Emily Hendrickson (8 page)

Just as she feared might happen, Drusilla met Lord Brentford at the top of the stairs. She was aware she had done something to displease him, but hadn’t the vaguest notion of what that might be. She plunged into conversation. “I am so glad those two ladies are friends. It makes things so much more pleasant if people at a party like one another.” She paused, then continued at his silence. “I hope that dog behaves.”

He gave Drusilla a cool look she was sure she didn’t deserve. “Was it necessary to be quite so exuberant with Lord Osman?”

“I like the gentleman,” she replied with her customary directness. “I liked him when he was here before and see nothing to alter my opinion as yet. He is your mother’s favorite, and as such it behooves me to be especially kind to him.” She flashed an annoyed glance at Lord Brentford, taking care not to stumble on the steps. The last thing she needed was a twisted ankle or worse.

“There is kind and there is kind. No need to gush.”

“Well, of all the things to say! I was not gushing. If you wish me to really gush over someone, do let me know and I will oblige you!” Drusilla snapped at him. What on earth was the matter with the man?

“Just remember that the very wealthy Lord Osman is here to visit my mother.”

“Of all the ideas!” Drusilla stopped at the bottom of the stairs to glare at the handsome gentleman at her side. Why he couldn’t have a squint or be as bald as a mushroom she didn’t know. If she had to be on her guard with anyone, it was Lord Brentford. Since he had kissed her hand, she viewed him in quite a different manner. She must be wary of him. For all she knew he was attempting to trap her into an indiscretion so she might be fired!

“You are angry.” He looked faintly amused.

“Quite so! I am furious that you would consider me the sort of woman who would flirt with a gentleman who is old enough to be my father merely for financial gain.” She placed her hands on her hips and gave him a tight-lipped, narrow-eyed stare.

He looked away first, then gave her a rueful smile. “If I apologize, will you cease your glowering?”

“Naturally, I must. But do not attribute motives ...” What else she meant to tell him was lost forever when Priddy opened the vast front door to usher in the most exquisite lady Drusilla had been privileged to see. She was a vision of pink-and-white loveliness with dark curly hair entrancingly framing her face beneath a modish pink velvet bonnet with white plumes. Her dark eyes had a pixyish tilt to them, and her mouth looked as though it had been designed for smiling. Possibly kissing, as well.

“Lady Felicia, welcome to my house.” Lord Brentford bowed, taking her hand while giving her a pleased look.

Drusilla was introduced and ignored by the lady. It was curious that while he had kissed Dru’s hand, he didn’t kiss Lady Felicia’s. It was an oddly comforting thought.

The pair walked away utterly engrossed in each other, with Lady Felicia chattering away about mutual friends. Priddy and Drusilla were left to deal with a mountain of luggage, as well as the maid and groom who had come with the vision.

Well, Drusilla decided, she had wondered about Lady Felicia, and she need wonder no more. Lord Brentford looked to be entranced, as well he might. His mother would be thrilled. Drusilla kept her opinion to herself.

Lady Brentford came downstairs to join Lord Osman and the two older ladies. They were strolling to the drawing room when the remaining guests arrived. Sir Bertram Quimby was a tall, thin fellow who possessed a pair of twinkling blue eyes. Lord Somers was short and stout, but looked agreeable even if he wasn’t smiling.

Drusilla arranged for tea and wine, along with seed cake and ratafia biscuits for them. After which she settled the valets and luggage where they belonged. How Mrs. Simpson might have coped with all the ups and downs was beyond Drusilla. She would likely have crawled into bed to emerge a week later. Even Dru felt her stamina tested.

Lord Ives came running lightly down the stairs, just missing Drusilla as she contemplated the remaining stack of baggage and took a step backward. He put a hand on her arm to steady them both. “How does it go? It would seem to me that you have taken over from Mrs. Simpson. A bit frayed, are you?”

Drusilla resented being told she looked a hag, but then, she probably did. A glimpse in the looking glass convinced her that Lord Ives spoke only the truth.

“Only a little frayed.”

“Come with me—play truant for a bit. Priddy will see to everything now that the rooms are settled. Mrs. Simpson can see to the maids and valets without your assistance.”

