Page 2 of Second Chances (Intrepid Heroines #3)

Two

M ax put his pen down. “I’m famished. I think I shall ring for some of Cook’s scones and a pot of tea. Would you care for some as well?”

Allegra smiled as she surveyed the gangly limbs hunched over the leather-bound copy of Dante’s Inferno . The lad seemed to have sprouted another few inches since her arrival. Why, pretty soon he would be equaling his father’s not inconsiderable height. “Tea would be lovely,” she said. “But as for scones, well, breakfast was only two hours ago.”

He grinned. “I can always find room. Especially for scones or gooseberry tarts.”

His unruly mane of dark hair fell across his brow as he returned to studying the pages, nearly obscuring his eyes from view. They were a shade lighter than the earl’s, and usually filled with a great deal more good humor. The few times she had crossed paths with Lord Wrexham during the past two weeks, his had positively glinted with disapproval. But he seemed to be as good as his word—as long as she did not upset the routine of the household, it appeared he was content to … ignore her. That suited her just fine, especially as it didn’t look like he had made any progress in arranging for her replacement.

Max had certainly not ignored her presence. The lad was as hungry to expand the horizons of his knowledge as he was to consume the cook’s excellent pastries. Unlike other young men of the nobility with whom she had been acquainted, he showed none of the studied boredom or petulance that so pervaded their manner. Neither was he spoiled nor haughty—she had to credit the earl with that. Max came to his studies each morning with an unflagging enthusiasm and inquisitiveness that couldn’t help but win her approval, and even her respect.

More than that, she liked him. She hadn’t expected to, but she did. As well as being intelligent beyond his years, he was unassuming and open, rather like a big puppy who hadn’t yet learned his strength. There was something endearing about the way he looked when voicing his opinion, how his features revealed the battle of manly self-confidence seeking ascendancy over childlike timidity. It reminded her so much of another young man….

She was suddenly aware that Max was speaking to her. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”

He grinned again. “I do that all the time. Father is forever teasing me about having my head in the clouds.”

A maid brought in the tea tray and Allegra poured both of them a cup.

“What I asked was, have you lived for a long time in London?”

“Actually just for the past four months,” she replied. “I went to live with my cousin and tutor her son after my father died. I have spent most of my life in Kent, where my father was a vicar.”

“What about when you were married—” He stopped abruptly, and a blush spread over his face. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I fear that’s bad manners, isn’t it, to ask you such a personal question.”

She smiled reassuringly. “You may ask me what you please, Max. I’m afraid I’m frightfully hard to put out.” A glint of humor crept into her eyes. “Though I don’t promise to answer everything.”

He looked very relieved he hadn’t offended her.

“As for my husband, he was my father’s curate. And my matrimonial state did not last long. He was carried off by a bout of influenza six months after we were married.”

Max bit his lip. “My mother died of that as well.”

It was Allegra’s turn to feel awkward. “I’m sorry. That must have been very difficult for you. How old were you at the time?”

“Eight.”

Something about his manner told her he wanted to talk about it. “Do you miss her terribly?”

To her surprise, he didn’t answer her right away. His fingers tightened around the china cup as he stared at the pattern of tea leaves on its bottom. “She was very beautiful and very lively—everyone said she was the toast of the ton . She loved the balls and the dinners and the concerts in Town. I … didn’t see her very much.” His breath caught in his throat, then the rest of his words came out in a rush. “But I understand. She was so very … busy.”

Allegra felt a welling of sympathy for him, as well as a touch of anger for the lady who obviously had little care for her child. “I’m sure she would have been very proud of what a fine young man you have turned into,” she said softly.

Max looked at her eagerly. “You think so?”

“Without a doubt.” She paused. “It must have been difficult for your father, too.”

Max’s eyes dropped once more, and he crumbled what was left of his scone between his fingers. “He doesn’t discuss it with me.”

“Sometimes it is very difficult for a person to talk about … a great loss. No doubt he misses her as much as you do.” Perhaps that explained why the earl had never remarried despite the fact that, with his title and fortune, he must have had more than his share of caps thrown at him by scheming mamas.

He pushed away the plate of scones and propped his chin on his hand. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Allegra was startled by his question and took her time in answering. “I don’t know your father,” she replied carefully. That much was true, at least.

