Emily Hendrickson (14 page)

Dru murmured a soft reply that could have been anything. Mr. Vane met her eyes and shook his head. Why, she didn’t know.

Priddy saved the day as far as Dru was concerned by announcing that dinner was served.

Lord Brentford escorted Lady Felicia while Lady Brentford took Lord Osman’s arm. Mrs. Twywhitt and Sir Bertram followed, with Miss Knight and Lord Somers close behind. Harry Metcalf yielded to Gregory Vane for the honor of ushering Dru into the dining room.

Looking down the table to the foot where Lady Felicia made a fuss about sitting next to Lord Brentford, Dru thought back to recent comments. Lady Felicia seemed so certain of her place here. Could it be true?

Not for a moment did Dru forget Adrian’s respect for his mother. He may not have been here often in the past months, but it was now obvious that he cared for his only living parent. He was merely casual about it.

Once the delicious soup had been served and the fish removed, they began the first course.

Dru sat between Lord Ives and Gregory Vane. Of all the people assembled, these two were likely the kindest. Neither had looked down his nose at a mere companion. She thought her father would approve of either one of them.

By the time dinner wound down to the point where the ladies left the gentlemen to their port, Dru wished the evening at an end. She had run out of small talk. She left the dining room with the thought of excusing herself. Her room was preferable to being around Lady Felicia and her flirting. She flirted with Lord Ives, as well as her host.

“Drusilla, my dear,” Lady Brentford said after pulling Dru aside at the drawing room doorway, “would you be so kind as to play for us? I find I am not in the mood for singing this evening—so piercing, you know.”

Dru agreed at once. If this kind lady wished music, it would be a pleasure to play for her.

When the gentlemen entered the drawing room, following their port and the gossip they exchanged after the women departed the dining room, it was to find the three older ladies enjoying their tea and listening to Drusilla play the pianoforte. Lady Felicia restlessly roamed the drawing room. There was no gentleman around for flirtation.

Lord Brentford broke off what he had been saying to Lord Ives to make his way to Dru at the pianoforte.

“You play well. The events of the afternoon did not upset you too much, then?” He sounded truly concerned, although Dru wondered how he could be. He was so cordial to Lady Felicia. Perhaps he believed the fall in the stream was an accident, nothing more.

“A simple wetting is nothing, my lord. I am far too healthy to be bothered by so little a thing.” She continued to play, not wishing to draw attention to herself by stopping. That was the trouble with music intended to be the backdrop for conversation—if it was removed, everyone noticed at once.

He studied her a few moments, then apparently satisfied with the truth of her reply, he wandered away to chat with Gregory Vane.

With two more gentlemen around, two more women would be enormously helpful. Dru thought over the young women she had met at the village church. There were two she admired, lovely local girls. When she had a moment later on she would suggest the plan to Lady Brentford.

“I notice you do not sing this evening. Lady Felicia. I am devastated.” Harry Metcalf bowed over her delicately gloved hand. Apparently he enjoyed being close to one drenched in French violet. Dru thought it cloying, but likely she was peevish. There was not one thing that woman could do that would meet with Dru’s approval. Except go.

Lord Osman persuaded Lady Brentford, Mrs. Twywhitt, and Sir Bertram to play whist. Miss Knight and Lord Somers were deep in a discussion about traveling in Europe.

Lord Brentford looked around at his friends, who were exchanging tales of London parties. Dru was surprised to find him at her side once again. She glanced up before concentrating on her music again.

“We have a problem.”

Dru nodded. She didn’t think he intended to pronounce the problem to be Lady Felicia. So she waited.

“We need two more women. Have you had the opportunity to meet any locally? Can you think of anyone who might do?”

“Might do?” she echoed. “Well, let me see. I met two girls at church. Miss Belinda Oaks—she’s the daughter of Lord Swithin, and Lydia Percy, the squire’s daughter. They are both well mannered”—she couldn’t resist a glance at Lady Felicia, “very pretty, and I should think would be nattered to be invited to anything here. Do you go shooting in the morning?” At his nod, she went on, “I could call on them to see if they are agreeable. I should imagine your mother will be busy with her guests.”

