Emily Hendrickson (7 page)

She paused for a few moments, staring off into the distance, then bent to her self-appointed task once again.

Adrian was fascinated with her selection of flowers. She added sprays of greenery in various shades of green from yellowish to gray. It would be interesting to see what she did with these.

“There,” she said with a note of finality. “There are so many arrangements to create. Most of them are dainty—for the bedrooms, you see, plus a few others.”

“You will really have a job on your hands, Miss Herbert, one you will no doubt do well.” He noted the puzzled look she gave him and smiled. He fully intended to keep Dru on her toes. It was the best way to deal with an opponent. And he definitely considered Drusilla Herbert an opponent—until he was proven wrong about her.

The other feeling he had would be tamped down, buried. There was no place in his life for an outspoken, managing female! Even if she was beautiful. Like now, with that aqua-blue spencer reflecting the glorious color of her eyes, he admitted she looked delightful.

It was a pity, really. She was beautiful, well-spoken, graceful, and considerate of his mother. Therein was the problem. She cared just a little too much and he did not trust that.

Carrying the trug, now loaded with colorful blooms, he strolled at her side until they reached the kitchen entry.

“We had best part ways here, my lord. I shall be going to a small room next to the scullery to arrange the flowers.”

Adrian almost smiled. She looked anxious to be away from him, like she escaped from an ogre. He wasn’t a vain man, but he knew his worth. Never before in his life had he experienced such behavior, accustomed to the opposite. He confessed it nettled him a trifle. And to have it come from a country rector’s daughter made it all the more vexing. Surely she knew his position in Society? A marquess? Well, her great-uncle was an earl, so she should have some idea.

Aware she was waiting, looking at him with that perplexed expression again, Adrian hastily handed her the flower-laden trug. “I shall see you at luncheon, I fancy.” Without waiting to see what she did, he turned, briskly walking off around the opposite side of the house.

Drusilla stood where she was a few moments, trying to guess what she might make of his behavior. At last, called to her tasks when the kitchen cat wound its way around her ankles, she went into the room with a briskness that matched his lordship’s stride.

She placed completed arrangements on the wooden tray used for this purpose, then went up the back stairs to put them in the various rooms. Once the bedrooms were done, she returned to the ground floor by the central staircase.

Priddy opened the front door just as she reached the final few steps. She frankly stared as a very handsome gentleman entered, handing his tall hat to Priddy to reveal a neat head of brown hair, only faintly windblown. He was of medium height and perfectly groomed in excellent, if subdued, taste. A gray coat over a dove-gray waistcoat blended with dark gray breeches. His black books had a shine to equal that of the boots Lord Brentford wore.

She met his gaze in a fluster of confusion. That she could stare so at a stranger embarrassed her. His gray eyes seemed kind. Perhaps he was accustomed to young women ogling him in an utterly shameless manner? She took another step, intent upon escaping.

“Welcome, Lord Ives,” Priddy intoned at his most starchy fashion.

Having handed Priddy a copy of the room arrangements, she knew that Lord Ives would be placed in the gold room. She hoped he liked the small arrangement of yellow tulips, polyanthus, and a few bluebells for contrast that she had just set on a bedside table. Then she inwardly grinned. How silly. Gentlemen rarely noticed flowers in a room.

At that moment Lord Brentford emerged from his library to walk smartly along to the entry hall.

“Ives! Good fellow! I hoped you might arrive before the rest of the group. Welcome!” The two men shook hands with more animation than a frozen-in-place Drusilla would have expected.

“Come, you must meet my mother’s companion.”

He drew his friend along to where Drusilla still stood and performed the introduction smoothly, with the ease of long practice.

Drusilla felt herself inspected most thoughtfully, as if they had discussed her previously and now this stranger was weighing her up—which had to be utter nonsense. Why would her name occur in any conversation between these two friends? Unless . . . but that was absurd. Why would Lord Brentford even mention her? She was no more than a companion to his mother.

“How pleasant you could join Lord Brentford in the celebration for his mother’s birthday. I trust you will enjoy yourself.” Drusilla hastily excused herself, then hurried of to the tiny room where she arranged the flowers. There were still the large arrangements for the entry hall and the drawing room to complete.