Max eyed her with a penetrating gaze that was unnervingly like his father’s. “He hasn’t exactly shown you his best side. He’s a decent sort, for fathers.” He hesitated, as if mulling over his own words and his eyes dropped to the desktop. “Actually, he’s more than decent. He’s a great gun, though you wouldn’t know it from his behavior towards you.”

She smiled at the lad’s naivete. “Max, an earl does not go out of his way to be charming to the hired help. Furthermore, he does not believe my presence here is in your best interest. It is to his credit that he cares enough about your feelings to allow me to stay until he can find another tutor.”

“I suppose,” admitted Max. “But I don’t want you to leave. You are … nice.”

It was a long time since anyone had said anything as touching as that. “Why, thank you, Max. I should be sorry to leave you as well. We shall just have to wait and see.”

The lad gave a reluctant sigh and leaned back over his book.

* * *

Things were proceeding ever so slowly, thought Allegra as she walked along the narrow path winding up through the moors. She hadn’t realized how isolated the area was and how great the distances were. It had taken her all this time just to get her bearings and figure out the shortest routes. She would need a horse, however. That much had become clear.

It shouldn’t prove an insurmountable obstacle. She had been out riding with Max several times and was beginning to know her way around the stables. The earl’s grooms kept the place in perfect order, but she had noticed that there was little attention to keeping things under lock and key. It wouldn’t be difficult to slip in one night after everyone had retired. Their sleeping quarters were far enough away from the stalls she needed that if she were very quiet….

But she wasn’t nearly at that stage of her plans yet. She glanced down at the sketchbook under her arm. It was only today that she had managed to get her first glimpse of Westwood Manor, and even that was from afar. She would need to have a much closer look.

At least her charcoal and paper gave her a perfect excuse. Few people would pay any notice to an insignificant female engaged in filling her pad with ordinary landscapes and views of the stately houses. She didn’t draw overly well, but that wasn’t the point. At night she could study which approach was best and where the windows and doors were located.

She tugged at the strings of the large, ugly bonnet that nearly obscured her features. It was deucedly uncomfortable during her long walks, but it made it unlikely that anyone would recognize her face.

Yes, she thought with grim satisfaction, she had considered everything.

Her mind was so occupied that she failed to notice that the earl was close by and had reined his mount to a halt to watch as she scrambled over a tall stile and dropped down on his side of the stone wall. Smoothing her skirts down over her sturdy half boots, she suddenly became aware of his presence.

Drat the man. She really preferred to avoid him as much as possible.

“Oh—good afternoon, milord.” Her tone was as chilly as her expression.

He inclined his head a fraction. “It appears you are partial to taking the country air.”

“Lessons are over for the day. I am following your wishes to make myself scarce.”

“I did not mean it literally, Mrs. Proctor,” he replied dryly. “Do not feel that you must … wear yourself to the bone.”

Allegra repressed a smile. So the earl actually had a sense of humor. “I enjoy doing a bit of sketching,” she said.

Wrexham raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have expected you to indulge in such a frivolous pursuit.”

“It does not meet with your approval? Perhaps you consider it a pastime fit only for young females.”

The earl dismounted with an easy grace and fell in step beside her. There was a flash of amusement in his eyes at her last comment, though he chose to ignore her challenge.

“What you choose to do with your own time is your concern, Mrs. Proctor,” he answered as he casually wrapped the reins of his dappled grey stallion around his gloved hand. “My concern is with Max.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” he admitted. “Max has made great progress in his studies. He has responded well to your teaching.”

She looked at him warily. “I trust you don’t mean to imply …”

“No. I do not believe you are throwing your cap at my son.”

“I should hope not,” she muttered. “Why, I’m almost old enough to be his mother.”

The earl regarded her face and the errant wisps of honey-colored hair that had pulled loose in the breeze. A smile seemed to tug at the corner of his lips.

“Max is a highly intelligent young man,” she continued. “It has been a pleasure to work with such a good student.” She hesitated for a moment. “He is also unfailingly polite, cheerful and courteous.”

“Unlike his father,” murmured Wrexham.

She opened her mouth as if to speak.

“It does seem that his moods have improved considerably,” he went on, without waiting for a reply from her. “At least he is no longer flying into the boughs every time I speak to him.” He shook his head. “I know this is an awkward age for him, but I was beginning to think he couldn’t abide my very presence.”

“You needn’t worry on that account, my lord. Max thinks you are—how did he put it—a great gun.”

“He said that?” The earl’s features softened perceptibly.

