Emily Hendrickson (2 page)

It was time to cheer the marchioness with some music. It was pleasant that they both enjoyed the same composers and the same pieces.

“All is in readiness for your next influx of company, ma’am. We will not be caught unprepared.” Drusilla offered a quick curtsy while giving an impish smile.

“Dear girl, what would I do without you,” Lady Brentford said with a fond smile. “When I asked your mother if she might spare her daughter, I had no idea what a jewel I was to acquire.”

Drusilla laughed lightly in amusement. “I am not so out of the ordinary, ma’am.” She quickly sought the pianoforte and began to play the music she knew her ladyship enjoyed.

While playing the lively sonata by Mozart, she considered her present situation. She had no idea how long she might remain here, but it behooved her to make the best of things and do her duty by the lady who obviously needed someone to be with her. Of course she would have liked to be tending her own household, but fine gentlemen didn’t grow on trees, particularly for a rector’s daughter. Not that she was penniless. She merely had a modest portion, nothing to tempt a gentleman unless he had an abundance of his own. That she was a comely miss she dismissed, never having nurtured a high opinion of her looks. After all, she had four lovely sisters as well as a brother who took delight in puncturing any vanity.

She wondered about the son. Thankfully, he had not appeared on the scene. She hoped the attractions of London would be sufficient to hold his interest for months to come. Not that she had heard evil of him— in spite of the rumor that he disliked women—not trusting them, Mrs. Simpson had confided with relish. She’d hinted of a love gone wrong with a predatory woman of the wrong sort—whatever that might be.

Rather, it was that he rarely came here and never for long. How sad for the lonely lady who had endured her illness with such fortitude. Now she made excellent progress, no thanks to that neglectful offspring. If he did show up at the door, Drusilla had a mind to give him a scold for his dereliction of duty to his only living parent. She couldn’t imagine treating her dear parents with such lack of care or consideration.

What the marchioness required was someone to take an interest in her well-being and urge her to improve. It was an enjoyable task, one that Drusilla had taken to with a will. She had efficiently instituted a number of comforts offering relief for her ladyship. What a joy it had been to see her improve. Dru concluded the Mozart.

“Now what would you like me to play for you?” Dru inquired, her voice and manner bright.

“Something soothing, I think. Do you believe I might have another party? I should like to invite Lord Osman again. Some younger people as well. Perhaps I may entice Adrian here. He comes so seldom, I fear it is too dull for his amusement.” She frowned, looking a little sad.

What Drusilla thought of having to lure one’s own son to visit was not uttered. She turned the pages of the music before her while she thought. “I do not see why such an entertainment could not be done. Is there anything more agreeable than a gathering of friends?”

“Oh, good.” Her ladyship’s face cleared, and she beamed a smile at Drusilla. “I hoped you would concur with me. I think it would be rather nice if there was a young gentleman about your age. These older men, while pleasant for me, are not the thing for you, my dear.”

“Dear Ma’am, I am not here to find a husband!”

“I did not say you had to marry the chap, merely have company.” The marchioness gave Drusilla such an innocent look, it was immediately suspect.

“And who else might you wish to invite?” Drusilla thought the matter of a gentleman to amuse her best ignored. How could she oversee a party if she had to entertain some man she didn’t know—and probably didn’t care two pins about?

“Well, Lady Felicia Tait is a charming young woman. I have long thought she would be an excellent wife for Adrian. She has a fine dowry and is a pretty behaved girl.” She glanced at Drusilla before looking down at the needlework in her lap. “You shall write invitations to the list I will give you. Priddy will know where the addresses for them are—in the library desk, I believe.”

“It will be my pleasure, ma’am.” If this lonely lady wanted company, she would have it. And Drusilla would see to it that she did not overtax her strength or become overly stimulated.

Drusilla settled on a piece of music that she knew her ladyship found tranquil and began to play. She wasn’t polished, but her playing had improved measurably while using the fine Broadwood grand pianoforte that stood in the corner of the drawing room. It was a far cry from the spinet housed at the rectory.

