“Did I really what?”
“Slit a man’s throat for arguing with you?”
Alec shrugged. “I don’t recall the incident, but if Buzz says so, who am I to argue? ’Tis how reputations are made.”
“Oh.” Rarely now did she remember who and what he was, and how he had made the money that had enabled him to buy such as Amberwood. The ruthless criminal had long since been supplanted in her mind by her dear Alec. It was a jolt to be reminded that there was another side to him.
They walked in silence until the lane passed through a small copse of trees to a grassy meadow. The wood hid the meadow from the stable and the house. To Isabella’s eyes it was a perfect place for their lesson.
“This will do,” she said, and led her own horse over to the grass.
“At least the ground looks soft. Oh, look, there are even some blades of grass. Perhaps I won’t break my neck after all.”
Isabella gave him a dampening look, and put her own reins over Hepzebah’s neck.
“Just do what I do, to start. You mount from the left.”
“I know how to get on the bloody beast. ’Tis staying on that concerns me.”
So saying, he got his reins in position, put his foot in the stirrup, and swung aboard. But he held the reins too loosely, and Hannibal immediately dropped his head and started to crop at the just-sprouting grass. Alec pulled his head up. Hannibal, unhappy over being deprived of his treat, stomped his foot and tossed his head. Alec tightened the reins some more, and Hannibal, with more angry head tossing, began to back up. Alec looked so uneasy and at the same time so determined to prove himself master of the situation that Isabella had to laugh.
XLVII
“Enjoying yourself, are you, Countess?” Alec eyed her narrowly.
“Immensely,” said Isabella, not bothering to swallow the huge grin that wreathed her face. “Ease up on the reins, Alec. Hold them loosely, so.”
She demonstrated with her own reins. Alec, looking wary, relaxed his grip. Immediately Hannibal stopped backing and stood still.
“Very good.” Isabella urged Hepzebah closer. “Now let’s try going forward. Squeeze a little bit with your knees and kind of cluck. Like this.” She demonstrated, and Hepzebah walked forward while Isabella turned in the saddle to watch Alec.
He followed her instructions, and Hannibal walked sedately after Hepzebah. Isabella had to turn quickly away to hide her laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Alec called from behind her.
She turned in the saddle.
“You cluck just like a lovesick pigeon,” she giggled. He frowned at her, but in the face of so much merriment he finally had to smile.
“I’ll get you for this,” he threatened. “Just wait until we’re back on the ground. You’ll pay in spades.”
“Pooh,” she said inelegantly. “You don’t scare me.” She circled Hepzebah around so that she could better observe Alec’s seat. “Pull your elbows in and put your heels down. Sit up straighten There. That’s very good.”
“I feel a bloody fool,” Alec grumbled, and that set Isabella off again. She giggled like a schoolgirl as Alec on Hannibal plodded around the meadow again.
“You’ll be riding like a centaur in no time.”
Her unenthusiastic pupil completed his third circuit, looking so very put-upon that Isabella could not stop laughing. Her laughter earned her a censorious look as he pulled Hannibal up beside her.
“I think I’ll stick with driving, thank you very much.”
“You’re doing wonderfully. So wonderfully that I think we should try a trot.”
He all but groaned. “Couldn’t we save that for another day?”
“I have a feeling that on another day I might have a hard time getting you in the saddle. Don’t be a pudding-heart, Alec. Come on.”
She set Hepzebah to circling the meadow at a placid trot, for the most part keeping her face carefully forward so that Alec couldn’t see her huge grin, and watching him via sidelong glances thrown over her shoulder. When the circuit was completed, she did her best to sober her expression, then turned to look at him.
“How was that?”
“Just fine.”
The very sourness of his tone threatened to make her lurking grin break forth. With a great deal of effort, she managed to hold it back.
“All right, let’s try it again. Watch me.”
