Emily Hendrickson (25 page)

Dru waved as they rolled down the avenue. With a fresh breeze it wasn’t pleasant outside, so she hurried back.

“They have all left?”

At the sound of Lady Felicia’s voice, Dru stopped. She glanced at the stairway where her ladyship posed. “Indeed.”

“Good.” She joined Dru in the walk to the rear of the house. She paused before going into the breakfast room. The used china had been whisked away, and all was pristine once more. “Keep me company . . . please?”

Wary, Dru slowly nodded. “Very well. Could I pour you some tea?” It was something to do, and a teacup was an item she could hide behind if necessary.

“That would be lovely.” Lady Felicia dropped a roll and a bit of cheese on her plate, then seated herself with a grace that did her last governess credit.

Dru poured them each a cup of tea, and waited to hear why Lady Felicia wanted her company.

“I have been beastly to you, I know. Forgive me?”

Whatever Dru expected to hear, it wasn’t this. “Naturally I forgive you anything you think ought to be forgiven.”
That
was convoluted enough to be sufficiently vague. Now,
why
was her ladyship doing this?

Lady Felicia crumbled a bit of her roll before stiffening her spine. Her reply was not totally unexpected.

“You must know that when Lady Brentford invited me to this country house party, I thought it would produce a proposal of marriage from Lord Brentford. Needless to say, it did not.” She grimaced after biting into the roll and cheese, then shrugged her elegantly clad shoulders. “Which is just as well. I found I was attracted to someone else who
does
want to marry me.”

“Am I allowed to guess?” Dru said with a smile curving her lips. She had more than a little suspicion.

“Reginald, Lord Ives! Did you guess right?”

Dru chuckled lightly, almost overwhelmed by a peculiar feeling of relief. “Indeed, yes. I suspected there might be a growing attachment between you.”

“And he made it clear what he would think of an attempt to trick anyone into a marriage. After all, a rich marquess is a better catch than a baron, no matter how wealthy he might be. I might be forgiven were I to make a dead set at the marquess . . . would I not?”

“The conversation at dinner?” Dru wondered. “He let you know how he felt about the matter?”

Lady Felicia nodded. She had no chance to say more as the object of her heart entered the room. He tarried by her chair a moment, resting his hand on her shoulder before he asked for coffee, along with eggs, gammon, toast, and anything else Cook might add for a hungry man. When he selected a chair, it was close to his chosen lady.

“May I offer my felicitations?” Dru said with genuine pleasure. It would appear that Lord Ives would be able to keep Lady Felicia in line.

“Of course!” Lord Ives sipped his coffee. He might be polite to Dru; he had eyes for no one but Lady Felicia.

“Has anyone seen a sign of my Binky?” Miss Knight demanded from the doorway. The lady looked as though she hadn’t slept well—in fact, she seemed rather frazzled.

Dru was almost sorry for her until she recalled what a nasty little creature that dog could be. “I fear not.”

Miss Knight availed herself of a soothing cup of tea, then wandered off, teacup in hand, to continue her search.

“Poor woman, but I cannot say I hope she finds her little dog. Such a nasty creature,” Lady Felicia said.

“She cares for it. So ... do you go to talk with your parents? What?” Dru knew she was being nosy, but it seemed that Lady Felicia was in an expansive mood.

“My mother is dead. Papa will be thrilled to have me off his hands. Dear Reginald, I will be so happy to move to your home as soon as may be!” Lady Felicia gave him a glowing look that rather surprised Dru. She hadn’t thought her ladyship capable of genuine affection.

“A special license and a quiet wedding at St. George’s, and we can be settled.” Ives gave her a fond smile. “And you will have carte blanche in redoing the London house.”

“Sounds like you have the right approach, Ives,” Lord Brentford said as he joined them. “Congratulations are in order, I gather.”

“I always like a happy ending,” Dru observed.

This comment earned a quizzical look from Lord Brentford. “Do you, now?”

“Does not everyone?” Dru demanded to know, refusing to be flustered by his lordship. When she considered that she had bathed the man in his bed—even if he was unaware of her care at the time—she would
not
be intimidated by him. Especially since she knew the secret of the oak leaf birthmark. She’d wager few people were aware of it.

