Alissa Baxter
Page 2
Her usually placid grandmother had written to her in the strictest terms that she had had enough of Alexandra’s dilly-dallying and excuses for not being presented in London in the upcoming Season, and had stated unequivocally that she would not countenance Alexandra’s refusal to come to Town. “Because in all truth, my dear child,” she had written, “I cannot possibly imagine what could be your reason for wishing to remain in that rural backwater — unless you imagine yourself in love with the Squire’s son, or some such nonsense. But rest assured, my love, that if that is your reason for refusing to come to London, then the attentions of the polished London gentlemen you will meet, all veritable Tulips of the ton, I assure you, will make you forget any young man on whom you may have set your heart. And, my dear girl, I am quite determined to find you a most eligible husband...”
Alexandra blotted the unpleasant memory of her grandmother’s letter from her mind as she felt a hard tug at the end of the fishing line. She battled for some few minutes with her old enemy and had nearly conquered him when a loud shout nearby startled her, and caused her to lose her footing and topple headlong from the tree-trunk on which she was standing into the icy depths of the stream. She came up sputtering and fuming. Wiping a few wet copper tendrils away from her face, Alexandra saw a pair of shiny brown leather boots directly in her line of vision. Raising her eyes she took in the well-cut buff coloured breeches, the startlingly white shirt and well tied cravat of the gentleman standing in front of her, before her eyes came to rest on the face of Robert Chanderly. He looked exceedingly irate.
“What are you doing trespassing on my land, and fishing in this stream?” he demanded in an icy voice. “I have just stocked this stream with trout of the finest quality and now you are disturbing them.”
Alexandra, impeded by her wet skirts, managed to climb rather inelegantly out of the water. When she eventually stood on the bank of the stream, she declared, “Sir, I am in no way trespassing on this land.”
Mr Chanderly raised his brows. “Are you not?”
Alexandra lifted her chin. “No, I am not! Sir George Durbridge, himself, gave me permission to fish in this stream. A distant cousin of Sir George’s inherited Durbridge Hall when he passed away, but he has not come to take possession of the estate, so I see no reason why I should not continue to fish here.” Alexandra looked challengingly at him. “I would like to know, sir, on what authority you address me in such terms.”
Mr Chanderly studied her for a long moment. Eventually, he drawled, “My dear girl, the authority on which I speak is based on the fact that I happen to be the “distant cousin” you mentioned, and that I now own this estate.”
Alexandra tossed her head. “Well, Mr Chanderly, you took long enough in getting here! Sir George died all of six months ago. And, although I admit that I am trespassing on your lands, you had no right to sneak up on me and shout at me in that appallingly uncivil manner. Due to you I have been forced to have an unseasonal swim, and I’ve lost the fish which has been eluding me these many months past. Really, sir, it was too bad of you!”
Mr Chanderly silently contemplated the girl in front of him, his eyes travelling over the old blue dimity gown which Alexandra always wore when she went fishing. It was in the style of another era, low waisted with full skirts. Alexandra usually wore it when she went fishing because it was comfortable and loosely fitted, but now the wet cloth clung revealingly to her frame, starkly outlining her figure. He raised his brows and finally said, “I realise that it is now the trend for ladies of the more daring set to dampen their skirts in order to show off their figures, Miss Grantham, but you seem to have taken this fashion to the extreme.”
Alexandra felt the colour rush to her cheeks. “Sir, you go beyond the bounds off what is seemly! A — a — gentleman would not comment on...” She came to a halt, averting her eyes from him.
“A gentleman would not comment on the fact that your gown is clinging to your form?” Mr Chanderly said helpfully, his eyes glinting in a most disturbing way for Alexandra’s peace of mind.
“Precisely,” she said pointedly, and turned away from him, ostensibly to pick up her fallen fishing rod, but in reality to regain her shaky composure.
“But then, my dear,” he said gently to her stiff back. “I am no gentleman.”