She urged Hepzebah into a trot, her hands properly bent at the wrist and her back ramrod straight as she adjusted to the horse’s movements. For as long as she could remember, she’d been riding, and the basics were as natural to her as breathing.
“Of course, you’ll do it a little differently since you’re riding astride. Just let your knees take your weight, and adjust your movements to his stride. That’s right. Once around the meadow.”
Alec had set Hannibal in motion and, teeth set, was bobbing up and down on his back with almost as much grace as a chicken in flight. From the grim set of his chin she could see that what she considered amusement, he considered an ordeal, but she refused to allow him to give it up. All teasing aside, Alec really did need to learn to feel at home on a horse. He was too intelligent, too capable in every respect to be handicapped in such a way.
Despite his grim determination, he was not a natural horseman. If some people were born to the saddle, Alec was definitely not one of them, Isabella decided, watching as her reluctant pupil came back to her. It charmed her to realize that in this area in which she excelled Alec was deficient. The turnabout was a novel experience, and it enchanted her.
“I feel like every tooth I have has been shaken loose,” Alec complained as he pulled Hannibal up for the umpteenth time.
“You’re doing very well,” Isabella soothed. “Try it again.”
“Again?” At Isabella’s nod, he grudgingly obeyed.
He was looking more comfortable, she judged as he came back to her again, and seemed to have lost much of his initial tenseness. If he would only relax a bit more, his spine would not be forced to endure so many jolting encounters with the saddle, and so she told him.
“You’re enjoying this,” he accused her, and the grin she could not repress was answer enough.
“Now we canter,” she said by way of a reply, and he groaned again.
By the time the afternoon was over, Alec had shown considerable progress. Isabella had to revise her initial evaluation of his abilities again and again. Forced into the saddle, he seemed to develop a sudden determination to master the task she had set him to. Isabella wondered how much of that determination was spurred by a resolve to impress her and how much was innate. Both, she thought. A man without a will of iron would never have made the spectacular climb from the gutter that Alec had. But he was very much a man, and men, like little boys, loved to show off.
“My stomach moans for sustenance. Can we call a halt now, Madame Tutor? Or are you determined to keep me out here until I beg for mercy?”
“We can go back, if you like. You truly did very well. You’ll be riding to the hounds in no time.”
He snorted, and fell into step beside her as she turned Hepzebah toward the stable.
“I’m more likely to sell every horse in the stable. Tell me, pray, why you insisted on walking the horses to begin with.”
The unexpected change of subject flustered Isabella. She had thought he was so thankful for anything that would postpone their lesson that he would not comment on her peculiar behavior in the stable. Glancing at him, she decided on honesty.
“I did not want the groom to know that you are not at home on horseback.”
“Did you not, then? And why is that?”
“Because … because …”
“Because you didn’t want him to think the less of me for it, or because you didn’t want him to think the less of you for being in my company?”
His perception caught her off guard. Had she once been so full of her own self-importance that she might have felt shame to be seen in his company? If suc
h had ever been the case, it was true no longer. To her, Alec was … Alec, He had transcended all boundaries of class and privilege in her eyes.
“I did not wish him to think the less of you, of course. I feel no shame at all in being in your company. On the contrary, in fact.”
He looked over at her then, suddenly more at ease on horseback than he had been all afternoon.
“I don’t pretend to be more than I am, you know. You need not try to protect my feelings from servants and fools. There are few parts about me that remain tender, and my emotions are not one of them.”
“I wonder, then, that you have taken the trouble to educate yourself, to learn to speak like a gentleman, to behave like one. If you are satisfied with what your birth gave you, why, for instance, did you wish me to tutor you in the ways of gentility?”
His mouth twisted. “Because I don’t choose to be limited by my birth. Those who are low-born are not intrinsically less intelligent or capable than the nobility, you know. In fact, I am not convinced that the opposite is not true. I’m a gutter rat by birth, spawn of a mother who was likely a whore and a father who could have been any son of heaven or hell. Everything I have, I have gotten for myself. Every mite of education, every schilling, every nod of respect. I’m not ashamed of it, I’m proud. I’d like to see any bloody lordship do what I’ve done. He’d not have survived his first week on the streets of Whitechapel.”
