"Such a magnificent home must belong to an important man."
"The Marquess of Sandhill owns Westwood, though he is not here often."
"Surely your father enjoys seeing kindred souls—your families must dine with one another?" It would be a stroke of rare luck to discover so easily a night Sandhill was to be absent from Westwood.
"Father may visit occasionally when they are up from London, but on the whole, he tries to avoid it, even though he is said to have an extensive library."
Allegra sucked in her breath but Max didn't seem to notice as he chuckled over some private remembrance. "Actually, Father finds the fellow a prosy bore. Says he is as unforgivably ignorant, considering what treasures he has. Pearls before swine is the term he used, I think."
"Some people acquire priceless things simply out of greed," she said softly.
Max looked at her quizzically. "Are you acquainted with Lord Sandhill?"
Her lips compressed in regret of her rash words. It was apparent she would have to be as careful around the son as around the father. She forced herself to laugh, hoping her voice didn't sound as strained as it did to her own ears. "I am hardly in the habit of keeping company with such prominent members of the ton."
He grinned. "You aren't missing anything. Lady Sandhill is an insufferable bore as well, puffed up with the sense of her own importance."
She fiddled with the strings of her bonnet, somehow relieved to learn that neither Max nor the earl cared overly much for their neighbors. Why it should matter, she wasn't sure. After all, her plans were none of their business.
Picking up the folds of her skirts, she rose. "I suppose we had better return, lest you be late for supper." A mischievous tone crept into her voice. "I wouldn't want to give your father any cause to think me a bad influence on you."
Max scrambled to his feet. "You? A bad influence?" he scoffed. "How could he possibly think that!"
* * *
Clouds the color of slate hung low over the moor. But despite the threat of rain, Allegra took up her sketchbook after a light luncheon and headed with resolute strides towards the lake Max had spoken of. If there was a shortcut to Westwood Manor, she meant to explore it thoroughly and learn every twist and turn, so that she could find her way without misstep, when the time came.
A glance at the ominous weather had convinced Max to remain indoors after the lessons were done for the day. Though she enjoyed his company, Allegra was not sorry he had decided wrestle with a particularly difficult passage of Virgil rather than ask if he might accompany her. It certainly wouldn't do for the lad to notice her taking any further interest in the neighboring estate. He was too sharp by half not to put things together later on if she didn't keep a closer rein on herself. Still, the information she had gleaned had been worth the risk.
A few drops splashed onto her sketchbook. Max was also too sharp by half to be wandering around like a goose in the rain, she thought ruefully as she hurried her steps along the path.
* * *
Wrexham turned his attention from the library window—and lone figure striding towards the copse of elms—back to the pages of his treatise on the productivity of different soil types. It appeared that Mrs. Proctor was one of those stubborn types who insisted on taking a constitutional, no matter what the weather. Well, it served her right if she got thoroughly soaked this time. He shifted in his comfortable chair and moved his long legs closer to the warmth of the fire, the slightest touch of smugness stealing into his expression. She should have better sense than to venture out on a day like this.
* * *
Several hours later, Allegra returned through one of the back entrances and shrugged out of her rain-spattered cloak, her spirits nonetheless undampened. She had been lucky in all respects. Although a light drizzle had fallen intermittently, the leaden skies had not opened up on her. And as her chilled fingers fumbled with the strings of her bonnet she noted with grim satisfaction that even if they had, the drenching would have been well worth it. Max's casual comment had proved to be invaluable. The new route was perfect.
It was almost time to put her plans in motion.
She scraped the mud from her half boots and quickly made her way up the stairs, looking forward to changing into dry clothing and fetching a hot cup of tea. After supper there would be ample time to sit down to study her sketchpads. There were still some final decisions to be made.
As she came around the corner of the hallway, her brows drew together. The door to her room was slightly ajar. She was always very careful to shut it firmly, but perhaps one of the maid had been in to dust or change the linens and had not closed it properly.
It swung open at her touch.
