A Sensible Lady: A Traditional Regency Romance (3 page)

He looked down at the mustard stain on his shirt and rubbed at it without effect. He felt a lift to his spirits when he realized that any call at the Dower House would have to be postponed until Patterson, his batman, arrived with fresh clothing and a razor.

The next morning turned nippy, with a brisk wind off the channel and puffy clouds hiding the sun from time to time. Katherine pulled on an old black woolen dress and tied a faded green shawl around her shoulders for warmth. She decided to work in the cutting garden and see what could be salvaged for the altar bouquet. She and Aunt
Prunella
rotated with Mrs.
Sythe
-Burton providing
flowers for St. John Chrysostom’s, and this was
their week. But since Katherine and her great-aunt had moved to the Dower House, they could not afford to keep a horse and gig, and carrying buckets of flowers and water cans into
Drayford
Village was too arduous for Aunt
Prunella
, so the task was now Katherine’s.

She loved early autumn in the garden, clipping
reblooming
damask roses, pulling weeds and spent summer flowers, and collecting asters and
Michaelmas
daisies. Katherine had gathered enough flowers for a respectable arrangement when Sally ran from the house with news.

“
He
has arrived for a visit, Miss Brampton,” Sally announced breathlessly.

“He?”
Katherine could think of two possible “he’s,” neither of whom she cared to entertain.

“Lord Dracott,” Sally explained, wide-eyed.
“The new Lord Dracott.”

Sally placed her hand over her heart, to regulate her breathing or to swear to an important truth; Katherine could not tell for certain.

“And I promise you, Miss Brampton, the new Lord Dracott is nothing at all
like
the old Lord Dracott.”

But Katherine already knew that. Lord Cecil Dracott had been just over average height, reed thin, gray-haired, courtly, and kind.

“Not every gentleman is a model of what a peer should be,” Katherine reminded Sally.

“I surely don’t know what a model peer is like, Miss Brampton, but I know what I like to look at in a man, and I’m here to tell you for certain, this new Lord Dracott is
better’n
handsome.”

Sally shook her head, pulled a face, and put her hands on her hips.

“Just my luck not to be born back in the olden days when the lord got to have his way with all the maids.
Now that’d be a treat.”

“Sally!”

Katherine was shocked. Worse still, having personal experience of the new lord’s treatment of maidservants, she had a sinking feeling that Sally might discover some customs of the past were still practiced.

“I’m sorry, Miss Brampton, I know my place, and I promise I’m a good girl. But
dreamin’s
no sin, is it?” Sally added with a dimpled smile. “An’, if I was you, Miss Brampton, I’d take some time and
change gowns and fix
myself up. Now might be a good time for you to change out of your blacks.”

“You may tell his lordship that I will be with him directly,” Katherine replied firmly.

She was not going to try to explain to her maid that she had neither the money nor interest to worry about a new wardrobe. Continuing to wear her black mourning gowns eliminated that concern and offered Katherine comfort for the losses she had sustained. She refused to let Sally see her
so
much as glance in the looking glass before speaking with Lord Henry Dracott.

Sally sent her a silent don’t-say-I-didn’t-warn-you look, and flounced off, setting her mobcap at a more becoming angle as she went.

Katherine delayed only to wash the garden dirt off her hands before entering the front parlor.

She thought she had braced herself for meeting him again, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of his overwhelming presence. He stood as she entered the old parlor with its heavy Jacobean furnishings, his head bowed as much to avoid hitting the low ceiling as in greeting.

“Miss Brampton,” he said, without waiting for a flustered Aunt
Prunella
to present her formally.

“Lord Dracott,” Katherine managed, curtseying.

He looked directly at her, golden-brown eyes alive with devilment.
“A pleasure meeting you again.”

Again?
Katherine almost panicked before understanding his gambit.

“And you, my lord. One might be forgiven for not recognizing you after so many years.”

Only a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth showed the baron’s appreciation of her rejoinder.

Katherine managed to seat herself before her knees buckled.

Lord Dracott sat in the large chair to the left of the hearth. Both Katherine and Aunt
Prunella
had avoided the throne-like chair, because their feet scarcely touched the floor when sitting even at its very edge. It barely accommodated the new baron.

“
Better’n
handsome,” Sally had declared him. Katherine grudgingly agreed. Amazing how a shave, a haircut, and clean clothes could transform a man. He was dressed in a comfortably fitting riding coat, buckskins, and worn but polished boots; the usual attire of a country gentleman. If he knew a waistcoat button was hanging by a thread, he showed no concern. His freshly shaven face revealed a scar along his left jaw line that Katherine had not noticed the day before. It drew attention to a firm mouth, which she tried not to notice. A slightly aquiline nose and straight, dark brows added seriousness to his face in spite of the lively golden-brown eyes that this morning had hinted at mischief. His locks had been shorn, not in any recognizable style, but short enough to discourage their tendency to curl.

An aging red setter that had been standing by his side, studying Katherine, ambled over to her and sniffed her skirts.

“This cannot be Trinket, my lord,” Katherine declared in astonishment. “She has not moved from the kitchen hearth in years.”

“Indeed it is Trinket,” Lord Dracott assured her.

At the sound of his voice, the old setter returned to her master. He gave her a pat.

“My red-haired beauty welcomed me home,” he added, scratching the dog’s ears.
“Quite eagerly, as a matter of fact.”

He smiled blandly at Katherine, who could only hope that her heightened color would be attributed to the brisk weather.