Alexandra gasped at the audacity of the man and whirled around to stare at her tormentor. For the past week the image of this man had been haunting her, and she had found herself thinking about him at the most inopportune moments. Now he was here before her again, even more disturbing in person than she remembered. Her hands clenched into fists at her side. “May I say that it is not a pleasure to renew my acquaintance with you, Mr Chanderly.”
“Now, now, my dear. Your comment was not that of a lady.”
Alexandra flushed angrily as she realised that Mr Chanderly had adroitly used her previous words to him on her, and several less than polite responses sprang to her mind. But she valiantly bit her tongue, deciding that the best course of action open to her now would be to retreat in haste with dignity. She had no desire to continue arguing with this man while standing before him in a wet gown. It placed her at too great a disadvantage. Therefore, in a carefully neutral voice, she said, “The wind is quite chill, and I am catching cold. I think it is about time that I returned home.”
Mr Chanderly nodded. “Of course.” Looking around, he saw Alexandra’s horse tethered to a nearby tree, but no sign of a groom. “Why are you unescorted?” he asked curtly.
“I always dispense of a groom’s services when I am out riding, Mr Chanderly, because I know the countryside very well, and see no need to burden myself with one,” Alexandra said coolly.
“I beg to differ, but it is not at all the thing to ride unescorted. You may encounter an unsavoury character and have no protection from him.”
“Yes,” Alexandra mused, “I think I discovered that today.”
“Careful, my dear,” he said softly.
Seeing the dangerous light in Mr Chanderly’s eyes and realising that she had gone too far, Alexandra backed away from him, and went to untie Starlight, her chestnut mare. Mr Chanderly followed her, and stood frowning down at her. “I will throw you up into the saddle, and escort you home, Miss Grantham.”
Knowing from her previous experience that it would be futile to argue with him, Alexandra, with a somewhat ill grace, consented to being thrown up into the saddle.
Mr Chanderly mounted his own horse, which was tethered nearby, and said, “The way, Miss Grantham?”
Alexandra looked haughtily across at him. “My home is about a mile down the lane which borders this glade, Mr Chanderly, although I see no reason for you to accompany me. I know the way very well, and sincerely doubt that I will encounter any “unsavoury characters” in this area. Why, most of the people who live here have known me from my babyhood!”
“Nevertheless, Miss Grantham, it would be remiss in my duty as a gentleman to allow you to ride home unescorted,” Mr Chanderly said shortly.
Alexandra opened her eyes very wide. “But, sir, not ten minutes back you informed me most succinctly that you were ‘no gentleman’.”
Mr Chanderly gave a sharp crack of laughter, and looked appreciatively at the audacious young woman riding beside him. “Touché, Miss Grantham. Now I am properly put in my place.”
His admiring look made Alexandra feel uncomfortably warm and, feeling at a loss for words, she seized on the first topic of conversation that she could think of in an attempt to distract Mr Chanderly from scrutinising her flushed face. “Don’t you think that the weather has been unseasonably warm for this time of the year, sir?”
Mr Chanderly smiled at Alexandra’s obvious discomfiture, but merely said, “It has been warm. Many of the London hostesses are hoping that the temperatures will be mild this year so that the al fresco parties and other events that they are planning will not be ruined by inclement weather. Do you, Miss Grantham, go to London for the Season?” he asked abruptly.
“The prospect does not please you?”
“Indeed it does not.”
Mr Chanderly looked his surprise. “How extraordinary! In my experience of young women, most of them are inordinately eager to take the Polite World by storm, and snare themselves eligible husbands. You must be the one remarkable exception, Miss Grantham.”
“I am beginning to think so as well,” Alexandra sighed dismally.
“Forgive me if I am being vulgarly inquisitive, but what are your reasons for not wishing to go to London?” he asked.