“Indeed he did.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Proctor,” he said after a moment. “You did not have to say so.”

She decided to change the subject. “I was wondering sir, have you made any progress in finding a new tutor for Max?

Wrexham walked on for a few paces before answering. “No. I have not.” His eyes strayed to the scudding grey clouds moving in over the craggy hills. “It seems we are in for some rain shortly,” he said abruptly. “I fear you had best come up with me if you are to avoid getting drenched.”

“That is not at all necessary. I don’t mind a spot of rain.”

“Max would no doubt ring a peal over my head if you took a chill and were unable to preside over the schoolroom.” Before she could argue any further, his hands came around her waist and lifted her effortlessly up onto the saddle.

He mounted as well and steadied her until she was settled into a more comfortable position in front of him. Her skirts fell in folds over his left knee and she was disconcertingly aware of the warmth radiating from his muscled thigh. To her further dismay, his arm circled her waist as he took up the reins in one hand.

“Really, milord! There is no need for you to trouble yourself …”

His face was quite close to hers. The spicy, slightly exotic scent of bay rum and leather filled her senses as he replied. “Ulysses can carry both of us with ease.”

“Well, as long as he can find his way home,” she murmured.

He threw back his head and laughed. “I shall have a care that the Sirens do not lure us off course.”

In spite of herself, she smiled too. She had forgotten how refreshing it could be to have a lively conversation with a someone whose sharp wits and obvious erudition matched her own. Most people didn’t understand her pithy observations, or simply missed her meaning altogether. She had a feeling the Earl of Wrexham was a man who missed very little.

She would definitely have to be on guard.

But at present, all she could think about was the disturbing feel of his arm circling her waist. The chiseled strength was evident, even through the fabric of his impeccably tailored riding coat. It wasn’t as if she had never been this close to a man before. But somehow Harry hadn’t been quite like this …

“Do you ride?” inquired Wrexham as he spurred the stallion into an easy canter.

“Yes,” she replied, thankful for the prospect of a conversation to take her mind off of other thoughts. “I grew up in the country.”

“And where was that?”

She bit her lip, ruing her hasty words. The earl was quick enough that he might put two and two together later on. “Not far from London,” she said, hoping it would do, then quickly went on. “Max has kindly taken me out several times and showed me some of the local sights. I should like to explore more, that is, if it meets with your approval.

He made no attempt to press her on her origins. “Please feel free to make use of the stables.”

Ha! At least she had accomplished something useful from the uncomfortable meeting.

“You would be well advised to listen to my son’s advice on what areas to avoid,” he added. “There are some spots where the trail can be dangerous if one is not familiar with the terrain. Max knows them all—he is bang up to the mark as a rider.

But not as bang up to the mark as his father, she couldn’t help thinking. The earl displayed a natural grace in the saddle, his seat firm, his touch on the reins controlling the spirited stallion without any perceptible effort.

A stretch of rocky ground caused the horse to change gait, throwing Allegra back against his broad chest.

“Oh!” Her entire body stiffened as she tried to maintain some space between them.

His arm tightened, drawing her even closer. “Don’t worry, I shall not let you fall, Mrs. Proctor.” His voice took on a touch of amusement. “You might try to relax a bit—despite what you might think, I don’t actually bite.”

She was glad he could not see her face, for she blushed at the idea that her thoughts were so transparent.

“I … I have no idea what you mean, sir,” she countered.

He merely gave a soft chuckle and urged his mount into a faster pace.

As they rode into the stableyard, a groom came out and Wrexham handed Allegra down. She made a show of smoothing out her gown and readjusting her bonnet in order to cover her unsettled emotions. The earl landed lightly beside her and brushed a bit of dust from his fitted buckskins. A drop of rain fell on the brim of his beaver hat.

“Ah, you see, you have been spared an unpleasant walk.” He gave a slight bow. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Proctor.”

Clutching her sketchbook to her chest, Allegra mumbled a suitable thanks and hurried towards the manor house.

* * *

A glimmer of a smile played on Wrexham’s lips as he tossed the reins to the groom. So, she wasn’t made of iron. It was gratifying to know the woman’s composure could be affected. He had felt that in their first meeting she had kept him off balance and had come out decidedly ahead.

The second round he gave to himself.