“I was just expressing our deepest condolences to Lord Dracott on the sad loss of his dear father.” Aunt
Prunella
brought Katherine’s attention back to basic civilities.

“Please forgive me, my lord, for neglecting to say how sorry I am over the death of Lord Cecil Dracott. He was extraordinarily thoughtful and kind,” Katherine said sincerely.

“I do appreciate your sentiments, Miss Brampton. I am quite aware of the standards my father set, and by which I shall be measured. And I am also quite aware of the terrible losses you have sustained.
Sir Alfred in January, and then Sir Richard in June.
You cannot be sorry to see 1813 come to an end, I imagine.”

“You are all kindness, Lord Dracott,” Aunt
Prunella
declared, dabbing at tears.

“I do not doubt it would be easy enough to get witnesses to the contrary, Miss Summersville.” Henry Dracott shifted uneasily in his chair.

“From what I hear, I owe you my sincere gratitude for attempting to instruct my daughter, Lizzie, in the rudiments of feminine deportment.”

“Miss Dracott is a dear child,” Aunt
Prunella
said feelingly. “And while she can be a bit impatient with the social niceties, she shows marked aptitude for learning her letters and sums, which Katherine has been teaching her from time to time.”

“Then I am in your debt even more than I knew.”

“Nonsense, my lord,” Katherine answered quickly. “Miss Dracott is a breath of fresh air, and, given the generosity of your late father to us, it was a wonderful surprise that we could be of any help at all in exchange. But, of course we understand, now you are returned, you will no doubt wish to engage a governess for her. Miss Lizzie is certainly ready intellectually, if not temperamentally, for regular lessons.”

Lord Dracott chuckled.

“You have the right of it there, I fear, Miss Brampton. The only lessons for which Lizzie has any enthusiasm seem to be in horse riding and warfare. A regular Boadicea I have on my hands.”

He sounded more proud than regretful.

“But, I think
it’s
early days yet to tie her down to the disciplines of a governess. I would hate to have her associate my return with losing her freedom. Another year, I reckon, should be plenty early for Lizzie to settle down to serious lessons.”

“And, by then, perhaps, she might have a new mama to guide her,” Aunt
Prunella
suggested.

Instantly the merriment left the baron, and his warm, sparkling eyes turned cold.

“I sincerely doubt that is likely, Miss Summersville,” he replied in flat tones. “Taking up the reins of this patch of Sussex will keep me more than occupied without my having to trot up to London and endure the inanities of the Marriage Mart.”

“Lord Dracott! I do apologize for speaking out of turn.” Aunt
Prunella
was so
stricken,
Katherine feared she might be reduced to tears.
“How thoughtless of me!
How often my dear father, you will remember he was an archdeacon, cautioned against making such personally presumptuous statements.”

“My dear Miss Summersville, please do not give it a moment’s thought.”

Katherine was not alone in fearing Aunt
Prunella
might cry. Obviously, Lord Henry Dracott was the sort of man who would rather face a charge by the French army than the tears of a lady.

“Such speculation is inevitable, I imagine. And I am sure it is rooted in sincere wishes for my happiness. But, all in good time, as they say.”

“I am certain, my lord, that Aunt
Prunella’s
and my leasing of this house came as something of a surprise to you.” Katherine was eager to turn the direction of conversation. “The terms of the lease the late Lord Dracott gave us were most generous, and if you wish to change them, we would understand.”

For all her good intentions, she received an even frostier glare from the baron than had her aunt.

“Of course I will honor all agreements entered into by my father, Miss Brampton. How could you think otherwise?”

“Please forgive my niece, my lord,” Aunt
Prunella
offered hastily. “Sometimes I fear her pride gets in the way of her judgment.”

“It is a relief to know Miss Brampton has you to guide her in these matters, Miss Summersville,” Henry Dracott said solemnly, but Katherine detected the twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrayed amusement.

She was not sorry that he chose that moment to take his leave. She was finding conversations with Lord Henry Dracott taxing.

*****

“Gracious me!”
The front door had scarcely closed behind their guest before Aunt
Prunella
spoke. “Lord Henry Dracott is certainly not much like Lord Cecil Dracott! I had not remembered his being so…large. Greatly altered since I last saw him, but what can one expect after years of warfare following the sad loss of his wife and son. None of the refinement of his dear papa, but it does him credit that he intends to model himself on Lord Cecil. I daresay the gentility and sensitivity he must have inherited will soon shine through.”

Katherine restrained herself from reminding her aunt that Dracott refinement was known to skip a generation. Since his youth, people had remarked on Master Harry’s resemblance to his namesake, the fourth baron, whose portrait dominated the entryway of Dracott Hall. Even though he was dressed in the fashion of his times—satin breeches, heavily laced shirt, powdered wig, high-heeled shoes, and patches—no one described the fourth Lord Dracott as “refined.”
“Intimidating,” “overbearing,” but not “refined.”
And certainly not “sensitive.”

By the time they had finished luncheon and Aunt
Prunella
retreated to her room for her afternoon nap, Katherine was fatigued with the talk of the new baron. If, as he said, he wished to emulate his father, he would have acted the true gentleman during his morning call. Instead, he had followed his overtly offensive behavior of their first meeting with covert teasing in their second. Katherine already had to cope with one ungentlemanly gentleman in Sir Clive, but he was a familiar irritant. Lord Henry Dracott was another matter. He showed an unsettling talent for…Katherine tried to name it, but failed. Lord Henry Dracott showed an unsettling talent for being unsettling! And she would have to learn to cope with that new fact of her life.