* * * *

Adrian glanced after the departing Dru Herbert before returning his gaze to his friend. He nodded ever so slightly before ushering Ives to the library for a welcoming drink.

“That
is your mother’s companion?” Ives inquired in a quiet but surprised tone. “She is not at all what I anticipated, old friend. Where is the harpy, the conniving, money-grubbing female out to steal from your parent? You must see that she in an incomparable!”

“Yes, well,” Adrian sputtered. Really, he would have to check any reaction he might feel toward Dru Herbert while others were in the house. Ives always did see too much. “I suppose she is what might be expected from a rectory. Do recall she is great-niece to the Earl of Stanwell.”

“You say that as though it is some sort of excuse. Does she, then, rely on her connection?” Gray eyes assessed Adrian in a way that made him somewhat uncomfortable.

“Never.” Adrian felt compelled to correct any impression he might have given regarding Dru Herbert. “She appears to be a caring, thoughtful young woman. Capable and modest as well . . . and very outspoken,” he concluded reluctantly. Were he to interest Ives in Dru, he had to be honest. Otherwise Ives would catch her out and be quite annoyed.

“Tell me, are rectory girls always of such beauty?” Ives spoke over his shoulder as he strolled across the vast expanse of the library to gaze out of the window at the scene beyond.

“I wouldn’t know.” Adrian hoped that Lady Felicia would arrive before long. Unless he could convince Ives to discuss something else, he would probably worm more from his host than wanted.

“I always have to admire your grounds, Brentford. If I could, I would spirit your heard gardener away from you.”

“Try,” Adrian said with a smile that concealed his relief at the change of topic. “He is well paid and devoted to my mother.” He thought a moment, then added with a note of surprise, “And he seems to have taken to Miss Herbert, too. I cannot recall when he has permitted anyone the freedom to cut as they please in his garden.”

“So she is a charmer as well?”

Adrian struggled with being honest and concealing his pleasure in her company. He might not fully trust her, but she was a tempting young woman. “It would seem so.”

Apparently his reluctance to discuss Miss Herbert was not missed. Ives adroitly changed the topic. “Who else joins us this week?”

“Lady Felicia Tait, plus Mrs. Twywhitt, Miss Cordelia Knight, Lord Osman, Sir Bertram Quimby, and Lord Somers.”

“If I guess rightly, your mother means to pair you with Lady Felicia. That would place me in the company of the beautiful Miss Herbert! Well, well. How nice of your mother.”

Adrian agreed in part. While he was aware of his parent’s desire to see him suitably wed, he was not certain that Lady Felicia was the one he would choose.

“It should be interesting. Lord Osman is definitely interested in your mother. Naturally you have secured her fortune.” Ives studied Adrian with an inscrutable gaze.

Adrian smarted at the memory of Miss Herbert asking him the same thing. “Naturally. Mother may be as clever as can be, but finances are not a strong point with her.”

“Few women are clever with numbers. I suppose the valuable Miss Herbert can manage a household account in her stride?” There was a hint of irony in his voice.

Adrian shook his head, determined not to sound disgruntled. “I suspect that Miss Herbert can do anything she sets her mind to doing. She is a remarkable woman.”

Ives set down his empty glass before turning the conversation to people they both knew in Town. London was in the height of the Season; much was going on. To be away even for a few days meant there would be gossip to hear.

“I bumped into Harry Metcalf and his friend Gregory Vane before I left. They wondered where I was headed. Harry said something about looking in on you some vague date in the future.”

“Harry is a good chap. Always enjoy his company. I do not know Vane as well.” Adrian allowed his curiosity to color his voice, making his remark a query.

“Nice chap, perhaps a bit more reserved than Harry. I expect they will pop in when you least expect them.”

Adrian shared a grin with Ives. “Just as long as they don’t appear during my mother’s house party.”

* * * *

Dru busied herself with the flowers, creating an arrangement of surpassing beauty for the entry hall. Arranging flowers was an art she had enjoyed for years. Her family knew how much pleasure she derived from her gift, and the job was always hers at home. It allowed her thoughts free rein.

Lord Ives was certainly a surprise, handsome with manners just as polished as his boots. She wondered about Lady Felicia. Most likely she would be a gorgeous creature.

