Emily Hendrickson (6 page)

“Er, well . . .” He capitulated. Her hopeful expression won. “If you can assure me that my mother will have nothing to do but enjoy the party, I suppose it is acceptable.” He was unprepared for the brilliance of her smile. It was like having the sun burst forth after a dark, cloudy day.

“Oh, good. She will be so pleased.” The radiance in her eyes was enough to light up a room, he mused.

Adrian wondered how pleased he would be. Then he recalled that Lady Felicia Tait would be attending as well as his friend Ives. Perhaps it would be agreeable after all. Ives would approve of Miss Herbert.

“Has anyone ever called you Dru?” he suddenly inquired.

She colored up slightly. “Indeed, sir. My sisters all call me Dru. It is tiresome to constantly be using a long name. Priscilla gets tagged Pru on occasion as well. It is a pity our parents thought to give us names that are so similar, but once we go our separate ways, it will be simple.”

“Your sister is away?”

“She is in London with our aunt. And I do hope she is having a splendid time.”

He stared at her with curiosity. “You do not envy her the chance to mingle with the
ton?
You have no wish to shine in Society?”

“None. Priscilla is the dearest girl and deserves the best that comes her way. I wish I knew what she is doing, where she is going. Letters are so slow!”

He agreed with that observation. They were able to converse for a time without crossing verbal swords.

When at last she rose to go to her room, Adrian moved to her side. He picked up her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it. It was a simple gesture, one he had performed countless times. Yet had he ever felt skin so satiny and scented with lavender before? Or had it ever affected him to this degree?

He raised his gaze to search her face, wondering what on earth was the matter with him.

Drusilla drifted from the room in a muddle of emotions. Having her hand kissed was a new experience for her. She supposed it meant nothing to Lord Brentford. As to what it might mean to her was beyond speculation.

She did learn one thing. Her thoughts proved she was anything but saintly.

Chapter Four

“He has agreed, dear ma’am. We will not have to send out cancellations.” Drusilla gazed at the marchioness with glee. She suspected that her ladyship would sleep better with the matter of her house party settled to her liking.

“However did you manage to do that, child? Usually once Adrian has made up his mind, that is it! Well, I shall know what to do next time I wish to persuade a certain stubborn person!” She gave Drusilla a penetrating stare, not unkindly but definitely curious.

Drusilla smiled as likely intended. She still did not feel easy in regard to Lord Brentford. She could sense his dislike of her. Although why he had kissed her hand as he had was totally beyond her understanding. To say it had unsettled her was putting it far too mildly.

“Now, have you the menus? And where did we put Lord Osman?” Her ladyship leaned back against her bed pillows to peruse the lists as Drusilla handed them to her.

“Here are the menus. And this is the list of which rooms are assigned and to whom. Lord Osman is in the green room. Mrs. Twywhitt is in the yellow room. Sir Bertram Quimby is in the blue room. I thought Miss Knight could be in the coral room and perhaps Lord Somers will find the Chinese room to his liking?”

“Arthur will adore the Chinese room.”

“And the others? It is acceptable?” Drusilla had worked with Mrs. Simpson and one of the maids to make certain those particular rooms were in readiness.

“What about Lady Felicia? And Lord Ives? I know Adrian will want something extra nice for them.”

“Perhaps if Lady Felicia has the pink Adam’s room and Lord Ives the gold room next to Lord Brentford’s room, that might be agreeable?”

Her ladyship gave Drusilla an anxious look. “I had not seen how frail Mrs. Simpson has become until you assumed some of her duties. I should not wish to replace her.”

“Perhaps an assistant for her? I will not be here always, and she does need someone.”

“Do not speak of leaving me.” Lady Brentford gave Drusilla an impish smile, quite as though she had something up her sleeve. Recognizing it for what it might be, Drusilla sighed inwardly and gathered up the papers her ladyship had strewn about on her bed.

After bidding a good night, Drusilla left the room to head for her own bed. Closing her door behind her, she placed the sheets of paper on her desk, then changed to her nightdress. Surely Lady Brentford didn’t have a spot of matchmaking on her mind?