But he had to grant she had spirit, as well as intelligence. Most people in her position would be falling all over themselves to gain his good graces, while Mrs. Proctor made no attempt to curry his favor—in fact, she made no attempt to conceal her distaste for his presence! He supposed he had given her good reason to form such an opinion. His manners and his words had been less than civil, and yet he couldn’t help feeling the reasons ran deeper than that. There was something about the new tutor he had yet to decipher.

In any case, he found himself almost looking forward to the next bit of verbal sparring. She was certainly up to his weight in terms of quick wits, and there was no denying she had a dry sense of humor that he wouldn’t have expected in a female. In fact, it had been rather stimulating to trade jabs with a person who was able to respond in kind.

Not that he was bored with only Max for company … but things promised to become a bit more interesting at the Hall.

A short while later, Wrexham settled into an armchair by the fire in his library and opened the newly-arrived book from London on the latest agricultural methods of increasing crop yields. The rain pounding down against the mullioned windows of the library showed no sign of abating. It was going to remain nasty for the rest of the day, he thought with some smugness. The chit would have been half-drowned before she made it back to the Hall.

Hardly a chit , he reminded himself. Even though her slender form and creamy complexion made her look as though she were barely out of the schoolroom. He felt his mouth quirk as he recalled her own words about being old enough to be Max’s mother. What fustian! That was certainly a gross exaggeration. After all, she was not quite of an age to wear a turban….

His brows suddenly came together. Why the devil was he thinking about her? It wasn’t as if she was a Diamond of the First Water. Her nose was little too strong, her cheekbones a little too sharp, her mouth a little too wide to be called beautiful.

But it was a face of rare character., he admitted. There was something about her smoky green eyes that was intriguing. Or maybe it was just that he hadn’t been around a female—any sort of female—for longer than he cared to remember. With a rueful grimace he forced his attention to the opening page of his book.

Damnation. Why did it have to be about sowing seeds.

* * *

Thankfully, the next day had dawned clear, allowing Allegra to suggest an afternoon ride after she and Max were done with the daily lessons. She slid from the saddle and followed Max to the top of a nearby ridge—a place he had said was his favorite spot. The suggestion suited her perfectly as it gave her another opportunity to scout out the lay of the land. A deep gorge lay before them and water cascaded down the rocky falls, a blaze of white against the weathered stones. On the other side, rolling green hills, dotted with grazing sheep, climbed up towards the craggy, windblown moors, somber in their bleak hues of slate and granite.

Max slanted a guarded glance towards her.

“It’s quite magnificent,” said Allegra softly, drinking in the wild splendor of the vista.

He seemed to let out his breath. “I thought you’d understand,” he said, allowing himself a slight smile. “Lots of people find it forbidding, but I think it’s quite beautiful.”

She nodded in agreement.

“I sometimes come here alone with … a book of poetry.” He dropped his head and kicked at a loose stone, as if suddenly aware that the admission might sink him in her esteem. “I daresay you think that’s rather silly of me.” It was worded more as a question.

“Not at all, Max. In fact, I think it’s rather wonderful.”

He gave a shy grin. “Actually, I picked it up from Father. He’s the one who first showed me this spot and told me how he enjoyed the rhythms of verse matched with the rhythms of nature—the sound of the rivers, the rustling of the leaves …”

“Your father sits in the wilds and reads poetry!” She couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice.

Max tilted his head. “I thought you approved.”

“I do, it’s just that—I hadn’t quite expected it of him, of all people.”

“You still think him a real dragon, don’t you?”

Allegra turned to gaze out towards the moor. A certain trust had developed between them and she did not want to jeopardize it by telling an untruth. “Max, it really is not important what I think of your father.” After a fraction of a pause, a faint smile stole to her lips. “I assure you, it makes not a whit of difference to him what my opinion is.”

Max looked as if to say something further, then shrugged and let the subject drop. “Would you care to see the ruins of the old abbey? It’s not far from here.”

“That sounds lovely.”

They walked back to the horses and retraced their way down the winding trail. As her mare followed behind Max’s chestnut stallion, Allegra couldn’t help but think on how the young viscount continued to surprise her. He had a sensitivity that was rare in any young person, but especially one brought up in a world of privilege and pampering. That he appreciated the raw magic of words and of untrammeled nature showed a real depth of perception, a maturity beyond his years. And despite having every need catered to, he was also remarkably unspoiled. Rather than take advantage of his position, he treated everyone on the vast estate—servants, grooms, tenants—as real people, not mere lackeys to do his bidding.