“How did you know that is what I am doing? I tried to be unobtrusive.” She patted her hair into place, thinking it would be fun to take a respite from her assumed duties.

“Easy.” He took her arm to guide her out to the terrace off the dining room. “Mrs. Simpson wasn’t here.”

Drusilla had to smile at the truism. They walked along the terrace admiring the view, particularly of the distant flower beds. At the far end they encountered Lord Brentford and Lady Felicia.

Lord Ives did not appear pleased at what he saw. Drusilla could feel his arm muscles tighten, and he seemed to retreat even if he didn’t move. “Lady Felicia.” Oh, he was polite, bowing with impeccable grace, but he was cool.

Lady Felicia, on the other hand, was bubbling friendliness. “How lovely to see you again. Lord Ives.” She shifted her gaze to Drusilla and frowned. “I saw you when I came in. Miss Herbert—the companion.”

“She is my mother’s right hand, most competent.” Lord Brentford nodded slightly at Dru.

“Do you have a sister named Priscilla?” At Dru’s nod Lady Felicia explained, “I met her before I left London. She captured the regard of Earl Latimer. You look alike.”

“How interesting,” was all Drusilla managed to say at this startling bit of family news. She observed that Lord Brentford appeared almost as surprised as she did regarding Priscilla’s beau. He had glanced at Dru with a brief frown.

Lord Ives edged closer to Dru, causing her to send him an uncertain glance. Now what?

“There is plenty of time remaining before dinner. Unless you wish to change or refresh yourself, why don’t we enjoy a stroll in the gardens?” Lord Brentford urged.

Lady Felicia agreed, laughing. “I ought to change now, but I will wait. Adrian doesn’t mind me as I am.”

“You always look delightful, my dear.”

Lord Ives took Drusilla firmly by the arm and walked her back along the terrace until they reached the few steps that led to the garden path.

She took a hasty breath. “I gather there is some hurry? Dinner will be”—and she checked the tiny watch pinned to her dress—”in three hours. Perhaps you would like something to drink?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He proceeded to ignore the others and discussed the various flowers at great and knowledgeable length with Drusilla.

Somewhat bewildered, she joined in the discussion, while wondering what prompted his behavior.

Every time she took a peek back at the other pair, she encountered Lord Brentford’s frowning gaze. Perhaps he disapproved of her being with Lord Ives. The baron was all that was charming, and handsome to boot. If she had no problem with the arrangement and the baron seemed pleased, she didn’t know why Lord Brentford should complain. But then, there were some people you simply couldn’t satisfy.

At last they sauntered in the direction of the house. When she had the opportunity, she was going to demand that Lord Brentford explain his antagonism to her friendship with Lord Ives. She doubted if the baron had anything more in mind than a mild flirtation, if that. He was being warmly polite.

“La,” Lady Felicia exclaimed, “I must go to my room. It will take me hours to change and be ready for dinner. Traveling takes such a toll on one.” That she looked as fresh as the flowers in the garden made no difference.

Dru smiled and offered to show her to her room.

“How kind of you. I should like that.” The two young women headed into the house and up the stairs at once.

Adrian watched the pair disappear through the terrace door leading into the dining room, then turned to his friend. “You seem pleased with Miss Herbert’s company. She can be shockingly frank at times.”

Ives looked amused. “I found her charming and surprisingly well-informed on gardening matters.”

“That is likely because my mother dotes on her garden, and Drusilla tries to please her.”

“You seem quite taken with Lady Felicia. She is a beautiful girl, should you like short, dark-haired sprites with a temper. Miss Herbert is tall and regal. I wonder how long that gorgeous blond hair is?” he mused.

Since Adrian had wondered the same thing, he was of no help, although it annoyed him that Ives should contemplate the matter. They strolled along the terrace in silence for a time. Adrian wondered how he could convince Ives that Miss Herbert would be a proper wife and why he wasn’t more enthusiastic about the idea.

“Dru?” Adrian responded without thinking. It was not the done thing to use a nickname for a woman you hardly knew. Although with a friend it should be acceptable.

“You call her Dru?” Ives queried in surprise.

“I think of her that way. If I called her that to her face, I would probably receive a lecture on propriety. The rectory, you know.”

“Ah, yes. I wonder if her sister in London is as lovely. Latimer is not known for pursuing plain women.”