Later that afternoon while the marchioness took her nap, Drusilla spent some time in the library at the immense desk that took pride of place in the center of the far end of the room. Tall windows that opened out onto the terrace were behind the desk, providing extra light for the person seated there.

Priddy, that elderly but most efficient butler, found all the required addresses for the list of names. He handed them to Drusilla with a question in his eyes.

“Her ladyship desires another party, Priddy.”

“I see his lordship’s name on that list. Not likely that he will attend. A trifle dull, I should think, Miss Herbert. He’s a top-of-the-trees London gentleman, if you follow my thinking. A party in the country at the height of the London Season would hardly appeal to him.”

“Well, I shall make a point of urging him to come. Perhaps I can think of words that will entice him? Since Lady Felicia is on the list, he might be attracted with the promise of her company.” She gave the butler a grin before settling down to hot-pressed paper, fine quality ink, and a good pen with one of those new steel nibs that truly made writing an enjoyment.

The directions for his lordship were in the Mayfair area of London, something she expected. His mother had said he had rented out the grand mansion built by his father years ago. It seemed that Lord Brentford found a small, neat house more to his liking.

Well, it would be sensible, she supposed, for a single man not to rattle around in the family mansion. Sad, though, in a way. He ought to be married with a clutch of grandchildren for her ladyship to enjoy.

Setting aside her vague dislike for the yet-to-be-met gentleman, she completed writing and addressing the invitations. She had a good hand, as did all the girls at the rectory. Their father had seen to that part of their education. He insisted every young lady should have a fine hand, able to write well so that her words could be easily read. She could do her sums as well, and calculate bills with ease.

When finished with the invitations, she handed the results to Priddy before going to gaze out of the window in the drawing room. Since it was on the ground floor, the gardens seemed close and inviting. It was a mild day with a sun shining down on the scene. She quite longed to stroll among the beds of flowers the marchioness had instructed the gardener to plant.

The tulips were bursting into bloom, as were anemones and primroses. The Brentford Court gardens were exceptionally beautiful now and likely to remain so all the year. The head gardener was devoted to her ladyship and exerted himself to please her. The extensive lawns were scythed to impeccable smoothness. The marchioness could stroll across to admire the blooms without fear of stumbling.

So, after her refreshing nap, they did just that. Leaving the house by one of the French windows, they wandered through the garden. The flower beds were praised, the colors sighed over, and the scent inhaled with delight. Drusilla picked a cluster of the blooms for her ladyship so she might sniff the scent, feel the satiny petals.

“I am so glad you are here with me, dear girl. I’d not likely meander along these flowers were I alone.”

There was no self-pity in her ladyship’s words. Rather she was matter-of-fact in her statement. She knew her limitations and attempted to stay within them. Drusilla coaxed her to try that little bit more, improve that tiny speck each day, extending those limits. They understood each other well, her ladyship going along with Drusilla’s suggestions with a knowing smile. Time and again she remarked how like a daughter Drusilla had come to be.

“I suppose I cannot claim you here forever. Some handsome fellow will steal you away from me, I feel sure. But until then, I intend to enjoy your company.” She gave Drusilla a sweet smile that held a merest hint of mischief.

When rain threatened, they hurried to the house and settled with a tea tray before a nicely blazing fire in the drawing room. Lady Brentford’s favorite place on the ground floor. She applied herself to her needlework. Kitty, a plump silver-striped tabby, curled up by her feet, creating the perfect image of domesticity.

She glanced at Drusilla from her needlework to remark, “I do hope Adrian will come. I’ve not seen him for ages. Not that I am one of those mothers who ask for constant attention from a son, especially one as much in demand as Adrian. But it would be nice to see him.”

Drusilla returned a stiff smile, thinking she would most definitely give his lofty lordship a piece of her mind should he deign to share his exalted company with them. The very idea that he should believe the paltry offerings of London more important than the health and well-being of his mother! Drusilla quite longed to give him a sound tongue-lashing.

* * * *

At the Metcalf ball, Adrian bowed to the young woman before him, trying to recall her name. They had been introduced, he was certain, but her name had made no impression on him, nor had she. He sighed inwardly and swept her off to partake in a lively reel.

