the animal finally broke into a canter, but it wasn’t long before Athena’s breathing became labored and her coat glistened with perspiration.

The damp chill in the air went straight through Collins’s thin shirt, but he did not care. He felt free in a way he had not since he’d awakened without a memory. He luxuriated in the feel of it. Even on rusty Athena, the wind whipped at his hair and recharged his soul. How could Miss Beresford not live without this euphoria? Did she have any idea the freedom that awaited her if she could overcome her fears?