Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 02]

by Second Chances

  His thoughts turned back to Mrs. Proctor. He wasn't sure what about her disturbed him so. It wasn't as if he was unaware of life's vagaries. She had been forced to endure more than her share of pain and suffering—but so had a great many people in the world. That life was not fair was hardly a shock to him. Why, if anything, his own experiences had made him more cynical in that regard.

  Yet somehow he found himself feeling she deserved more. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she had shown spirit and courage in the face of adversity. She had not tucked her tail between her legs and retreated from her misfortunes, he though with an uncomfortable twinge. And her own hardships had not dulled her capacity for compassion, even lo—

  His mind froze on the word. Yet there was no doubt that she cared as much for Max as if he were her own child. Damnation, she should have children of her own! Why the devil hadn't some man had the good sense to recognize what a unique female she was, caring, capable and one that wouldn't bore a man after a week of marriage. And damnably attractive too—contrary to what he had told Bingham, he had noticed. More than once.

  With a heavy sigh, he wrested his thoughts away from that direction.

  Besides, he knew the answer to his question. Most men didn't want a unique female. The rare one that might appreciate her qualities she was highly unlikely to meet, given her situation.

  The gnawing inside him became a little sharper. That his plans for her would only exacerbate her problems did nothing to assuage his already tender conscience. But there was nothing for it. She simply couldn't remain as Max's tutor, though why he still couldn't explain. It simply wouldn't do. However, he vowed to himself, he would see her comfortably settled before all of this was over. He would make sure she had her precious independence and would not have to take a position of servitude again.

  So why didn't that make him feel any better?

  It was quite a time later before the large hound heard the tread of his master's footsteps retreating up the stairs to his bedchamber.

  Chapter 9

  Wrexham stared in consternation at the letter in his hands. He had already read it a second time, and his scowl had only deepened. What the devil could Edmund be thinking to—

  "Good morning, Father." Max limped into the breakfast room, leaning heavily on a cane, Allegra hovering anxiously at his elbow.

  The earl's expression brightened considerably, though his brows still puckered in concern. "Halloo, Max. Are you sure you should be moving about so much? I should be happy to have a tray brought to your room and have my tea with you."

  "I am heartily sick of a tray in my room," grumbled Max. "I don't need to be treated like an invalid anymore."

  Allegra rolled her eyes in mock despair. "Well, Dr. Graham did allow as he could get up if he felt able. Unless, sir, you would like to locate a length of rope...."

  Wrexham chuckled. "No, I suppose we needn't resort to that." He turned his eyes to his son. "As long as you show some sense and do not tire yourself unduly."

  The lad nodded a vigorous assent as he slid into his chair. A moment later he was digging into a plate heaped high with gammon, shirred eggs, broiled kidney and a slice of pigeon pie that one of the footman had prepared for him. "Heartily sick of porridge, too," he mumbled between bites.

  Allegra and Wrexham exchanges amused looks.

  As Max sent his plate back for a second helping of everything, he glanced at the folded sheets of paper lying next to the earl's cup.

  "Who is the letter from? Anything of interest?"

  Wrexham had momentarily forgotten the pages he had laid aside. "What? Oh, it's is from Bingham. Naturally he inquires as to how you are coming along. He—" The earl stopped short. "He hopes you are feeling better," he finished lamely.

  Max lay down his fork. "What else does he say?" he demanded.

  Wrexham was uncomfortably aware of two sets of eyes boring into him. "Nothing of note," he muttered. "Sandhill has returned to town, but we knew that."

  Max pulled a face. "There is something you are not telling us."

  His father made a show of taking up the freshly ironed newspaper and opening it with a decided snap. Max shot a disgruntled glance at Allegra but remained silent as he began to chew thoughtfully on a piece of sirloin.

  She didn't like the look in his eye. Not one bit.

  * * *

  Later that morning, Max made his way into the schoolroom where she sat comparing two different translations of Homer. His expression was still cause for concern—Allegra had come to know him well enough to recognize when he was bursting with something to tell her, though at the moment he was taking great pains to appear nonchalant.