“May one inquire as to the direction of your thoughts?” her nemesis asked. “You have an ominously smug expression.”

“I? Never.” Dru rose from the table. “I had best see your mother. I fancy she will be delighted at the news. If I may?” Dru queried Lady Felicia, who nodded in reply.

Ignoring the odd look on Lord Brentford’s face, Dru whisked herself around the corner of the room to dash up the stairs and along to Lady Brentford’s room.

Upon hearing the news, that dear lady expressed fervent thanks. “It is not that she isn’t of a good family. The Tail line is all that it should be. Perhaps had her mother lived, it might have been different for her. I suspect she terrified every governess she had.”

“I would imagine she could do that,” Dru agreed with a hastily suppressed grin.

“Well, her father, the Earl of Silchester, is wealthy, but a bit tight with money. Yet, I daresay he will come down handsomely for his only daughter when she weds—if for no reason than to be rid of the girl.”

“Strange—that is what she said, more or less. She said he will be glad to be rid of her. How sad. I know my parents are happy when good things happen to any of us. I doubt they are glad to see us go, especially Mama.”

“You will be returning home to your mama before too long. She will be happy to see you,” the marchioness ventured to say. She turned aside to gather up a pretty painted fan and her reticule.

Dru’s heart sank to her toes. “Your ladyship is doing so well now—quite recovered. I have a feeling that you have been energized by the friends who have been here?”

“That is true.” The marchioness rose to leave her room with Kitty tagging along behind her.

It was amusing to see how the cat paraded down the hall now the dog was nowhere in evidence. “Kitty is happy with the house to herself again,” Dru observed.

“Indeed. I am sorry that Cordelia’s pet is gone missing, but I cannot say I miss the little beast.”

Lord Osman left his room to join Lady Brentford, and Dru suddenly discovered a task in the opposite direction that simply must be done at once. She excused herself and marched off, as though there really was something to do.

Slipping down the servants’ staircase proved simple. Dru found her way to the little room where the vases and urns were brought for her to refill or refresh. Priddy had brought three that drooped.

Once she found a cape to toss over her shoulders, Dru was off to the gardens. It was a soothing pastime, picking flowers and combining colors. Her trug was laden with blooms when she found she had company.

“Flowers again. About the only time I can find you alone is here in the gardens,” Lord Brentford complained. He was muffled up against the spring breeze, but his head was bare and Dru looked askance at his carelessness.

“Cheer up. Your mother reminded me that I will not be here much longer.” Dru paused, turning to face him. “I confess I like it here very much, as I like your lady mother. How blessed you are to have a mother as dear as she is.” She urged him toward the house and out of the breeze. “Poor Lady Felicia—I gather her mother died some years ago. I daresay it accounts for a number of things.”

She would always associate the scent of spring flowers with Adrian, Lord Brentford. All around her was the awakening of the world, with birds seeking mates, flowers springing forth to dress the garden with their finery. And she would soon be leaving him. It was a bittersweet time.

“Indeed,” he agreed dryly. “Like how she came to be so spoiled and headstrong.”

“Yet I believe that Lord Ives will manage her well.”

“You think a woman can be managed?” He tilted his head to one side, studying her so her cheeks warmed from his perusal.

“I am not certain that I could be ‘managed’ in that way. Perhaps guided is a better word to use?” Dru succeeded in smiling at him, although she wasn’t certain how good a smile it might be.

His smile was definitely roguish. It hinted to bold pirates and dashing bucks, of daring deeds and sensuous touches. It definitely had an effect on her heart!

“Let me help you with the flowers.” He took the trug from her hands to carry it back to the house. “You sigh. Can it be that you are sorry to leave here? The gardens and the house? Or just my mother?”

Her heart turned over. Was he so looking forward to seeing the last of her? “I have mentioned once or twice that I have enjoyed my stay here with your mother.”

“I will wager that you were handed more than you bargained for once you arrived. Mother tends to assume that because she is capable, everyone else is as well.”

Dru walked ahead to open the gate, then took the trug from his hand. She looked down at the flowers for a moment, then shrugged. “I found it stimulating. While I do face challenges at home, I have nothing like this with which I must cope.”

