Emily Hendrickson (23 page)

“If you feel you must. But I feel much better this afternoon and sure to gain every day. I shouldn’t like to put an end to our party.”

“Rubbish,” Vane replied with a grin.

Adrian could see why Dru might be taken with him. He was a pleasant chap with a handsome face and an engaging wit. He also seemed to be more perceptive than his chum, Harry. Harry wouldn’t see a problem unless it jumped up and bit him.

“I say,” Harry cried as he came into the drawing room, “someone must do something about that nasty little beast.” Harry was hobbling and looking as angry as a nest of disturbed hornets.

“Were you attacked by Binky, too?” Dru asked, grinning in spite of Harry’s anger.

“You mean that beast attacked you first? Well, I fixed him.” Harry looked rather smug.

Adrian exchanged a guarded look with Dru. He sighed. “And how did you do that?”

“He wanted to go out, so I opened the door and he was off in a shot. He may well be into the next county by now.” Harry spoke with an enormous amount of satisfaction.

Dru burst out laughing.

Chapter Fourteen

It was fortunate that Miss Knight did not hear the laughter that followed the announcement of her pet’s dash to freedom. When she returned to the room, those present murmured words of sympathy, except for Lady Felicia. She eyed Dru, who wondered if the lady intended to tattle.

“Miss Herbert,” Lady Felicia began, only to be interrupted by Lord Brentford.

“Miss Herbert,” he repeated, “was attacked by your pet as was Harry Metcalf. I fear it is not popular around here at the moment.”

“Never fear, Miss Knight,” Dru said in a soothing manner to take some of the sting from Lord Brentford’s words. “I fancy Binky will return before long.”

The elderly spinster sniffed, wiped her nose and said to no one in particular, “He is all I have.”

When she had trailed from the room, looking woebegone, Dru turned to Harry. “As much as I dislike that animal, I confess I feel sorry for her. A pet can be such comfort.”

“What sort of pet do you plan to adopt? Spinsters usually have a cat, do they not?” Lady Felicia said.

Dru merely smiled. “I like both. What kind of pet do you intend to have?”

“I do not intend to be a spinster!” Lady Felicia’s dark eyes flashed with annoyance.

Harry grinned and said most unforgivably, “But you are one now—leastwise until you marry.”

“Which I shall!” She flashed Lord Ives a coy glance.

Lord Brentford looked uncomfortable, shifting about as though wishing he were elsewhere.

Lord Ives moved to his side and spoke in a quiet voice. He helped his friend to his feet and walked from the room with him, saying as they left, “Back to bed, I think.”

Dru returned to the rear-facing window, followed by Gregory Vane. They stared at the deepening shadows that crossed the garden as the daylight faded.

“I suspect you care about your erstwhile patient more than you would like.” He fingered the tassel of the drapery hanging to one side of the large window.

“Perhaps.” She knew that what she had seen, had touched, would forever be etched in her memory. One did not forget the sight of such muscles, such a body easily. Thank heaven no one else knew. She wondered if anyone else was aware of the small birthmark on his lower thigh? It was shaped like an oak leaf. Curious thing.

“Once the four of us depart, you will remain? I imagine Lady Brentford will not willingly have you leave.”

“As to that, I have come to care for her very much. She is the epitome of a gracious lady.”

“She asked you to care for Brentford when he was ill?” Mr. Vane wore a pensive expression, quite as though he was pursuing a line of reasoning.

“Her Ladyship requested I do so since I have had experience tending the sick.” Dru squarely met his gaze, wondering just how much he guessed. “Colyer was there much of the time and spent the nights watching him.”

Mr. Vane nodded. “Ah, yes, Colyer. Good man.” Pausing a few moments, Mr. Vane continued, “I shall miss you, you know. The other young ladies are fine, you are the jewel.”

Dru could feel her face warming. Drat the blush. “I am certain you will find much to amuse you once in London.”

Colyer entered the drawing room, coming immediately to Dru’s side. “Would you be so kind as to assist me, Miss Herbert? A minor difficulty has arisen.”