“Excellent. I knew I could count on you for a solution. We must find things to amuse them all. The weather is likely to come on rain.” He glanced to where Lady Felicia flirted with Lord Ives and Harry Metcalf. Gregory Vane strolled over to join Dru and Lord Brentford by the pianoforte.

“Ah, Vane, I mentioned to Miss Herbert that we are in need of more feminine company. She has a solution I think may please us all. Two local beauties.”

“All?” The tall blond gentleman raised his brows and cast a glance back at Lady Felicia. “I know one who would be quite happy to leave things as they are.”

Dru peeked at Lord Brentford quickly. Concentrating on her music again, she repressed a grin. That gentleman did not look the slightest bit happy. She wondered what annoyed him the most.

Dru was exhausted when at last she excused herself to head for her room. Lord Brentford stopped her at the bottom of the stairs.

“Thank you for your music this evening. I feel sure you would have far preferred to go to your room and enjoy an early night.”

“True,” she admitted. If he was surprised at her frankness, he gave no indication. “It has been a trying day—or ought I say tiring?”

“I should think both might apply.” He hesitated slightly. “I am sorry your picnic was spoiled. For what it is worth, mine was as well.” He studied her a moment. “Your maid—she suits you?”

“Indeed, she does. I had not expected such a comfort as my own maid. She is clever and a dab hand with hair.”

“She did very well if your hair this evening is anything to go by—it’s unlikely to come down. Very well, she shall stay with you. If Mrs. Simpson feels the necessity of hiring on a few more maids for the duration of this party, by all means tell her to do so.”

“Yes, sir. And thank you for your regard. I appreciate it.” Dru curtsied politely. She hurried up the stairs to find Mary waiting in her room.

“Mary you are a wonder worker! My hair stayed as it should all evening. I cannot begin to tell you how many times before I have had to retire to fix it during an evening.” Dru pulled off the gloves she had put back on when she finished with the pianoforte.

Mary assisted her to undress, then slipped a nightgown over her head before helping her into bed. “I’ll bring you a hot posset to help you sleep. ‘Tis no doubt you have had a busy day and then some.”

The maid left the room, ignoring Dru’s murmurs that her posset wasn’t necessary. How lovely to be pampered a little. She knew it was Lord Brentford’s doing.

She was slipping off to sleep, the hot posset having a good effect on her nerves, when she wondered if Belinda and Lydia would take kindly to a late invitation. Well, it would be incumbent upon Dru to make it seem as though the young ladies were doing the marchioness an enormous favor.

And then there was the matter of an amusement for them all in the event of rain. She prayed earnestly for dry weather.

Chapter Nine

The following morning Drusilla ran lightly down to the breakfast room, intent upon eating her meal before the others came to intrude. Save for the soft voices and footsteps of cautious servants, the house was quiet.

The room was empty; however, the sideboard was laden with an abundance of breads and meats, cheese and jams. Drusilla filled her plate, then began contemplating what she ought to say to Lady Swithin to persuade her to let Belinda attend the perfectly respectable party at the Court. The matter of Lydia Percy was a simple one. If Lady Swithin agreed, Mrs. Percy was certain to follow her lead. At least, that is what Mrs. Simpson indicated.

“You are up and about early.” Gregory Vane paused at the doorway before entering, as though unsure of a welcome.

“Come in, do. I am about finished, so will leave you to eat in peace. Priddy will fetch you an egg if you wish.” Dru half rose from her chair only to be waved back.

“I beg you, keep me company for a time—unless you have something pressing that must be done?” He walked to the sideboard to help himself to bread and meat. He sat opposite Dru. She had decided he was a pleasant gentleman. She thought he was an unlikely companion for Harry Metcalf. That gentleman struck her as a typical London beau.

“I have a task to perform for Lady Brentford this morning that must not be delayed,” Dru explained. “However, I can spare a few minutes.” She glanced at the timepiece she wore pinned to her dress, wondering how early she dare appear at the Swithin front door.

“The weather looks to hold for the day at any rate. I gather all the men are going shooting?” He carved up his gammon with a deft hand while glancing up at her.

“So I understand.” She knew Cook would welcome any and all birds taken this day. With so many in residence, extra fowls were gladly received.