She pursed her lips. Perhaps the earl deserved more credit than she had been wont to accord him. There must be another side to him other than the ill-tempered, toplofty demeanor he displayed in her presence. After all, any man who read poetry….

Max called out to her and pointed towards a cluster of weathered stone walls perched on a knoll overlooking a roaring river. Creeping vines and masses of ivy had twined themselves among much of the tumbled blocks and crumbled mortar, but parts of the nave still poked heavenward, taller than the majestic oak spreading its gnarled limbs over the mossy granite of the outer walls. It was a beautiful, if desolate sight, one to attract the imagination of a lad given to romantic notions. She made a mental note to add Byron to their list of classical poets and scientific works.

Their mounts splashed through a shallow crossing and Max led the way up to the ruins. Leaving the horses to graze along the grassy perimeter, they climbed through the fallen slabs of granite until reaching the top of the west chapel, where a section of stone still stood high enough to afford a breathtaking vista of the countryside to the east. Max sat down, legs dangling over the mossy parapet and leaned back on his elbows, head thrown back to welcome the sudden appearance of the sun. Allegra joined him, and there was a companionable silence as they both seemed occupied with their own thoughts.

“Thank you, Max.” she said simply, after some time.

He gave her an inquiring glance.

“For sharing your special places with me,” she explained. “And your confidences. I’m very honored.”

A faint blush began to color his face and she looked away quickly, pretending not to notice. Max recovered his tongue after a moment. “When you like someone, you want to share the things that you find special,” he replied in a hesitant voice.

“I know exactly what you mean.” She shaded her eyes as she looked off into the distance. “I daresay there aren’t many people for you to be friends with here.”

He shook his head. “When I was younger, I played with some of the children on the estate, but now they are busy with work, and, well, things change.” His face screwed into a wry expression. “Besides, they aren’t really interested in talking about the same things as I am.”

“What of the other estates in the area? Are there no people your own age?”

“Most families are in residence only during the grouse season. And only Westwood Manor and Hillington are close by.”

Allegra squinted at a distant building framed by a large tract of beech and oak woods , its light stone gleaming in the scudding afternoon light against the canopy of dappled greens. “Which is that one there?” she asked, knowing full well the answer.

“Westwood Manor.”

She felt a slight stab of guilt at turning the conversation to her own purpose, but she couldn’t afford to pass up the chance to learn what she could. “Ah, I believe that is the place I saw on one of my walks. An impressive house, is it not? I attempted a few sketches, but my skill doesn’t do it justice.” She let a slight pause steal in. “I nearly lost my way back to the Hall, though. Is it really as far as it seems?”

“There’s a short cut through the woods. You go down past the lake and you’ll see a trail running off to the right, past the gamekeeper’s cottage. It’s quite easy to follow.”

That was a very valuable piece of information.

“Such a magnificent home must belong to an important man.”

“The Marquess of Sandhill owns Westwood, though he’s not often in residence.”

“Surely your father enjoys seeing kindred souls—your families must dine with one another?” It would be a rare stroke of luck if she were able to easily discover a night in which Sandhill would be absent from Westwood.

“Father may visit occasionally when the family is up from London, but on the whole, he tries to avoid any interaction even though the marquess 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 Sandhill a prosy bore. He says the marquess is unforgivably ignorant, considering what treasures he has.” Another chuckle. “’Pearls before swine’ is the term he used.”

“Some people acquire priceless things simply out of greed,” she said softly.

Max looked at her quizzically. “Are you acquainted with Lord Sandhill?”

She immediately regretted her words. It was apparent that she would have to be as careful around the son as around the father. Forcing a laugh, Allegra she lifted her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “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.

Fisting her hands in the folds of her skirts, Allegra 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!”

* * *

Several days passed before Allegra had an afternoon free to explore on her own. Clouds the color of slate hung low over the moor. But despite the threat of rain, Allegra took up her sketchbook after a light nuncheon 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 from him 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 booted feet closer to the warmth of the fire, a slight 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 of the Hall and shrugged out of her rain-spattered cloak, her spirits nonetheless undampened. She had been lucky in all respects. Although a light mizzle 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!” Caught by surprise, she nearly let the sketchbook slip from her fingers. The initial feeling of shock quickly changed to one of wariness as she noted his ashen face and clenched 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.” He gestured at 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 the devil is going on here?”