Alissa Baxter (2 page)

She had first come up with the idea of playing at being Robin Hood when the Vicar’s wife, Mrs Simpson, had informed her of the terrible conditions that many of their parishioners lived in. Alexandra had visited a few of the families Mrs Simpson had told her about, and had been shocked by what she had seen. The people she had spoken to seemed to be living in utter penury, and the misery she had seen on their faces had touched a compassionate chord inside her. On a wave of righteous indignation, Alexandra had sought out her brother. John was one of the few landowners in the district who looked after his tenants well, and she told him what she had discovered. Although he had been angered by her revelations, he had not approved of her stated desire to confront the heartless landowners who were their neighbours, telling her firmly that she would do more harm than good if she did so because they would not take kindly to a young woman reprimanding them. Alexandra had reluctantly agreed not to approach them, but she had felt the need to do something of a practical nature to help the poor families, and so had suggested to John that he sponsor food baskets that could be delivered to the poor. To her joy, he had been happy to oblige her in this. But Alexandra, on her daily visits, had quickly come to realise that the peasants needed more than just food to survive. They also needed other material provisions.

If it had not been for the fact that her money was tied up in a trust fund until she either married or attained her majority, Alexandra would have helped the poor from her own pocket. But her money was not hers to do with as she willed and, after thinking the problem over carefully, Alexandra had decided that justice would be best served if the funds the workers needed, but weren’t receiving, could be obtained from the very people who were failing in their responsibility to look after them — the privileged classes.

She had enlisted the help of her faithful groom, Ben, and so had begun their series of daring highway robberies. The two of them had become notorious in the region, inspiring fear into the hearts of all the local gentry and nobility. Well nearly all of them, Alexandra revised with a slight grimace as she thought of Mr Chanderly. He hadn’t looked afraid or concerned, only rather bored!

She came out of her reverie as they reached the gates of her home. Instructing Ben to halt, Alexandra waited for Mr Chanderly’s coach to draw up alongside them, aware that it was incumbent upon her to thank him for escorting her home and make him an offer of some refreshment. The dictums of propriety required it, however much she wished she could ignore them in this instance.

When Mr Chanderly had descended from his coach once again, she formally thanked him for his assistance.

“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Grantham,” he said politely, although Alexandra had the uncomfortable feeling that he was amused at her belated attempts at civility.

“May I offer you some refreshment, sir, before you continue on your journey?” she asked, determined not to be betrayed into incivility again, realising that it only set her at a disadvantage in the face of Mr Chanderly’s faultless good manners.

“Thank you, but no, Miss Grantham. I must continue on my way.”

Alexandra smiled sweetly. “As you wish, Mr Chanderly. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Mr Chanderly said, bowing. He made to move away, then turned back to say softly, “I hope we meet again sometime, Miss Grantham. Your attempts at civility have reassured me to the fact that you may not be a complete baggage. Perhaps you will even improve upon further acquaintance.”

Alexandra stared speechlessly at Mr Chanderly’s back as he re-entered the coach, unable to believe the arrogance of the man, and it was only when the coach had moved off and disappeared round a bend in the road that she recovered her breath sufficiently to order Ben to continue up the drive of Grantham Place.

On returning home, Alexandra hurried upstairs to her bedchamber to bathe and dress for dinner, her thoughts in complete disarray. Never before had anyone upset her equilibrium to the extent that Mr Chanderly had done. There was something about him, she reflected uneasily as she brushed her hair a little later, a perceptiveness, and a quiet steadiness of purpose which quite unnerved her. Shaking her head at her reflection in the mirror, Alexandra decided that the best thing she could do was put him from her mind. There was very little chance of her ever encountering Mr Chanderly again, so there was no reason why she should worry about him, she told herself firmly. No reason at all.

Sunlight filtered down through the leaves of the old oak tree which stood on the bank of the stream, gilding the hair of the young girl standing there, turning it a burnished copper colour. Alexandra Grantham stood casting, at the end of a fallen tree-trunk which extended into the stream, patiently waiting for the wily old trout, with which she had battled on many occasions in the past, to take the fly on the end of her line. She looked around with unseeing eyes at the beauty of her surroundings. Usually the wooded glade where she had spent many childhood hours alternatively fishing, reading or just daydreaming filled her with delight, but today she hardly noticed it in her troubled state of mind. She was thinking of the letter which she had received from her esteemed Grandmama earlier that morning, a letter which seemed destined to change the course of her life forever.

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.

Alexandra frowned, remembering the letter from her grandmother. “In all probability, yes. My grandmother, Lady Beauchamp, is to bring me out.”

“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.