"Max!" Her surprise was so great she nearly let the sketchbook slip from her fingers. The initial feeling shock quickly changed to one of wariness, especially on noting in his ashen face and the set of his jaw. "What are you doing in my bedchamber?" she demanded in a voice barely above a whisper, though she feared she already knew the answer.
He rose from the edge of her bed. "Close the door, Mrs. Proctor. I believe we had better talk." His hand gestured towards her open trunk, where a pistol, a length of rope and an assortment of men's clothing lay in full view. "Perhaps you would care to explain what is going on here?"
Chapter 3
"And perhaps you would care to explain what you were doing snooping through my belongings," replied Allegra calmly, though she was griping her book so tightly that her knuckles were nearly white.
Max had the grace to look discomfited. "I did not exactly mean to be snooping through your trunk. I was having difficulty with a Latin word and remembered you had mentioned that you had a special dictionary. I knocked, then thought you would not mind if I borrowed it for the afternoon. When it wasn't on your desk, I opened you trunk without ever thinking..." There was a catch in his voice. "I cannot believe that you are naught but a charlatan! I prevailed upon my father—much against his wishes, as you well know—to allow you to take up your position. I thought you were my friend, but is this how you mean to repay us—by... by planning to murder us in our beds and rob..."
"No!" she cried. "I promise you, Max, this has nothing to do with you or your family."
His eyes betrayed how much he wanted to believe her, despite his grim countenance. "Well? I am listening."
Allegra let out a sigh as she sat down the bed. "Would that you would simply take my word." Her voice rose in question, but a dogged shake of his head made it clear he would not be fobbed off so easily.
"No, I didn't really imagine you would," she murmured. There was a long silence as she found herself wondering whether the earl would haul her before the local magistrate or show a semblance of mercy and merely cast her from the house with the warning to be gone from the area by nightfall. She gave an involuntary shudder. Could one be transported for simply the intention of committing a serious crime?
Then she chided herself for cowardice. It was no use lamenting the consequences of her actions. She had known full well the risks involved...
"Please, Mrs. Proctor. Tell me the truth."
There was something so eloquent about his simple appeal that she found herself wavering in her resolve to keep her secret.
"Oh, Max." Still she hesitated. The she looked at his anxious face, raw with doubt, and made up her mind.
The tale took much longer than necessary, since he insisted on interrupting every few sentences.
"The sodding bastard," he exclaimed, when she had finally come to the end.
"Max! "
"Sorry. Father says it—but only when he's really, really angry," he admitted.
She gave a tight smile as she wondered what epithet the earl would use in her case if he knew what Max now knew. "I'm still your tutor, and as such, I must ask that you moderate your language, young man."
He grinned. "Very well. I shall keep a more careful rein on my tongue, But when are we going to begin—"
"We?" she interrupted.
&nb
sp; Max looked puzzled.
"We?" she repeated. "We are not going to begin anything. You must have windmills in your head if you think for a moment that I am going to let you get involved."
"Of course I'm going to help you!" His eyes had a dangerous light to them. "Do you think I'd stand by and see such an injustice go unpunished if I could help it?"
Allegra bit her lip. "Max," she began patiently. "I told you the story to show I trusted you. Now, you must trust me when I say there is no way I can allow you to get mixed up in this affair. Why, only think of how your father would react if he knew..."
"I'll tell him. I'll tell him everything if you don't let me help you."
She stared at him, aghast. "Why, that's blackmail, Max!"
He crossed his arms and stood firm.
"It's... ungentlemanly!" she continued.
That, at least, brought a touch of color to his face. "Well, it's for the higher good," he countered.
Her mouth opened, and then closed again.
"Besides," he went on, before she could speak. "You are going to need help if you really mean to carry this off. For instance, how will you ever learn when Lord Sandhill is to be out for the evening? Or how do you think you will manage the wall surrounding the gardens without assistance?"
There was dead silence. Those were just the sorts of questions she had been asking herself.