Of course, Drusilla was aware of her hopes for Lord Brentford and Lady Felicia. What other prospect did she nurture? An alliance for Dru? The only unattached gentleman would be Lord Ives—at least of her age. The other men might be single, but far too elderly for Dru to consider. She was not quite yet past her prayers. As to Lord Ives, she would just have to see.

Crawling between the sheets, she considered the evening. She had not expected Lord Brentford to capitulate. Not when he had been so adamant against the party. The thing that perplexed her the most was his good night, kissing her hand as he had. Surely gentlemen didn’t go about kissing hands in that intimate manner anymore? Her brother had remarked that such salutes were old-fashioned. Well, out-of-date or not, she thought the gesture vastly romantic. And what a pity it had to be Lord Brentford—the most unromantic man she could bring to mind.

Upon that depressing thought she slipped into sleep, a deep, dreamless sleep from which she awoke with her usual zest for living, having put aside the troublesome thoughts of Lord Brentford.

* * * *

Adrian wandered about his library, wondering if he was in the process of losing his mind—what little there was left of it. What in the world had possessed him to kiss Dru’s hand in such a way? He was lucky she hadn’t taken a poker and applied it to his head,

It would be better once the house filled up with people; he could more easily ignore the young woman who was so tempting and persisted upon infringing on his mind.

Ten guests—as house parties went that was not a large number. He could take the gentlemen out shooting one day. There would be the inevitable games of cards. He thought the older gentlemen might enjoy billiards. One never knew about the weather; it could rain. Perhaps they might persuade Miss Herbert— Dru—to entertain them with music?

Whether he liked it or not, he was the host of this affair. His thoughts returned to Dru. Perhaps his friend Ives might find her appealing? Something argued against that, but he ignored the flitting twinge. She was beautiful—he had to admit so obvious a plus. She appeared to be a thoughtful, caring person. However, appearances could be deceptive, as he well knew. She certainly was proficient. Witness the lists she had mentioned.

She was amusing. He had to smile when he recalled her remark about the people who did nothing. Worse yet, it was too true. If you were doing nothing, how would you ever know when you were done? Although the chaps he knew who were famous idlers wouldn’t have understood the notion in the slightest. However, he suspected she had intended the sly allusion for himself. Like many, she was probably convinced that peers did nothing all day. He smiled at that. Even those highly social had some time to devote to estate business. Only a fool would ignore his patrimony.

But the young lady was too outspoken for his tastes. If he had to select traits for a wife, it would never include that!

He settled on a chair before the diminished fire to cogitate on the subject of desirable ladies until he glanced at the clock. Time he was in bed. He wanted to rise betimes. It wasn’t that he did not trust Miss Herbert. He wished to be around to see what she might be up to next. One way or another, she bore watching. That watching her was not in the slightest way onerous, he disregarded.

* * * *

Dru entered the breakfast room with her sheaf of papers in hand, intent upon conferring with Mrs. Simpson as soon as she finished consuming a light breakfast. When she saw who occupied the chair at the head of the table, she stopped at once.

“Oh! Lord Brentford! I did not expect to see you this early.” Dru curtsied, careful not to dislodge her papers.

“Do you need a helping hand?” An odd expression crossed his face as though he wondered what had prompted him to almost offer to help her. She doubted if he had ever in his life had to assist with party arrangements.

“No, thank you. I feel capable of handling what remains to be done. With the rooms assigned and menus approved, the rest is up to the staff.”

“You had better eat something to keep up your strength. From what you said last night, I gather planning is more effort than I had believed.”

Placing the sheaf of papers close to where she intended to sit, Dru selected a light meal. He was right, of course. While she wouldn’t explain to him all that was involved, she had a great deal to see to this day. Tomorrow would likely see the first of the guests arrive.

“That wouldn’t sustain a mouse.” His lordship gave her plate of toast and buttered eggs a dismissive glance.

“I have quite enough, thank you.”

Mrs. Simpson bustled into the room at that moment, sparing Drusilla any additional comments.

“Miss Herbert, when you have finished I hoped you would do the flowers.”

