Emily Hendrickson (27 page)

He leaned against the frame of the door to study her. “I was a bit tired. That chill I took was harder on me than I wanted to admit. No man likes to confess he feels as weak as a kitten.”

Dru backed away from his tantalizing person. His cravat was gone, his shirt was open, and the three buttons undone. Enticing dark curls of hair teased her eye. She gulped at the sight and the memories it stirred. He seemed as fit as possible to her eyes. “I am glad you have the sense to rest.” Turning, she made to go to her room.

“You will meet me in the morning.” It wasn’t a question much less an invitation. It was an order.

Dru bristled. “I do not see why whatever you have to say cannot be said here and now.” She almost stamped her foot in exasperation.

“There is a time for everything.” That was it. The discussion, if you might call it that, was closed.

Whirling about, she stormed back to her room, closing her door with a snap. She turned to her maid.

“Mary, help me please. I am retiring early. I have a fearful headache.” She submitted to the maid’s assistance in removing her gown and into her nightdress. Once changed, she dismissed Mary, advising she also take an early night.

Alone, she crept into her bed to contemplate what was going to be said on the morrow. Would he simply dismiss her? Would he castigate her for her stupidity in bathing him to reduce his high fever? Not that it was a stupid thing to do. It was merely foolhardy for
her
to do it.

She admitted it now—she ought to have summoned Colyer and handed him the lavender oil with instructions on how to proceed. Well, she hadn’t and now she would have to live with the consequences. She doubted Lord Brentford would reveal her foolishness to anyone. Somehow she believed he was too private a person to do that. Still . . . with those uneasy thoughts milling about in her head, she finally drifted into a troubled sleep.

* * * *

In the morning Adrian grinned at his image in the looking glass that hung in his dressing room. He admitted he hadn’t
looked
ill last night, but he had been glad to sleep. He needed all his energy for today to cope with Drusilla Herbert and what must be done. He knew he had angered her last evening. Still weak, he was hardly in any position to discuss anything, let alone what he wanted.

Today, following a good night, he felt far more capable of arranging matters to suit him. He had seen his mother, advised her of his intentions. She had given him her blessing even as she looked curious;

aware he wasn’t telling her everything. But then, what son did?

He went down to breakfast to find Ives in the entry-way instructing his valet and the footmen precisely how he wished the luggage to be stowed. Since Lord Silchester had sent Lady Felicia and her maid in a hired chaise, she had no carriage to fill. But it did present a problem of sorts.

It seemed to Adrian that a fourgon would be required for the mountain of luggage. When he suggested it to Ives, the man gave him a relieved smile. Adrian nodded to Priddy to see it done at once.

“I was hoping you would propose that. I can’t believe all the cases and portmanteaus Felicia brought. I suppose I must accustom myself to such.” He grinned at Adrian, then walked to the breakfast room with him.

“You think to leave early?” Adrian inquired when they found the room empty. If Ives had hoped to find Lady Felicia dressed and eating, he was disappointed.

“Felicia promised to have something in her room while she did last-minute packing.” Both men knew that her ladyship would not lift a finger to stow away the remaining items, that her maid would take care of it all.

“Well, make a good meal now, for you never know what you will find on the road. Which way do you take?” Impatient for them to be gone, Adrian nevertheless played the gracious host, concerned for his guests’ welfare.

When Dru hesitated at the doorway, Adrian beckoned her into the room. “Good morning, my dear.” He’d made his voice and manner as warm as possible.

It was hard to say who looked more startled—Lord Ives or Dru.

Adrian smiled and said nothing to explain his greeting. He rose, pulled out a chair for her, then poured her a cup of tea, sugaring it as he knew she preferred. He set it before her chair—which was next to his.

She regarded him from enchantingly confused eyes. He must see to it that she went to the coast, so she could view the sea, discover how her eyes reflected all the hues found there. She had admitted there had been no money to travel, that she longed to explore the world. Adrian smiled at the thought.

“I see they are loading your carriage. Lord Ives. You plan to depart so early in the day?” She avoided looking at Adrian, which amused him.