"You see!" he cried triumphantly when she didn't answer.
"Max, this isn't a game. It's dangerous, and if you are caught..." She blanched. "I don't even want to think about it."
"Then we must see to it that we don't get caught."
She started to argue but he cut her off. "I'm not a child anymore, Mrs. Proctor. I can make up my own mind on what is right and wrong. Please. Let me help you."
"Do I have a choice?"
He shook his head. "Actually, you do not."
She closed her eyes. "Why do I have the feeling that somehow I'm going to regret letting you talk me into this."
Max couldn't repress the gleam of adventure in his eyes. "You won't, I promise you. Now, let's see that drawing of the west wing."
Allegra reluctantly opened her sketchbook. "Heaven help me if your father ever learns of this."
Max gave a wan smile. "Heaven help us both."
* * *
The day was one for curling up by a roaring fire. A cold, intermittent drizzle had been falling since first light and the sharp gusts blowing in off the moor seemed early harbingers of the coming autumn. Allegra set aside a bit of mending she was doing and decided to visit the kitchen for a cup of tea. There had been no lessons that morning, as Max had engaged to go shooting with his father, so she was accorded the rare pleasure of an entire day to herself. But already most of it was gone, taken up with the little tasks she had been putting off for an age. After a comfortable coze with Cook, there might still be time to browse through the earl's splendid selection of books for a volume to borrow before the owner returned.
Allegra finished her steaming cup while listening to the litany of ailments that could plague a female of indeterminate years if certain draughts and powders were not consumed each day. Excusing herself with a smile and a promise to pay heed to such sage advice, she slipped through the pantry, relieved to have escaped without having to actually sample the noxious brews. A narrow corridor led back to the main wing and she was just turning the corner when a small back door opened and the earl and Max came in.
Mud encrusted their boots and drops of water clung to the thick wool of their hunting coats. A brace of grouse dangled over Max's shoulder, eyed with a hungry intensity by the shaggy hound at his side. The raw weather had brought an edge of color to the cheeks of both father and son, and with his windblown locks tousled in boyish disarray, Allegra had to admit that the earl hardly appeared a gentleman in his dotage. In fact, he looked more an older sibling than aging parent. His lean form radiated the same youthful energy as Max's, but there was also a vibrant masculinity about him not yet evident in his son.
They were unaware of her presence and a friendly bantering continued as the door fell closed.
"You young pup," exclaimed Wrexham. He threw a playful cuff at Max's head. "You think you could plant me a facer, do you? Not bloody likely!"
Max dodged the blow. "If I could spar with Gentleman Jackson for a bit, I bet I could put you on your tail!" he retorted. Then his voice turned wistful. "Couldn't we visit London soon? You promised that when I was no longer a child—and look! I'm nearly as tall as you are!"
The top of Max's head almost touched the earl's nose. "A veritable giant," he drawled, drawing a yelp of outrage from his son.
"You're mocking me!" Max jabbed a punch at Wrexham's shoulder and the two of them fell into a mock scuffle. Feathers began to fly as Sasha took advantage of the lad's lapse of attention and began to snap wildly at the swinging birds.
Allegra stifled the urge to giggle.
The earl's head came up abruptly and he caught sight of her. He straightened slowly, running his long fingers through his damp locks and tugging his coat into some semblance of order.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Proctor," he said with a slight inclination of his head.
Before she could answer, Max gave his father one last push from behind, ruining the earl's efforts at formality. He stumbled forward, nearly catching his chin on a rack set up for drying wet outer garments. "Jackanape! Have a care or the old dog shall box your ears yet," he exclaimed, but there was a twinkle in his eye.
"Father is being a bear! He won't agree to take me to London," complained Max. "Tell him it would be—educational!"
Allegra couldn't repress a smile. "Family discussions are best entered into by family members only. So I am well out of this one."
The twinkle in Wrexham's eyes was even more pronounced. "A wise decision, Mrs. Proctor."
"I could only come out in someone's bad graces, no matter which side I should champion," she pointed out.