  She regarded him warily as he flopped onto the comfortable settee by the window.

  "Have you read any of E. M. Quicksilver's novels," he inquired casually.

  "Why Max, I hadn't imagined that sort of horrid novel would have any interest for you. You know, they are supposed to appeal to frivolous ladies of the ton who have nothing better to do with their afternoons than immerse themselves in outlandish plots with rather silly heroines and brick-headed heroes who should have more sense than to fall in love with such brainless widgets."

  He grinned. "I've read them all."

  "So have I," she admitted. "He's is better than most, but not quite as evocative as Mrs. Radcliffe."

  "I shall tell give him your opinion next time I see him—he's always interested in what the critics think."

  "Hmmm," was her noncommittal reply as she kept her head bent over the texts.

  "It's Lord Bingham," he announced after a dramatic pause. "Quicksilver, that is."

  Her pen stopped its scratching.

  "Nobody knows except my father—well, and me, of course," he continued, a note of triumph creeping into his voice at having finally garnered her complete attention. "He has a vivid imagination, does he not? And he knows all sorts of interesting people in Town. For research, he says."

  "Does he?" Her voice remained noncommittal. Was it her imagination or was the lad playing her like a trout on a line? And where had he learned to be so sly in his machinations. A month ago he would have blurted out what was on his mind without....

  She swallowed hard, trying not to feel guilty as she recalled that Lord Wrexham had been worried that Max was too staid. Well, that concern could be tossed out the window.

  "That's very interesting, Max. It appears Lord Bingham is a man of many talents—"

  "Oh, more than you know!" he crowed. "Why you would be astounded by his latest plot!"

  She began to write again. "Then I shall look forward to reading his next volume."

  The lad abandoned his show of nonchalance. "Aren't you even a bit interested in what I've learned?" he demanded.

  Allegra opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Max continued on, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

  "It's the most fantastic plan—"

  "What is?" she interrupted.

  "Why, the plan Lord Bingham has come up with to ensnare Sandhill and son."

  She put her pen down. "Is that what is in Lord Bingham's letter?"

  "Yes! That's what I've been trying to tell you."

  "And you convinced your father to share it with you?"

  The lad's eyes dropped to the floor.

  "Max?"

  "Not exactly," he mumbled. "But don't be angry with me! We have a right to know what is being discussed. Why, just because you are a female and I am a few years shy of a certain age doesn't mean we should be treated as if we were imbeciles."

  On that she had no argument, which, she knew, was what Max was counting on. The lad was fast bridging the gap between child and adult—too fast in this case!

  She heaved a sigh.

  "I went to see father in the library and, well, the letter was lying on his desk," he explained. "I... I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my side and had to sit down for a moment. Father insisted on fetching my medicine from my bedchamber, and in his absence—"

  "Max! That's e
nough!"

  He took on an injured expression. "But you haven't heard the best part!" he protested.

  "Nor will I," she said firmly. "That was an underhanded trick to play on your father, not one worthy of a gentleman."

  Max had the grace to color.

  "And furthermore, I promised your father that I would not engage in any more escapades with you. Lord knows, he's endured more than enough worry over your well-being in the last little while."

  "This doesn't involve me," countered Max. "And you agreed not to act on your own here at the Hall. Lord Bingham's plan is contingent on being in London." His eye took on a gleam as he added one last point. "And remember, Father has already informed you that when we reach London, you will no longer be in his employ."

  "Good lord, your reasoning would put Machiavelli to blush," she muttered. Nevertheless, he had a point. And she had to admit she was intrigued.

  Max didn't fail to sense it and sought to press home his advantage. "At least listen to the plan, Mrs. Proctor. What harm is there in that?"

  Her last defenses crumbled in the face of curiosity.

  "Oh, very well."