Alexandra contemplated giving him an evasive answer, but Mr Chanderly’s expression was so surprisingly sympathetic that she decided to tell him at least part of the reason why she was reluctant to leave her home. “I am loath to leave my brother behind while I go gallivanting off to London, Mr Chanderly. We have been constant companions and friends all our lives, and since our father’s demise the bond has grown stronger. As a child he was an invalid and mostly bedridden and consequently he does not have many friends. If I go, I am afraid that he will be desperately lonely and I...” She left the sentence unfinished.
“You do not have the heart to leave him,” he said. “Your sentiments do you credit Miss Grantham, but you must also think to your own future. I am sure your brother will not wish to stand in the way of your going to London, and finding an eligible husband...”
Alexandra threw a decidedly disdainful glance in his direction. “Sir, it is not the intention of every unmarried female to saddle herself with a husband. I have a considerable independence left me by my father, and have absolutely no intention of getting married, now, or ever for that matter!”
Mr Chanderly looked at the young beauty riding alongside him with a sceptical expression on his face. He knew very well that although she may have no intention of entering the Marriage Mart, once she hit the London scene, she would be actively pursued by every buck and dandy in town, and be positively inundated by offers of marriage. Because, besides her sizeable portion, of which she had so pertly informed him, Alexandra Grantham was a diamond of the first water — a Titian beauty who would stand out from the mass of pale blondes and simpering brunettes who had dominated the London ballrooms for so long. The only factor against Miss Grantham being a resounding success, Mr Chanderly knew, was her outspokenness. She had actually dared to challenge his opinions, and some of her comments were positively scandalous. And, although he found her brand of conversation highly amusing, he knew that many members of the ton would not view her frankness with such leniency. As they rode through the gates of Grantham Place, and carried on up the drive to the charming Elizabethan manor house at the end, he said in a measured voice, “I strongly recommend that if you are to be accepted by Society that you have a care to your speech — and your conduct, Miss Grantham. Hoydenish behaviour, like riding about unattended, is not at all the thing, my girl.”
Alexandra looked at Mr Chanderly indignantly, not sure how she could have thought him understanding and sympathetic beforehand. “I would appreciate your not addressing me as “my girl” in that manner!” she snapped. “And you have absolutely no right, no right at all to stricture my conduct, and cast aspersions on my character. Hoydenish behaviour indeed!”
“You seem not to realise it, my girl,” Mr Chanderly said deliberately, “but your unruly tongue could cause the members of the ton to ostracise you. Simpering misses are the order of the day and red hair, and the fiery temperament which so often accompanies it, have not been fashionable for some time.”
Alexandra decided to ignore the allusion to her hair colour, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her rise to the bait. Instead, she said, “I refuse to change who I am in order to fit in with Society!”
Mr Chanderly looked at her calmly. “You will have to bow to convention if you wish to be accepted into polite circles, Miss Grantham.”
A groom came running to take Alexandra’s horse and help her dismount. She stood now on the first of the shallow steps that led up to the front door of the manor, and looked up at him in frustration.
He continued, “Try to behave in a more mature manner in future, Miss Grantham, and take a groom along with you when you go riding.”
Mr Chanderly raised his hat and bowed from the saddle. “Your servant, ma’am,” he said with a flourish, before turning his horse around and cantering off down the tree-lined drive, a tall splendid figure on a magnificent mount.
Alexandra saw nothing splendid in Mr Chanderly as she stormed up the stairs to the front door. “Insolent, insufferable, interfering man,” she muttered aloud, much to the dismay of the old family retainer, Higgins, who, at that moment, opened the door to his young mistress. Noting the hurt look on his face, Alexandra hastened to assure the elderly man that it was not him of whom she had been speaking. Although Higgins was relieved that her vituperative words were not directed at him, this did not prevent him from scolding her soundly for her wet appearance. “Because indeed, Miss Alexandra, you could end up with an inflammation of the lungs if you do not have a care to your health!” he admonished her.