Casting an amused look at his surprised lordship, Drusilla nodded agreement. “Of course. With a riot of spring blooms abounding, I should have some pretty vases done in no time. Her ladyship approved our menus.” She exchanged a look with the housekeeper that said volumes. “And here is the list of which rooms will be in use. I shall be up later on to check them if you wish.”

Although the housekeeper was in charge of arrangements, Drusilla knew full well that running up and down the stairs and inspection of the rooms would be difficult for her and she’d not trust a maid.

Lord Brentford remained blessedly silent until Mrs. Simpson had gathered up the papers and left the room.

“I will go with you while you pick the flowers. Or do you leave that to the head gardener?” The narrow-eyed look he slanted at her was only a bit unnerving.

“He has more than enough to keep him busy. I have a fair notion of what I want. I made a duplicate list of the rooms to be in use and will select flowers to go with the decor of each. But if you like, you may carry a trug for me. I could have a footman assist.” She issued her challenge not only with her eyes but also with her words. Surely he would consider a job like toting a gardening trug to be beneath him? She figured she would be free to roam the gardens at will, enjoying the fragrance without his disturbing presence.

A smile twisted his firm mouth, quite as though he saw through her ploy. “I would deem it a pleasure. Even though this party is not of my making, I can surely add my mite?”

Dru choked on a bite of toast. She hastily swallowed some tea and in a moment was her usual self.

“So be it.” She made her words brisk. She fully intended to continue thus, mostly to keep him at a distance. She wasn’t sure why that was needed, but needed it was.

Adrian studied the down bent head. Her honey blond hair was twisted into an elegant knot. What would that length of honey blond look like hanging down about her shoulders? Spread across a pillow? Tangled on a man’s chest? The image stirred him.

She wore a simple lilac-sprigged muslin gown of tasteful design. With her charm and beauty, quality clothes and exquisite taste, what was she doing serving as a companion to an elderly woman? Surely she didn’t need such a position?

He still wondered about her clothes. In his experience the daughter of a rector did not possess such fine quality. He might not know a great deal about costs, but he knew that the lace trim on her gown was expensive.

She rose from the table. “I will fetch my spencer and bonnet to be ready for the garden outing in a trice ... if you are still of a mind to go with me?” Her voice dared him to accept.

“Oh, I will go with you, my dear.” Adrian was going to see if he could trip her into admitting his mother had bought her stylish clothes. It simply didn’t stand to reason that her father could afford them. She looked too virtuous to be under some fellow’s protection—had she the time to arrange such a matter. Or the inclination.

He was walking slowly about the entryway when she came running lightly down the stairs. Bonnet neatly tied under her chin and a pair of sensible gloves on her hands; she looked far too pretty to be performing tasks for the household.

Or was that what she intended? To charmingly work her way into his mother’s graces in order to reap whatever benefit might be bestowed on her?

Under Priddy’s benevolent gaze, they left the house to aim for the gardens to the rear.

“That is an attractive gown, Miss Herbert. Seems almost too nice to wear for picking flowers.” Adrian cast an admiring look to make his point.

“It is the lace that does it, my lord. My older sister sent us a large packet of lace from Nottingham, where she is with our great-aunt. Mama thinks that Nymph might possibly be made our great-aunt’s heiress. That would be very nice, indeed.” She spoke without a trace of envy in her voice.

“Indeed.” Adrian wondered if there might be more money in the family than he had suspected. If the Reverend Mr. Herbert was nephew to the Earl of Stanwell, it ought to obtain him some manner of preferment. Still, that was neither here nor there as far as Miss Dru was concerned.

She gave him a quizzical look, then picked up the secateurs from the trug. She chose with care. Soon colorful blooms of Persian irises, anemones, and polyanthuses were neatly piled in the trug. They found tulips in the special cutting garden, planted solely for the purpose of flower arrangements in the house. She obtained fragrant stock from the greenhouse.

The sun-warmed earth gave off a pungent odor to mingle with the stock to create a heady aroma. Each of the flowers had its own particular scent, but none so potent as the lavender that clung to Miss Herbert’s skin and clothes. Off in the distance the country charm of leafing trees and newly sprouted fields formed an appealing backdrop for her beauty.