“I think Mother will have an interesting announcement this evening.”

“A marriage to Lord Osman? I rather expect it. Are you unhappy about this change?”

“Not at all. At least the woman I marry will be the only Marchioness of Brentford. Mother will be Viscountess Osman, which ought to do her well enough.”

Dru’s mind focused on the part about his marriage. “You intend to marry before long, then?”

“Definitely. I think it would be a positive improvement in my life. I might even manage to persuade her to help me bathe.” He gave Dru a lazy grin before leaving the room. His eyes had been alight with mischief, unless she very much mistook it.

She stared off into space, wondering how long it took a broken heart to heal.

But why did he think to have a wife who would help him bathe? She had admitted a little, true, but no one knew of her transgression. She refused to marry for such a stupid reason. That way was disaster! It would amount to a forced marriage, a situation she abhorred.

“Oh, I completely forgot. I wish to speak with you on the morrow. Would ten of the clock in the morning be agreeable with you?” He had popped back to stare at her in expectation of a reply.

He was going to send her home now. She knew it. How foolish if she thought for one moment that he would consider her for his marchioness! Why, she might be the great-niece of the Earl of Stanwell, but that scarce qualified her for such a rarified position as Marchioness of Brentford. Solid gentry was as good as her family might claim. She was satisfied with her position in life, she insisted. Of course she did not expect to marry the handsome peer who had captured her heart. It didn’t mean that she couldn’t long for that position.

“Of course. I will be there on the dot.”

“Good. I knew I could count on you.” He wandered into the room, kissed her on the cheek, then strolled out as though quite pleased with the world.

“Well, I never!” she whispered.

“I heard that. And you have so!”

He didn’t enter the room, and judging by the steps that faded into the distance, he was soon gone.

Well, he had the right of it. He had kissed her and heaven help her, she had kissed him back.

She shortly took the first of her completed bouquets to the drawing room.

Mrs. Twywhitt and Sir Bertram were in the drawing room, joined by Miss Knight and Lord Somers as Dru placed the flowers on the sofa table. She fluffed out some leaves. Adjusted a flower or two, then turned to leave the room.

“Will Lady Brentford be coming down soon, my dear?” Mrs. Twywhitt inquired.

“I should think so,” Dru replied. “She was dressed and talking with Lord Osman when I last saw her in the upstairs hallway.” Dru edged toward the doorway, thinking she preferred not to be included in any speculation.

Her news resulted in significant looks exchanged.

“I thought so,” Mrs. Twywhitt said with satisfaction. “Violet is far too lovely a person to be left on the shelf for long. She and your mother were the closest of friends when in school, Miss Herbert. It is nice that you were able to come and assist Lady Brentford when she needed help.”

Dru smiled and murmured faint words of agreement. It might be wise to pack her things at once. Her father’s motto of “Be prepared, for you know not the hour of your departure” could be taken in more ways than one. With that in mind, she hurried up the stairs.

Lady Felicia left her room to intercept Dru. “I shall leave in the morning, along with Reginald. He convinced me to speak with Father at once. What point in waiting?”

“At least this party has been good for you—in that you found your heart’s desire.” Dru longed to be in her room, away from the ecstatic Lady Felicia. Happiness was not contagious when it applied to matters of the heart.

“And you? When will you leave?”

“Soon, I expect. Lady Brentford has made such an excellent recovery, I truly am not needed anymore.”

“It seems to me that you perform a great number of services that her ladyship is glad to have done. Unless she goes shortly, I do not see how she can manage without you.”

“With all the guests gone, there will be less to be done,” Dru reminded. Mrs. Simpson and Priddy could take their ease, with maids and footmen to run errands for them.

“I must say,” Lady Felicia continued with a thoughtful look at Dru, “I am astounded at the recovery Adrian made. He said something about lavender.”

Dru swallowed with care. “I gave Colyer a bottle of lavender oil. I have seen it to be most effective in nasty colds.” This was true as far as it went.

“Really? It is a good thing you were in the house, in that event. I have small knowledge of herbs and treatments. Adrian is fortunate you do.” The pensive look deepened, but thankfully she said no more.