  * * *

  Wrexham eyed the clock on the mantel. He had a meeting with his steward out by the south pastures but there was ample time for taking Ulysses out for a good gallop beforehand. Both of them had spent far too much time cooped up inside of late. He was about to rise when a knock came at the door.

  "Come in," he called curtly, adding a curse under his breath. He had been looking forward to the wind in his face.

  Allegra entered with Max in tow.

  He took one look at their solemn faces and felt a stab of alarm. "What is wrong? Should I summon Dr. Graham—"

  "No, my lord," said Allegra quickly. "There is nothing the matter with Max's health. However, there is something he would like to tell you."

  The look of concern on the earl's face changed to one of wariness as he turned to regard his son. "Yes?"

  Max fell into a rather prolonged fit of coughing.

  "That won't fadge," scolded Allegra. "Neither your father nor I were born yesterday so you might as well get on with it."

  The noise stopped and the lad shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Ah, Father, I am to apologize for a most ungentlemanly trick. I contrived to have you to fetch my medicine so that I could sneak a look at Lord Bingham's letter."

  The earl's dark brows rose.

  "I know it was wrong," continued Max. "But... but you should have shared Lord Bingham's plan with us! Mrs. Proctor has a right to know all that is being discussed about her problem."

  Wrexham ignored his son's last outburst and fixed his gaze on Allegra. "I take it Max wasted no time in conveying to you what he had read?"

  She nodded.

  He let out his breath in an exasperated sigh. "Well, thank the lord that someone besides me has a modicum of reason in this affair. It is gratifying to see you exhibiting the good sense I have come to expect from you, rather than succumbing to harebrained schemes that—"

  "Actually I think it is a brilliant plan."

  Wrexham stared at her, dumfounded.

  "I do not approve of Max's violation of your trust, sir. And as I have told you, I do not intend on doing so myself while under your roof. But once I am in London, I fully intend to inform Lord Bingham that I wish to put his idea into action."

  "The devil you will!" exploded the earl. "Are you mad? Why, Bingham's plan is no better than something out of one of his horrid novels—"

  "They are very good, you know," interjected Allegra. "Though as I said to Max, perhaps not quite up to snuff with Mrs. Radcliffe's writing."

  "This is no laughing matter, Mrs., Proctor. I don't think you have any notion of the risk involved. It's far too dangerous—I forbid you to entertain even the thought of it!"

  Allegra's eyes took on a decided gleam. "Forbid me? And under what authority do you propose to do that?"

  He was taken aback for a second.

  "May I remind you, my lord, that seeing as I am not your—not a member of your family, you have no right to do any such thing." She smiled grimly as she followed up on her advantage. "Have you forgotten that once we reach London, I will not even be in your employment anymore?"

  Wrexham's fist came down on his desk. "Then perhaps I shall leave you here in Yorkshire," he said through gritted teeth.

  "Then I shall take the mail coach. I have the funds," she replied calmly.

  "Oh, bloody hell," swore the earl under his breath. "Sit down, both of you," he demanded. "Let us attempt to discuss this in a rational manner."

  "That is a useful idea, my lord, especially if you will stop shouting," murmured Allegra.

  "I am not shouting," retorted the earl. And indeed, his tone did modulate to somewhere in the vicinity of a normal conversational level. He regarded the two figures now seated before him with a steely gaze and his long fingers began to drum on the tooled blotter. The tinge on Max's cheeks betrayed his discomfort under his father's quelling scrutiny, but Allegra met the earl's angry eyes without flinching.

  He finally broke the uncomfortable silence. "Mrs. Proctor, surely when you take a moment to examine Bingham's idea more carefully, you will see that it is completely out of the question for any number of reasons."

  Allegra kept her jaw clamped shut, ignoring the plea of reason in his voice.

