Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 02] (5 page)

But not as bang up to the mark as his father, she couldn't help thinking. The earl displayed an 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 reddened 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 he wouldn't have expected in a female. In fact it had been rather stimulating to trade jabs with a person his equal. Not that he was bored with only Max for company, but things promised to become rather interesting at the Hall.

A short while later, Wrexham settled into a 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. Just because her slender form and creamy complexion made her look as though she were barely out of the schoolroom—his mouth quirked 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 came together. Why the devil was he thinking about her? It was not 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. There was something in the depths of her smoky green eyes 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. It had to be about sowing seeds.

* * *

Allegra slid from the saddle and followed Max to the top of the ridge. 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's head tilted to one side. "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 shook her head slightly. 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 could not 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 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.