The Fall of Lord Drayson (Tanglewood Book 1) by Rachael Anderson Page A

earl. She had merely inquired about head injuries in a universal, for the sake of curiosity, sense.
    “And?” said the earl.
    “He said that memory loss is quite common after a head injury and that most regain their memory at some point.”
    “Most?” he asked.
    “I thought that sounded better than ‘few,’” Lucy answered.
    The earl sighed. “Did he happen to mention when I might expect my memory to return?”
    “He couldn’t say,” said Lucy. “Each case is different. Sometimes a few days. Sometimes months.”
    “Months!”
    “I’m afraid that is the truth of it,” said Lucy, withholding the fact that he would discover his true self in less than a fortnight, whether or not his memory returned.
    “Blimey, wot ’appened in ’ere?” Georgina said, standing on the threshold and gaping at the soiled room with a mixture of shock and dismay.
    “Collins happened,” Lucy answered, as though that explained everything.
    “No,” said Collins, apparently unable to hold his tongue any longer. “What happened was a severe case of neglect on the part of the owner. You do realize that flues should be cleaned more than once a century.”
    Lucy nearly pointed out that he was the owner and not the Beresfords, but she swallowed the retort. “Collins, you forget yourself.” Which happens to be the actual truth of it , she thought with amusement.
    His mouth clamped shut again, and his jaw tightened momentarily before he was able to pull himself together. With an edge to his voice, he said, “Do you know where I might find a broom, Georgina?”
    The maid nodded and left to fetch some cleaning supplies. As soon as she was well away, Lucy said, “She prefers to be called Georgy.”
    “And I prefer to call people by their rightful names, don’t you?” There was a hint of challenge in his expression that Lucy could not ignore. Guilt pestered her, but she held her ground.
    “Not when one’s friend prefers to be called something else,” said Lucy.
    “Friend?” asked the earl with a lift of an eyebrow.
    “Yes, friend .”
    He watched her for a moment, his expression a mixture of skepticism and perhaps a little respect. “What about me, Miss Beresford? Am I a friend as well?”
    She did not have to think about that answer. “Not yet.”
    The earl’s lips quirked into a bit of a smile. “So there is hope for even a dreadful servant such as I.”
    “Lest you have forgotten, I am a vicar’s daughter,” she reminded him. “My father taught me to believe there is hope for everyone.”
    His gaze captured hers in a look of interest and intrigue, as though her answer had both surprised and pleased him. Lucy found herself quite disarmed. He was far too handsome for her peace of mind.
    “Where are these elusive parents of yours?” he asked suddenly. “You speak of them often and yet I have not been introduced to either.”
    It was Lucy’s turn to arch her brow. “You’ll have to forgive my lack of manners, Collins. I had no notion that the masters of the house are to be introduced to the servants.”
    The earl nodded and let out a breath. “Touché,” he allowed. “I must apologize for forgetting myself again. It is becoming a bad habit, isn’t it?”
    Lucy smiled. “Yes, that is your primary flaw of late.”
    He chuckled, and the deep, melodious sound sucked some of the chill from the room. If a fire had been blazing in the hearth, despite the ash and soot, the yellow room would feel downright cozy.
    Georgina returned with a broom, a handful of rags, and a bowl of steaming water. She handed the broom to Lord Drayson. Lucy was quick to reach for one of the rags, but before she could dip it in the water, Georgina’s hand clasped hers. “Oh, Miss Lucy, ya mustn’t! This is nah work for a gentlewoman.”
    “Georgy, this argument is wearing on me. When are you going to learn that in my mother’s absence, I am in charge and not you?”
    “Your dress will be ruined,” she said, trying a different