“If Lady Felicia can be persuaded to leave betimes, yes. Thank heavens that Adrian is loaning me a fourgon. We would look like a traveling caravan otherwise, with luggage strapped to the top of the carriage as well as poking out from the boot.”

Dru giggled. “That presents an amusing image, sir.”

“It does, doesn’t it? No doubt that fellow Rowlandson could do a clever caricature of such a scene.”

“The sort of thing that appears in the London print shops? My sister mentioned seeing some. They are terribly naughty. Unkind, as well. I would be just as glad not to be the object of such,” she declared with fervor.

“Indeed,” Adrian agreed. “One has to live with care. It would be a pity to discover a weakness drawn for all to view. Funny, you’d think you have been discreet, and then someone you least expect threatens to reveal all the details of a happening you thought secret.”

Ives gave him another surprised look, before narrowing his eyes into a regard of conjecture. “I doubt if that has ever applied to you, Adrian. You might have had a few wild moments, but no scandal has ever been heard about you.”

“True, I have lived with a modicum of discretion. I am aware of what is due my name and position. Not all peers are.” Adrian reflected on a few peers he knew who were a disgrace to the peerage, not to mention England.

“True,” Ives murmured as he dug into a well-laden plate of food.

Lady Felicia entered the room just as Ives had finished eating. She looked fetching in her pink-and-white pelisse with pink plumes on her bonnet. Adrian wondered if Ives would persuade her to wear something other than pink and white? It was impossible to know what another person might do for love. And he was convinced that Lady Felicia had tumbled into love with his best friend in spite of her original intentions— his mother’s as well.

Adrian watched Dru pretend to eat. She buttered a piece of toast, then nibbled at it. Sipping tea didn’t count as eating, but she did sip at her tea. Adrian rose to fetch her a small bowl of hothouse berries, plunking them down before her to her obvious surprise. He motioned her to eat them.

It was a good sign that she obeyed, tasting one berry before continuing to eat more of them. The toast went as well. He didn’t want a discussion if she was hungry.

“Miss Knight is quite happy to have her little dog restored to her,” Lady Felicia said. “How strange people are to be so attached to such a nasty little animal.”

“My mother’s cat is another. I wonder what she will do since Osman is not all that fond of cats.”

“Surely you could allow the pet to remain here, my lord,” Dru chided.

“Someone would have to be responsible for it. Cats are peculiar creatures, or so my mother insists. They want to be loved and cared for, not left to servants.”

“Who is to say a servant won’t become attached to it? Perhaps Mrs. Simpson?” Dru gave him a challenging stare.

“She could take the cat into her retirement when I pension her off?” Adrian said, cocking a brow at the delightfully annoyed Dru Herbert.

“You never would! Pension her off, that is. She is still capable of running this house—at least most of the time. She could have help when there are guests.”

Dru placed her fists on the table as though ready to do battle on behalf of his housekeeper.

“You have spent hours and hours helping her while we had all this company in the house. Would
you
take on the job of assistant to her?” Adrian deliberately spoke in a taunting manner, wanting to rouse Dru from her doldrums.

“Ahem,” Lord Ives inserted into the argument. “Felicia and I will take off now before that rain begins. My coachman said he feels it in his bones that it will pour here before long.” He left the table, offering his hand to Felicia, who joined him at once.

Adrian rose, extended his hand with sincere best wishes not only for a good trip, but also with the woman he intended to marry. Adrian didn’t envy him at all.

Dru also rose from the table, leaving crumbs from her toast behind her as she walked with Lady Felicia.

“Excited?” Adrian heard her ask.

“A little. Papa will be pleased, I think. He thought I was daft to believe I could marry Adrian. It seems he was right. I will be happier with Reginald. He understands me and has wonderful patience. Adrian is not a patient man.”

Adrian squelched a grin at that observation. He had to agree with her. He was not a patient man. If he wanted something, he wanted it now—not at some vague future date.

Mrs. Twywhitt and Sir Bertram came down the stairs, having decided to travel together in search of a bird he had described to her. Miss Knight descended as well, with Binky under her arm. At the top of the stairs, Adrian caught a glimpse of Kitty giving a narrow-eyed glare at the departing dog.