Really, the fulfillment of the obligations that remained before he could head down to Brentford Court were most trying. The dinner prior to the ball had been excellent. The company was boring. Or perhaps it was just himself?

At last the dance ended and Adrian wondered how soon he might leave without offending the couple who had invited him. Their son. Harry, was a particular friend of his.

“Nice do, eh, Brentford?” Gray eyes lit with laughter met his. Lord Ives said, “I know how you dote on balls and the like.”

“Ives. Just when I was ready to do a flit. Are you about ready to leave all this?” Adrian gestured to the colorful throng now performing an elegant country-dance.

“I promised to follow you some while after you go. Perhaps this girl isn’t what you suspect.” Lord Ives bent his head, studying his polished patent dancing slippers with seeming interest. “She might be one of those rare creatures who enjoy helping others. Didn’t your mother write that her father is a rector? I should think a girl from the rectory would be accustomed to doing good deeds.”

“Good deeds, bah.” Adrian smiled politely and bowed in the direction of one of the leading lights of Society.

“Pity you cannot put the past behind you.” Then, likely knowing he had said more than he ought, Lord Ives began an amusing anecdote on a mutual friend that lightened the mood considerably.

Later, while enjoying the light supper offered at midnight, Adrian’s thoughts returned to the remark his friend had made. Putting the past behind him was something he had not bothered to do, he supposed. Ives insisted it had turned him into a woman hater, a true misogynist. Adrian didn’t think so. He still enjoyed a dance, a pretty dinner partner. He simply didn’t trust them.

It was several days later that the missive arrived with his post. Adrian broke the seal, then unfolded the letter. It was an invitation to his own home! By Jove, this was the outside of enough! He took note of the date when it was hoped he could arrive, and decided he would go a day or two early. Nothing like catching the enemy off guard!

He knew the handwriting was not his mother’s, so it must belong to the companion. She prettily begged him to join the small gathering in honor of his mother’s birthday. He had forgotten that was coming up, the family not given to lavish displays for such events. But her words were couched in phrases designed to make him feel the veriest cad if he didn’t appear. Lady Felicia Tail’s delightful company was hinted at—if she accepted, and she would.

He would attend, all right. And he would send this calculating hussy back to the village where she belonged. She could jolly well tend the biddies there and leave his mother—and her fortune—safely behind.

He couldn’t wait to meet her.

Chapter Two

Adrian found a suitable gift for his mother at Rundell, Bridge and Rundell’s jewelry shop. She liked sapphires, so he bought an especially lovely brooch designed like a spray of delicate blue flowers with emeralds for leaves and diamonds sparkling as accents.

Returning to his house, he found himself drawn again to the invitation. He studied the precise handwriting, perfectly formed letters, and the words therein. Very prettily put, those words. They would squeeze tears from a stone. “Come to celebrate the birthday of your devoted mother,” he read aloud.

Tossing the sheet of hot-pressed paper on his desk, he wandered to the window that looked out on the busy street below. How could he best prepare for this confrontation? That he intended to send the presumptuous chit packing, he had determined. But how to get around his mother? Could she have formed an attachment for this village girl? True, the gel wrote an excellent hand. Likely her father saw to that. But her education would be sadly lacking, not to mention her social graces. He very much doubted if she was so much as acquainted with proper use of a finger bowl.

Curious as to her family, he sought out a fellow he’d met who would possibly have some information. He had met the Archdeacon Pallant at one of the more elevated parties he’d attended this Season. Surely he might be acquainted with the various rectors near London?

It didn’t take long to find him—at White’s of all places. He joined him, casually making his inquiry.

“Hmm, the Reverend Mr. Herbert, you say? I do know something of him. The family is an old one, goes back to the Conqueror’s days, you know. He is the eldest son of Lord James Herbert, the second son of the Earl of Stanwell. Has six children but limited money. Wrote some excellent papers. Is that what you wished to know?” He cocked his head at Adrian, curiosity clear in his eyes.