“Likely beauty runs in the family. Lady Felicia has two handsome brothers.”

Eventually they entered the house and went up to their respective rooms to change for dinner.

Adrian admitted he enjoyed seeing Lady Felicia again. He had a strong hunch why his mother had invited her. His dear mother made no secret she wanted to see him wed with grandchildren for her to spoil. Well—he would become better acquainted with the lady and see what developed. She was charming, beautiful, and possessed great poise. She also had an enormous dowry.

Would Dru take an interest in Ives? He had shown an odd reaction to Lady Felicia, behaving in a manner so unlike his normally genial self that Adrian had almost said something. A close look at his face told Adrian to remain silent. It was too much to think Ives might be jealous!

Garbed in proper clothes for the evening, he left his room only to encounter Drusilla slipping from hers to hurry down the hall toward the servant’s back stairs.

He stopped her. “What in the world are you doing?”

Her look could only be described as vexed. “I must see if Mrs. Simpson requires my assistance.”

“I should think she can manage a mere dinner. She has Priddy, the maids, and the footmen to help. You’re a companion, not a servant. Cook isn’t giving her trouble, is he?”

“Not that I know of.” She appeared to gather courage. “Why were you frowning at me while we walked in the garden? I do not think I was doing anything wrong. Or was I?”

“No. No, you were fine. You enjoy Ives’s company?” He couldn’t have explained just why he had frowned at her. He wasn’t certain himself.

“It is difficult to dislike a gentleman who is handsome and pleasant, and who offers no insult.”

“Who offers you insult?” Adrian took hold of her elbow and guided her to the top of the stairs, then down.

“No one at the moment, sir.” Her mouth firmed, and she looked as though given a chance she would sniff in disdain.

He would have pursued the matter if they hadn’t reached the bottom of the stairs and joined the others in the drawing room.

All the ladies had changed for dinner. In their silks and satins they formed a colorful grouping, chatting with the men. Osman wore a green velvet coat that went nicely with Adrian’s mother’s delicate foam-green gown. She might have been buried in the country, but she still had modish gowns. Mrs. Twywhitt wore rose while Cordelia Knight had on a gown of salmon jaconet that gave her a nice color.

Once Ives and Lady Felicia—wearing ice pink and fragile lace—joined them, it was a short time before Priddy announced that dinner was served.

Dinner turned out to be far more pleasant than Drusilla expected. She had decided to use the Wedgwood china with the scenes of classical ruins and the crystal finger bowls that looked so well with it. The marchioness had declared that whatever set of china that Drusilla wished to use was fine with her. The less she had to do, the better, in her sight.

The food was delectable, particularly the roasted turkey. The delicate silver epergne Priddy had polished with such loving care held a luscious-looking pineapple on the top portion with the lower shelves holding various small fruits destined for the sweet course. Cook had made a splendid trifle that was decadently rich.

Lord Somers was on her right, while Lord Ives sat to her left. Both gentlemen were charming. Brought up in the rectory where company was common, Drusilla had early on learned the facility of agreeable conversation suitable for the dining table.

“Brentford told me that you play the pianoforte. Do I dare hope you will entertain us this evening? I enjoy music. I promise to turn pages for you if you will.”

Drusilla glanced at Lord Brentford, then to her ladyship seated close enough to have heard what Lord Ives said. “Of course, if Lady Brentford would wish.”

“Lady Brentford does wish,” that lady said with a winsome smile. “There is something so congenial about fine music following dinner.”

At the foot of the table. Lady Felicia could be observed in animated conversation with Lord Brentford. At the change of courses, she paid scant attention to poor Sir Bertram, then returned her sparkling laugh and beaming gaze back to Lord Brentford.

Drusilla had no doubt that nothing would be said to
that
young lady regarding her high spirits! A lady of her rank could speak as she pleased without censure. Her reflection on the manners of those of rank came to an end when Lord Ives queried her about her sister in London.

“Priscilla went to stay with our aunt, Miss Mercy Herbert. I gather she has been busy, for there has been little news. At least,” she amended, “nothing has been passed along to me. I confess I was pleased to learn she has caught the eye of a fine gentleman, as I gather Lord Latimer is. She deserves something good.”