"And whose good graces would you wish to keep?"
She regarded him coolly. "Really, my lord, on that I think we both know there is very little choice."
His lips twitched but before he could make a reply, Max spoke up again. "Well, there is another matter you might help us settle. Father and I have been arguing over a passage of The Aeneid for the entire walk home and I should like to know your opinion. We were just going to have tea in the library—perhaps you would care to join us?" There was a flash of challenge in his eyes as he glanced at his father, as if daring him to contradict the invitation.
"Max," replied Allegra. "I hardly think your father wishes..."
"By all means, Mrs. Proctor, please join us."
She could hardly refuse. Aside from being unspeakably rude to refuse a direct invitation from the earl, no matter how grudgingly extended, it would hurt the lad's feelings. "I should be delighted, then," she murmured.
The glint in Wrexham's eyes told her he knew she would be anything but. "Excellent. We shall be down as soon as we have made ourselves presentable for company. Shall we say in twenty minutes?"
Max broke into a satisfied smile. "I'll tell Cook, since I must drop our trophies in the kitchen." He hoisted the birds for Allegra's benefit, drawing a baleful look of reproach from the hound. "Oh come along, Sasha," he added. "You shall have a special treat for your day's work."
Exactly twenty minutes later, the earl appeared in the library looking, once again, every inch the titled gentleman. Not a hair was out of place, not a wrinkle sullied the expensive navy merino wool of his perfectly tailored coat or buff pantaloons. But neither did he have the look of having fussed over his dress either, noted Allegra with reluctant approval. His cravat was knotted with a casual elegance and his shirtpoints were unfashionably low, bespeaking of comfort rather than foppishness. His waistcoat was a understated stripe with nary a fob or chain adorning its front. In fact the only glint of gold came from the heavy signet ring on his right hand. She couldn't help but think that perhaps the earl's natu
ral grace had something to do with the fact that his athletic form needed little help from a tailor to show to advantage.
Her hands brushed her own rather worn gown, and she was suddenly aware of its outdated design and less than flattering styling. Then her chin rose a fraction. As if it mattered how she appeared to the earl, she reminded herself!
Max clattered to a halt outside the door, made one last effort at smoothing his unruly locks, then entered with a studied air of nonchalance that drew a ghost of a smile from his father. Allegra noted with further approval that he had the sense to refrain from commenting on the lad's attempt to appear quite the adult.
A maid entered with a large tray bearing tea and an assortment of cakes. The sight of piping hot apple tartlets quickly melted Max's resolve to act like a lord. With a boyish grin, his hand shot out to filch one of the morsels before the tray was on the table.
Wrexham gave his son a pointed look as the lad polished off the last bite.
"Sorry," said Max with a sheepish look. "It's been a devilishly long time since breakfast."
"You had a successful hunt, then?" asked Allegra quickly, changing the subject before the earl could begin any lecture on manners.
"Oh, excellent!" he replied. "And I brought down more of the birds than Father."
"I must have forgotten to wear my spectacles," murmured Wrexham.
That brought a peal of laughter from Max. "Ha!"
The earl glanced at Allegra. "You are lucky not to have children, Mrs. Proctor, as they inevitably grow up to mock one's old age—" He cut off his words abruptly. "Max, perhaps you would pour a glass of sherry for Mrs. Proctor." As his son crossed the room to where the decanter sat on a sidetable near the earl's desk, Wrexham turned back to her. "That was unforgivably clumsy of me," he said quietly. "Please accept my apologies."
Allegra had gone ashen at his first words but she was surprised he seemed to have noticed. She was even more surprised when, on meeting his gaze, she saw only a genuine concern in his eyes. Confused, her head jerked towards the fire.
"Think nothing of it, my lord. After all, one's servants are not expected to have feelings, are they?" The sharpness of her tone sought to mask the fact that for the briefest of moments she was mortally afraid she might disgrace herself with a tear.
Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 02] Page 4