Dru tossed Mr. Vane an apologetic look before following the valet from the drawing room. She noted Lady Felicia watch her leave from where she stood close to Lord Ives, who had returned at once from helping Lord Brentford. What a good thing it was that there was someone who could keep the lady occupied.

Colyer said nothing as they trod the stairs to the upper floor. Dru followed him to Lord Brentford’s door. She stopped, not wishing to enter. “What is the problem?”

“His lordship wishes to speak with you. That is all I know, miss.” The valet opened the door, and Dru found herself escorted into the room whether she wished or not.

His lordship reclined in a chair by the fireplace, his feet propped on an ottoman. A tray with a teapot and all necessary for tea sat on a table at his side. She waited.

Adrian studied the young woman Colyer had brought up from the drawing room. He suspected she had been in conversation with Gregory Vane again. Her cheeks were still flushed, no doubt from his flattery!

“Will you join me in a cup of tea? Perhaps you would pour?” Adrian gestured to the tray.

Dru acquiesced, pouring out the milk and tea, sugaring it the way he liked before handing him his cup. She poured for herself, then perched on the edge of the chair as though awaiting a dreaded verdict. What did she anticipate?

He wondered just how close she had become to Vane. He was personable, wealthy, the sort of chap that a mother would like. Ah, but a father would see that restlessness in Vane’s eyes, think he was perhaps too young to settle down.

“You will miss Vane when he departs tomorrow.”

“Belinda Oaks and Lydia Percy go as well,” she reminded. “And Mr. Metcalf. He said you attended his sister’s come-out ball. What was it like?”

She obviously did not wish to dwell on Gregory Vane. Well, he would oblige her for the moment. He sipped his tea before replying. He described what went on at a come-out ball: the flowers, the decorations, the kinds of gowns one saw.

“It sounds delightful. I hope my sister is able to attend a ball or two while in London. I have no idea how fashionable our aunt might be.”

“Vane would know. He is very fashionable—moves in the highest circles. Would you like that?” He concentrated on her face to see if her thoughts might be revealed.

“I have no idea, not having been exposed to that sort of life. And why I should be the slightest interested in what Mr. Vane does or how he lives is beyond me. I doubt I will see him again once he leaves here.” She gave Adrian a puzzled look before pouring more tea, sugaring it to her liking. She offered him more, which he accepted.

“Something very civilized about taking tea, is there not?” Adrian asked, peering at her over his cup.

“True.” She looked about the room as though seeing it for the first time.

There was a tapestry on the far wall that had an oak tree featured on it, a little whim of his own. Leaves were delineated in fine detail. Not that anyone knew the significance of it. But with his odd little birthmark that no one, save his mother and nanny, knew about, it was a private fancy that he found amusing.

For some reason she also found it diverting.

“You admire the tapestry?” He wondered why. There was nothing really unusual about it.

She gave him an unguarded smile. Setting her teacup on the tray, she rose to walk over to study the weaving. “You have a fondness for oak leaves, I see.” The look she gave him was far too knowing.

He frowned, wondering what prompted it.

She blushed at his frown, or he supposed his frown caused her to run the color of beetroot. Something had.

“You might say that.” He watched and waited.

“I had better leave now. Thank you for the tea. I am glad you are feeling better, but perhaps you ought to take a nap?” She edged toward the door, looking guilty and wanting to flee.

He placed his teacup on the tray, rising to cross to her side. He had the strangest suspicion. A snatch of memory—a silken touch, a delicate scent, a cooling of skin—assailed him. “What happened when you were taking care of me that causes you to blush?”

“N-n-nothing. I gave you barley water to drink and tried to cool you with lavender water. You were extremely feverish.”

And she was extremely nervous about something.

“How? Just my forehead?” He crossed his arms, casually standing between her and the door. Colyer was at the far end of the room and couldn’t possibly overhear their softly spoken conversation.

“True,” she answered eagerly, glancing at the door as though she wished she were on the other side of it.

“I dimly recall something more.”

Her horrified expression brought to mind what he had forgotten. He had surfaced just long enough to be aware that someone was bathing him. Drusilla?

“It was you who bathed me.”

She froze, looking so adorably guilty he almost laughed before the seriousness of the situation hit him. If she knew about his oak leaf birthmark, she had uncovered a great deal of him!