“And you will entertain Lady Felicia?” He paused in his consumption of bread to stare at Dru, looked amused.

“I doubt it. Even if she is a guest, I have obligations to fulfill.” Dru could not imagine what it would be like to be required to dance attendance on the conceited Lady Felicia. “I doubt if Lady Felicia would welcome my company—a mere companion.”

“I would hazard those are welcome obligations on your part.” His blue eyes had an amused light in them, and she smiled in return.

“I am not displeased to perform my tasks, sir. No matter what our station in life, we all have certain obligations. It is our attitude that makes the difference, I should think.” Mary told her that Mr. Vane’s valet had said that the gentleman was heir to a viscount and well liked in London.

She glanced at her timepiece again and rose from her chair. She could hear footsteps in the hall directly outside the breakfast room. She wanted to be gone before anyone else entered the room or tried to engage her in conversation. “I really must go. I wish you well in your shooting.”

“It will be interesting, I feel sure.” His voice held a dry note that indicated to her that he was dubious.

Dru collided with Harry Metcalf when she whirled around the door frame.

“Ah, the blond beauty of a companion. And what other talents do you have, my dear?” He grinned at her.

“Not many,” she said with a grin, thinking him harmless. “Excuse me, I have things to do for Lady Brentford.” She sped down the passage and up the stairs to her room.

“You look as though you be in a hurry,” the maid observed.

“Mary, I must go to see Lady Swithin. I trust it is not too early?” Was she correctly garbed for her calls?

“I should think you might have a go at Lady Swithin now. By the time you take the gig out and reach the Swithin place, they will be up and about.”

“I would like to have both girls in residence before the men come home. And, if possible, it would be wonderful to settle them in before Lady Felicia rouses.”

“I understand her ladyship has no intention of rising early, what with all the gentlemen gone for the day.”

“Somehow, that does not surprise me greatly.” Dru exchanged a look with Mary before gathering her reticule and gloves. “Oh, I nearly forgot—would you pass along the request that the remaining two bedrooms be prepared for the girls? They are small rooms, but rather pretty. I doubt they will mind overmuch.”

“Not likely,” Mary said with a grin. “They will be happy to be here, I’m thinking.”

The house remained fairly quiet, with only a male rumble emanating from the direction of the breakfast room, where the gentlemen assembled prior to their day of shooting.

Dru gave Priddy her request that the gig be brought around as soon as possible. She waited in the hallway.

“There you are. I feared you had already left.” Lord Brentford entered the room with a brisk step.

Dru stood quietly, waiting to learn what brought him searching for her.

“No after effects of the tumble into the stream?”

“None at all. I have always been disgustingly healthy.” She gauged the distance between her and the door, intent upon leaving as soon as she might. To spend time with him was asking for trouble. He stirred things within her that she did not comprehend at all.

“I still do not understand quite how that happened. What do you remember?” He was positioned so that it would be awkward to go around him.

Dru thought back to the unpleasant occurrence. There was no way she could tell him that Lady Felicia had on purpose pushed her into the stream. “I couldn’t say for certain. Most likely I tripped on a patch of rough grass.”

“Hmm.” His eyes held a suspicious look in them. She met his gaze squarely, unwilling to say a word against the woman his mother wanted him to marry. That she would be horribly wrong for him was beside the point. So many marriages in the
ton
were arranged and little more than a marriage of convenience for dynastic purposes.

“Well, if that is your end of the story, I must let it be. Not that I totally believe you, but as a rector’s daughter you are given to telling the truth.”

She gave him an amused smile. “I am no saint, sir. I can bend the truth if absolutely necessary.”

“You look poised to dash like a rabbit released from a snare. Am I keeping you from an errand? Of course, you are dressed to go out and are waiting for a carriage to be brought around to the front.” He stepped closer.

As though on cue, Priddy announced, “The gig is waiting, Miss Herbert.”

“You are driving the gig?” He touched her arm lightly as though to keep her from going. A tremor shot through her at the contact.

She tilted her chin a trifle. “I am used to driving at home, sir.” She swished past him, her skirts brushing against his boots in her haste to leave.