Lord Somers, after privately telling Adrian how much he detested that dratted animal, left the house alone, quite as though he couldn’t wait to get away from Binky as well as Miss Knight.

Lady Brentford and Lord Osman said farewell to their guests, then retreated to the drawing room once the entryway had been cleared.

Dru Herbert and Adrian were alone once Priddy left.

“It is nearly ten of the clock.” Dru checked on the longcase clock that stood in the corner of the hall, then returned her attention to him. “The library, I believe you said?” She gave a brave tilt of her chin, flashing her eyes at him as though she expected the worst.

“I did.” He walked along at her side. He might have thought her going to the scaffold, so reluctant was she. Did she fear him so much? Or was it possibly the thought of being dismissed that troubled her more?

They entered the room, now bathed in the morning sunlight. The clouds Ives’s coachman insisted were coming had yet to appear. There were a few springlike white puffs in the sky. No rain, however. Now the sun warmed the earth, not to mention the room.

Adrian guided Dru to that side of the library. Her hair glistened in the sunshine as the purest of gold. Her eyes had darkened with whatever emotion she experienced, as she apparently perceived a confrontation coming between them.

“They are all gone.” He watched her eyes, so very expressive.

“Yes.”

“And we are alone—more or less what with Mother and Osman at the other end of the house.”

“And now you are going to tell me that it is time I go as well.” She glowered at him from those sea blue eyes he would swear had swirls of a storm in them.

“Am I, now? What brought you to that conclusion?” He rubbed his chin to keep from drawing her into his arms as he wished to do. Time enough later, he hoped. Strangely enough, he was not certain of the outcome of this meeting.

“Well, are you not?” she countered.

“As a matter of fact, I am not.” He watched the conflicting emotions flit across her face. How rapidly they changed.

“Why? Your mother is much better. Mrs. Simpson will have less to do now. I fancy you will be returning to London. This is the longest you have stayed here in years according to Mrs. Simpson.”

“All true,” Adrian agreed. “You have no desire to go to London? You prefer to remain in Kent, deep in the countryside?”

“There is nothing wrong with the countryside,” she countered.

“Did I say there is? I asked your preference, my dear.” He took a step closer, and she held her ground, defying him with every inch of her slender form.

“What has that to do with your departure for London? And another thing ... I am not your dear!”

Adrian decided the moment had come. Time was running out, as was his patience. He tenderly gathered Dru into his embrace, kissing her with all the considerable expertise he had accumulated over the years. Encouraged that she did not fight him, he deepened the kiss until they were both dizzy and breathless.

“You are indeed my dear. I wish you to marry me, my love.”

“M-marry you? You can’t marry me. Think of the gossip were you to wed an unknown, a country chit of little background and no wealth.” She did not look resolute, rather as though she wanted convincing. At least that was what he told himself.

He did not argue. Instead, he simply kissed her again. He decided that it was the best way to settle a dispute. She couldn’t talk if she was being kissed!

“Um, that isn’t fair. I can’t think when you kiss me. I still say it would never do.” But Adrian could tell she was weakening. Her voice was less forceful, and her eyes refused to meet his gaze. She made not the slightest effort to escape his embrace, either.

“What if it were brought out that you had attended me in my illness? You know what a chatterbox Lady Felicia is. She might well let something slip. You and I could well end up in one of those Rowlandson caricatures in the London shop windows. That would put paid to any chance you might have for a respectable marriage.”

“So I should marry you to escape a possible scandal? No, thank you very much. I want more than that in my marriage.”

“Like a husband who adores you, who loves the touch of your hand, admires your beauty and thoughtfulness, who will tolerate that outspoken tongue?”

“That isn’t you ... is it?” She searched his face, meeting his gaze with care.

Adrian rejoiced that she sounded hopeful rather than determined. “It is, my love. You are, are you not? Have I read you wrong? Can it be that you do not return my love?”

Dru nestled closer to him, turning up her face in a trusting move. “I do love you. Very much, as a matter of fact. Do you suppose you might convince me that I could love you even more?” she asked, her grin saucy.