“This changes things.” There was no way a gently bred young woman could be allowed to escape the consequences of her action.

“No, not at all,” she insisted. “You forget that I am an experienced nurse. I have bathed patients before.”

“Adult men?” Adrian fought the desire to exterminate every one of them.

She shook her head. “Only infants and children. But it is the same procedure with the same aim in mind, to reduce the fever. It was successful, too.”

Adrian relaxed a trifle, still standing guard against her escape. “It seemed to work well.”

“Thank you,” she replied uneasily, as though she wasn’t certain what to say.

“I repeat that this changes things—for us.” He watched as she stiffened, glaring at him as though he was at fault.

“Rubbish.”

It was a succinct reply, but not too unexpected, given what he knew of her.

“We shall see.” He glanced at the bed, wishing he had been a bit more conscious when she had bathed him. He could remember little of what could have been a delightful experience. “Perhaps I
will
rest for a bit before dinner.”

In an instant she had whipped around him and had the door open. “I imagine I will see you then, my lord.”

“Oh, yes. Miss Herbert. You will see me at dinner.” And longer than that. He wondered what his mother would say if he revealed what had occurred. Somehow he doubted she would be horrified. She would, however, understand his reasoning on the matter. And he would be free of Felicia.

Dru paused in the hallway, burying her face in her hands. Never in her short life had she been so embarrassed. Oh, why had she stupidly studied that tapestry! And why must she blush at the slightest thing? For just a moment he had seemed amused. Then his reaction set in, causing a serious expression to settle on his handsome face.

He knew what she had done!

Hurrying to her room, she entered her refuge. “This is what happens to girls who are outspoken, who dare to take chances! It will be my downfall!” It was simple enough to scold herself. What her mother might say was beyond her.

“What will I do now? If I tell Lady Brentford I wish to leave at once, she will demand to know why. What excuse could I offer? That her son has a strange notion that he ought to marry me?” It was what he would conclude.

Would that set well with the lady who . . . well . . . what did she want? At first she had said she would like Adrian to marry Lady Felicia. But then, only two nights ago, she had complained about her, saying marriage between Adrian and Lady Felicia would be a disaster. It would be, of course, but if that is what he truly desired—and Dru couldn’t imagine why—he should have it.

What could she do to prevent his rash declaration? Then something he had quizzed her about returned. Mr. Vane. Lord Brentford had queried her about her feelings for Mr. Vane. Surely his lordship didn’t imagine Dru cared twopence for the man? True, Mr. Vane was friendly, pleasant. Lord Ives spent more time looking after Lady Felicia than at Dru. Harry Metcalf paid no particular attention to anyone other than himself.

Tonight, in addition to celebrating Lady Brentford’s birthday, it would be a farewell dinner for Mr. Vane and Harry Metcalf, Lydia, and Belinda as well. Perhaps Dru ought to muddy the water, as it were?

She walked to open her wardrobe. Mary entered with a freshly pressed gown in her arms.

“What do you think is my best gown? One likely to make an impression—a favorable one, of course.”

Mary replaced the lilac sprigged muslin that had been carefully pressed, then pulled a silk gown from the wardrobe.

Dru smiled. It was one of that matched the unusual color of her eyes. Sea green, Tabitha called those eyes, and the dress was the same color. The neckline was lower than she usually wore, but the sleeves were pretty, being to her elbows and trimmed with lace. She nodded, exchanging a conspiratorial look with her maid.

“This is the last evening Mr. Vane and Mr. Metcalf will be here. Belinda and Lydia will leave come morning, as well. When I depart, would you consider coming with me?” Dru asked this in a casual way, but she was serious. She had become attached to Mary while here.

“Yes, miss, I would.” The maid assisted Dru into the sea green gown, tying tapes and straightening the skirt.

It was not easy to put the scene with Lord Brentford out of her mind. Her face grew warm just thinking about what he had guessed. Had she been more skilled at deception he would never have known, never have had the absurd but honorable notion that something had to be done. It would be like that fabled sword hanging over her head. Until then, she would avoid being alone with him or even near him.

Let him think she was enamored of Mr. Vane. She quite forgot what she had said earlier regarding the gentleman.