  When the earl saw that she meant not to answer, he gave a heavy sigh and went on. "First of all, the notion that I should bring you to Town masquerading as a distant cousin, recently bereaved and left a fortune by the obliging deceased is outside of enough—"

  "And why is that?" she inquired rather acidly. "I may not be a proper lady, my lord, but I was raised with a modicum of manners, and have dined out enough in country society to be fairly certain I wouldn't disgrace myself in some drawing room or ballroom. Or perhaps you believe that those of us without title or fortune will always reveal ourselves as inferior in the presence of our betters, no matter what the dressing?" For some reason, the idea that the earl found the very thought of her as a fine lady preposterous piqued her more than she could explain.

  Wrexham's brows came together in confusion. "That is not at all what I meant. That is, I..." His words trailed off as he wondered how in the devil he had been put on the defensive so quickly. "Good lord, you know very well that I believe no such thing—why you are much more..." Again he stumbled over his choice of words. "...sensible to be around than most of the ton," he finished lamely.

  Sensible? Hardly mollifying, she thought, but apparently it would have to do.

  The earl was beginning to recover his equilibrium. "It has to do with habits and such—things that would be difficult for you to be aware of. There are any number of pitfalls, Mrs. Proctor, that could give you away—"

  "But that's why Lord Bingham has suggested enlisting Aunt Olivia's help!" interrupted Max. "You've always said she has a good head on her shoulders and can trusted to come through in a pinch. With her help, Mrs. Proctor won't have any trouble learning what she needs to know to be accepted as who she says she is."

  Wrexham's eyes closed for a moment, trying to suppress the feeling that, had Bingham been present, he would have cheerfully throttled his friend's neck. Unfortunately, Max was right. His Aunt Olivia was certainly a perfect choice for aiding them in this endeavor. Not only was she clever and capable but she had an odd, adventurous streak that would no doubt lead her to look upon the whole thing as fun! That her husband was away on a diplomatic mission in St. Petersburg for another few months and had taken their two grown sons with him only made matters worse, for there would be no other voice of male reason to moderate what he was sure would be her enthusiasm for the plan.

  Why, he wondered balefully as he stole another look at his son's eager face, was he the only member of the family who exhibited any common sense and refused to succumb to wild extremes emotion?

  Clearing his throat, he tried a different tack. "That may be so, Max. Bu
t Mrs. Proctor, have you truly considered the real dangers? These are ruthless men you mean to toy with, and they are by no means slowtops. One careless slip of the tongue could put your life at risk. Doesn't that frighten you?"

  Allegra's expression didn't waver. "I would be a fool not to realize there are risks, my lord. But I feel that the odds are decidedly on my side."

  "And why is that?" His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a touch of sarcasm. "Do you mean to slip that ancient pistol into your reticule and imagine yourself safe?"

  She shook her head. "Certainly not. It is you, sir, who tip the balance."

  He was completely taken aback.

  "Me!" he exclaimed as he scanned her face for any sign that the words where some sort of joke.

  Her expression remained quite serious. "Yes, my lord. I think the risk is worth taking for is my opinion that Sandhill and his son are no match for us if you will consent to be a part of the plan."

  Wrexham started to speak when he caught the look in his son's eyes. He felt a sudden constriction in his chest.

  "Of course they aren't," said Max with a note of pride. "If anyone can bring them to justice, it is Father. He is smarter and braver than any of those bast—uh, villains."

  The earl shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I... suppose Edmund is not entirely out of his head. With certain modifications, it might be possible... "

  "I knew you would not let them get away with what they have done," cried Max triumphantly.

  Wrexham felt things slipping away from him. "I warn you both that if I agree to go along with this, it is I who will decide exactly how we proceed, is that clear?"

  Both of them nodded solemnly.

  "And if I feel it is becoming too dangerous, I will put a stop to the whole thing in an instant."

  Neither of them raised a word in argument.

  "When do we leave for London?" demanded Max, barely able to contain his exuberance.

  "I haven't made a final decision," snapped the earl irritably, though he knew quite well what the outcome would be. "And certainly not until you are fit enough to travel," he added, a touch less sharply. "So I suggest you take yourself off and lie down. It appears you've had more than enough exertion for this morning."