Read The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) Online
Authors: Rachael Anderson
Tags: #Regency Romance, #clean romance, #sweet romance, #Historical, #inspirational romance, #Humor, #love
The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1)
Other Books by Rachael Anderson
© 2016 Rachael Anderson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real. The opinions and views expressed herein belong solely to the author and do not necessarily represent the opinions or views of HEA Publishing, LLC. Permission for the use of sources, graphics, and photos is also solely the responsibility of the author.
ISBN:
978-1-941363-17-1
Published by HEA Publishing
Oh, what a tangled web we weave
When first we practise to deceive!
—Sir Walter Scott,
Marmion
Miss Lucy Beresford, the late-vicar’s daughter, had been instructed by her loving parents to always tell the truth. It was the good and moral thing to do, and Lucy doted on them, so she had striven to follow the wise counsel. The last time she had fibbed to her parents was at the young age of eleven, when she had returned home quite disheveled after a disheartening grasshopper race.
Young ladies of good breeding did not catch, race, or wager on grasshoppers with the farmer’s sons. That would be most unseemly, as Lucy well knew, which was why she explained to her mother that she had found a small bird stuck in a marsh and had muddied her skirts in an attempt to free it. The lie worked beautifully until Johnny’s papa had dragged Johnny to the vicarage to force an apology and return the guinea Lucy had wagered and lost when her grasshopper decided it would rather sunbathe than hop.
The lie thus exposed, Mr. and Mrs. Beresford did not scold or exact any sort of punishment. Mr. Beresford had merely looked upon his daughter with a sad countenance and said, “I am deeply disappointed in you, Lucille.”
He had used her full name—he
never
used her full name—and Lucy had never felt more awful. From that moment on, she had determined to refrain from telling another falsehood as long as she lived.
Eight years later, at the ripe age of nineteen, Lucy prided herself on holding true to that promise, although certain situations did require some creative truth-telling. Such was the case the day Lucy spotted Mrs. Manning emerging from the milliner’s wearing a new bonnet. The creation had an exceptionally large poke that fanned around Mrs. Manning’s thin and angular face, and with the added variegated blue feathers splaying out in all directions, the woman looked a bit like a peacock on display.
She spotted Lucy and rushed to her side. “What do you think of my new hat, Lucy? It only just arrived from London, where it is all the rage, I hear.”
Rather than tell Mrs. Manning the thing ought to be sent back to London straightaway, Lucy responded with warmth. “It is quite sensational, Mrs. Manning. I’ll wager you will be the center of attention wherever you go.”
Beaming, Mrs. Manning patted Lucy’s hand. “You are always such a dear.” She pranced away, wearing a ghastly bonnet and a radiant smile.
Lucy continued on with a smile of her own, happy in the knowledge that she could still be counted among the truthful. Her father, had he still been alive, would have been proud.
Not two days later, on a dreary March morning, Miss Lucy Beresford had the misfortune of encountering a gentleman who provoked Lucy into doing something that would greatly distress her mother and cause her father to roll over in his grave.
For the first time since Lucy had made her vow eight years prior, creative story-telling wouldn’t do, nor a little white lie either. No, what came out of Lucy’s mouth was nothing less than a plunker.
“Sell?” Erasmus Graham, the long-time bailiff of Tanglewood, abruptly pulled on the reins, bringing his grey to a halt. His bushy eyebrows mashed together over bulging eyes. “You want to
sell
Tanglewood, my lord?”
“I believe that is what I said, yes.” Colin Cavendish, the fifth Earl of Drayson, pulled the brim of his beaver hat lower over his forehead to better protect his face against the freezing rain. Even through his heavy riding coat, his body began to chill. Perhaps he should not have sent his valet ahead to London earlier that morning. If the skies had not looked so welcoming only hours before, he would not have done so. Wet clothes were deucedly difficult to remove without assistance.