Then she reflected on the numbers and realized that if Lady Brentford intended Lady Felicia for her son, she intended Lord Ives to partner Drusilla. Now
that
was absurd. She ought to have invited a young lady for Lord Ives as well. Perhaps there might be someone suitable to be found in the local area? It would be wise to take note when in church next Sunday.

Drusilla reminded herself that she was not here to find a husband. Ridiculous, the very thought of catching a gentleman who would be a guest in this house! Only the premier members of the
ton
would be invited to visit here at any time. She must remember her place. While she was of acceptable gentry, she was employed here as a companion. Nothing more.

Her arrangement completed, she carried it into the hall toward the drawing room. As she approached the library, she noticed that the door was partly open. Hurrying her steps, for she had no intention of listening to anything that might be said therein, she faltered when she heard the words “capable and modest as well . . . and very outspoken” said by Lord Brentford.

She couldn’t imagine who he meant if he didn’t refer to her. He had told her she was outspoken. And now he said it as though it were much to her detriment.

Her soft footsteps were lost in the vastness of the entry hall, with its thick Turkey carpet to give color and warmth. Once in the drawing room, she wondered why those words hurt so much. Capable and modest were faint praise at best, and outspoken was damning at worst. Why should it matter what he thought of her? He made her sound dreary and dull, quite right for a rectory miss.

Chapter Five

The flurry of activity the following day made Drusilla long for the peace of the gardens. Even the bustle of the rectory was more agreeable. On the other hand, this all was rather exciting, if taxing.

The guests began arriving in early afternoon. First, Lord Osman entered the house with a hearty greeting for Lord Brentford and a warm one for Drusilla.

Remembering him well from when he had captivated Lady Brentford on the previous visit, Drusilla responded with unguarded pleasure. “Lord Osman, so good to see you again. I trust you had a tolerable trip?”

The elderly gentleman took her proffered hand in both of his, exclaiming, “My dear girl, I can see you are in blooming health. As to my trip—it was barely tolerable. Roads are a disaster as usual. Perhaps some-day they will find a proper means of draining off the water after a rain so that we can escape the ruts.”

Only when she turned away to remind Priddy which room was assigned to Lord Osman did she catch sight of Lord Brentford’s expression. He stared at her with eyes full of cynicism. She did
not
know why he was so suspicious of her. What had she ever done to him? Although, when she considered the direction of his remarks, she wondered if he thought perhaps she hoped to gain more than employment from his mother. Dismissing that notion as unworthy of a marquess, she decided to ponder it later.

Her enjoyment dimmed, she nonetheless went about her task with brisk capability. Close on Lord Osman’s heels came Miss Knight, followed almost at once by Mrs. Twywhitt.

Miss Knight had a little dog with her, a King Charles spaniel. Drusilla, recalling a neighbor’s nasty King Charles spaniel that had a habit of nipping ankles, kept her distance from it.

“Don’t be afraid of my Binky,” Miss Knight cried. “He is a dear little lamb. He loves everyone. I have never had him nip at a soul, bless his little heart.”

“Cordelia, you spoil the beast.” Mrs. Twywhitt smiled at Drusilla, adding, “I will admit he is a good little dog and is very quiet. You needn’t fear him barking at all hours of the day.”

Miss Knight held her pet out so Drusilla might pat the little creature. With more caution than anything, Dru gave it a tentative stroke on the head to be rewarded with a lick on her hand. Just so he left her ankles alone, all would be well.

From the top of the stairs. Kitty surveyed the arrival and disappeared into Lady Brentford’s room, likely intending not to be seen until her enemy departed!

Since Priddy was busy answering Lord Osman’s queries, Drusilla took it upon herself to escort the ladies to their rooms. Fortunately, the pair knew each other well, and what was even better, appeared to like one another. Drusilla was glad she had put them in adjacent rooms. Their maids followed to learn which of the rooms had been assigned to their mistresses, then disappeared to supervise luggage.

At the other end of the long hall. Lord Osman chatted with Lord Brentford, who had kindly walked with him to his room, leaving Priddy to oversee baggage, footmen, maids, Lord Osman’s valet, and any guest arriving in the interim.