“Thank you, Higgins, but I am perfectly well,” Alexandra assured him shortly, before sweeping up the stairs to her bedchamber, stepping out of her gown, ringing the bell violently for her maid, and collapsing on her bed in high dudgeon. “Insolent, insufferable man, I will have you know that I am my own person, and that I shall do precisely as I please,” she muttered to herself again, much to the astonishment of Hobbes who, having knocked on the door and hearing no reply, had entered the room. Catching sight of her maid, Alexandra pointed at the wet gown lying on the floor, and said tersely. “Take that — and burn it, Hobbes! I never wish to see it again!”
“You wish me to — to — burn it, Miss Alexandra?” Hobbes asked, a bewildered expression on her face.
“Yes, do. Take the horrid thing away.”
The maid picked up the offending garment from the floor and, after executing a quick curtsey, hurried out of the room with it, making straight for the kitchens where she related in a concerned voice to Mrs Jones, the cook, that she was of the opinion that the unseasonably warm weather had given Miss Alexandra a touch of the sun. “Because, indeed, Molly,” she said, “there can be no other explanation for such odd behaviour!”
Chapter Three
Alexandra stared moodily at her breakfast plate the next morning. She had not slept well the previous night, and felt at odds with the world. She was thinking of all the crushing replies she should have made to Mr Chanderly when he had told her to behave in a more mature manner. Sighing, Alexandra thought that it was such a pity that one only thought of those clever responses when it was too late to utter them. Her brother’s exasperated voice finally penetrated her brown study and she looked up with a start when he said loudly, “Alexandra! I have asked you the same question three times without a response from you! You have not been listening to a word that I have been saying. You were the same last night. You left me to converse with Aunt Eliza whilst you sat in your chair, scowling at your plate. What ever is the matter?”
“I’m sorry, John,” Alexandra said contritely. She had decided not to mention her ill-fated encounters with Mr Chanderly to anyone, and had even refrained from telling her brother about them. Realising that he was waiting for an explanation from her for her behaviour she seized on her grandmother’s letter to explain her unwonted fit of the dismals. “It is only that Grandmama has written to me, insisting that I go to London for the Season, and I do not wish to go, and leave you here, all alone.”
Her brother looked at her with a decidedly stern expression in his eyes. Sir John Grantham was a couple of years older than his sister and he had a likeness of her, possessing the same blue eyes and fair skin. But, his hair was a lighter shade than Alexandra’s and constant ill health had left its mark on his face, etching lines of strain
around his mouth and eyes. Though he was not a handsome young man, there was a certain gentleness of expression, and a humorous look in his eyes, which endeared him to all who knew him. Now, however, he was looking at his sister in considerable annoyance. “Alexandra, I won’t let you “sacrifice” your future for me. No matter what you may think I am sure to go on exceedingly well without you here. I will certainly miss you once you are in London, but I won’t repine, I assure you. Even though Grantham Place is isolated, I have my books, and the running of the estate to keep me occupied.”
Alexandra shook her head. “But you will be left here all alone, John, with only Aunt for company!”
“It is past time you were presented, Alexandra,” John said firmly. “Father particularly wanted Grandmama to bring you out, and if we had not been in mourning for Papa, you would have been presented last year. You are nineteen years old already, Alex. You must go to London, now.”
Alexandra looked at her brother in consternation. “But John! I thought you would be averse to the idea of my going to London!”
“You cannot think me so selfish that I would begrudge you a London Season, Alexandra!” John said. “Besides,” he continued, smiling, “I have been considering the idea of coming up to London in order to visit you — once you are settled in, of course.”
With considerable difficulty Alexandra managed to hide her dismay at this news. John had suffered from a consistent bronchial complaint his whole life which condition, she knew, would only be exacerbated by the London air. But knowing full well that her brother disliked more than anything to be reminded of his ill-health — deploring the attentions of what he termed “fussing females”, Alexandra merely smiled at him, responding in an enthusiastic voice that she was delighted that he felt the way he did about her imminent departure, and that she would look forward to seeing him in London.