Colin sighed and looked out over the vast estate, wondering what his grandfather had first seen in the austere and unwelcoming property. Under the thick smothering of clouds, the massive stone edifice, Tanglewood Manor, glistened in the drizzle between overgrown trees. The picture it created suffocated him, and Colin felt the sudden need to loosen his necktie.
No wonder his mother had insisted on raising her children in the family’s charming country estate in Danbury, Essex.
“Sir, this house has been in your family for four generations. Your father once climbed those trees and fished from the streams yonder. And now you wish to sell?” Erasmus continued to gape, even though his hat offered little protection from the rain.
“It is not entailed, so yes, that is precisely what I intend to do.” The earl gestured to the manor house. “The few servants we have retained are not able to keep it up, the estate is only barely profitable, and Yorkshire is a far cry from Essex. No one in the family has lived here in ages, and the neglect is obvious. We need to sell while we still can.”
“You could return for a time and renovate,” the bailiff tried.
“For what purpose? So it can remain vacant for twenty years more?”
“What of The Honorable James? Or Lady Charlotte or Lady Harriett? Do none of your siblings wish to retain it?”
The earl smiled grimly at the image of Charlotte ensconced here—a two-day drive from London. She would consider it the worst sort of entrapment. “Charlotte and James prefer the polish and glamour of the city, and Harriett, like our mother, enjoys Danbury.”
“If Lady Harriett prefers the country, perhaps—”
“My mother would never hear of it, Erasmus. It is too far from Danbury. And surely you remember Lady Drayson well enough to know how convincing she can be. It was her persistence, after all, that removed my family from Askern in the first place. It is of no use arguing. Like it or not, Tanglewood will soon be sold and off my hands.”
Erasmus shifted in his saddle and heaved a heavy sigh. “I was certain you had come with happier tidings, my lord. Why make such a long trip only to instruct me to sell?”
The earl’s Arabian danced to the side, no doubt anxious to be out of the rain as well. “I had some business in Lancashire, so it wasn’t too arduous a journey. And, as you stated before, this place meant something to my father and grandfather, so I suppose I wanted to see for myself if it inspired any sympathetic stirrings. Unfortunately, one glance was all it took to convince me that I’m right. Tanglewood has served its purpose in my family history, and it is past time to see that it stays there. For your sake, I truly am sorry, but I’m certain I can convince the buyer to keep you on. You have served our family most faithfully.”
“If I had done a better job, perhaps you would not be so anxious to be rid of it.”
The earl was ready to leave the rain behind and move this meeting indoors. “Come now, Erasmus, do not add to the dreariness of the day with such self-pitying thoughts. You could have done nothing more for this place, as you well know.”
The man swiped a soaked sleeve across his forehead, smearing the rain and sweeping his eyebrows into miniature Brutuses. “It is not myself I’m sorry for, my lord. What of Mrs. and Miss Beresford? What will become of them?”
The names meant nothing to Colin. “Who?”
“The late vicar’s wife and daughter. They are currently occupying the dower house.”
“What?” Colin’s Arabian whinnied, making its impatience known, but the earl no longer cared about the cold. He pulled on the reigns to keep his horse steady. “Who authorized such an arrangement?”
“Two years past, when the reverend contracted a disease of the lungs and died, your father offered the dower house to his widow and daughter. They have been residing there since.”
“Why have I not heard of this before?” Colin said.
“My apologies, my lord. I assumed you already knew. Your father—”
“Was a sentimental fool,” inserted Colin, more than a little annoyed by this latest development.
“Sir.” The bailiff’s tone was one of reproof.
The earl dismissed the rebuke with a wave of his soaked glove. “You know as well as I that everyone was fond of my father, including me. But these six month’s past I have been tidying up a rather large mess he left at my door, and when I begin to think it is finally at an end, I discover he has let out the dower house of a property I wish to sell as soon as humanly possible. Even a saint would be vexed, Erasmus, and I am no saint.”