Sudden lines of bitterness appeared in his face. Glancing over at him, Isabella was struck by just how far he had brought himself through sheer force of will. For the self-described gutter rat to have become the owner of all this, and more besides, for him to have retained his humor and human kindness and dignity in the process, was truly remarkable. The circumstances of his youth must have been horrendous to cause such an expression to come over his face when he contemplated it.
“Tell me what it was like, Alec. Your childhood.”
The bitterness vanished, replaced by a wry smile. “I had no childhood. Come, let’s talk of pleasanter things. Like how lovely you look with the sun shining on your hair. It’s a kind of dark gold, with red threads. Most entrancing.”
“I have the greatest admiration for you. I want you to know that.” She spoke earnestly, ignoring his attempt to change the subject. “I am proud to be in your company.”
His face seemed to tighten fractionally, but still he smiled. “Careful, Countess, you’ll unman me. Look, we are close on the stable. Do we dismount and walk in, to save me from any possibility of looking the fool? Or do we say the devil take the groom, and ride up bold as brass?”
“Whatever you wish.” It was clear he meant not to talk of anything sensible, so Isabella let it go.
“I say we ride up.”
And so they did. Tinsley came out to take the horses, treating both Isabella and Alec with equal deference. When Alec swung down, Isabella thought she detected a slight grimace on his face, but he walked her back to the house without complaint.
Inside the front hall, she turned to him.
“I must bathe and change before dinner. Shall I join you in the yellow salon at half past seven?” A glimmer of a smile touched her face. “We can resume our lessons then.”
“Do you mean to never let me rest, woman?” Alec grinned at her good-humoredly as he raised his eyebrows at Shelby, who had come gliding silently up to him.
“Very well then, at half past seven.”
XLVIII
Alec’s table manners were acceptable, due as much to his natural fastidiousness as any training his actress friend might have given him. Watching him as they ate, Isabella thought that if she hadn’t known his identity and had just met him as a nameless stranger, she would have assumed him a gentleman without a second thought. Impossible to believe that those perfectly carved, patrician features could belong to anything less. Impossible to believe that the humor and intelligence, the quick charm and wit of him, had been bred in the gutters of London.
Dressed in impeccable black evening wear—Alec had flatly vetoed the valet, but Isabella had enlisted a footman to take care of his clothes and, on this particular night, to lay out what she wished him to wear—with the light from a dozen candles turning his hair to the same gleaming gold as his eyes, he was so handsome that just looking at him gave her pleasure.
Her handsome Alec; the thought with all its ramifications of possessiveness both frightened and pleased her.
“The food is considerably better,” Alec said, motioning to Shelby for more wine. He’d drunk rather more than was his custom tonight, and as a consequence of having her glass frequently topped off, Isabella had as well.
“I had a word with the cook, I hope you don’t mind.”
It was amazing what culinary prowess could be uncovered by a simple threat to allow the behemoth in the kitchen to look for a position more to his liking.
“If these are the results, I certainly don’t mind. In fact, I salute you.” Alec raised his glass to his mouth and drained it with the words. At his signal, Shelby was immediately at his shoulder with the bottle to fill the empty glass again.
It occurred to Isabella that she had never seen Alec drink to excess before. She frowned at him.
“Is something wrong? You seem to have developed a powerful liking suddenly for wine.”
Alec looked at her almost craftily. Isabella’s eyes widened on his face. Their eyes met, Alec’s secretive, Isabella’s alarmed. Then, suddenly, he grinned.
“What skulduggery are you imagining, I wonder? ’Tis merely that today’s lesson was hard on one of my few remaining tender spots, and I was hoping that wine might help dull the pain.”
For a moment Isabella didn’t understand. Then comprehension, and with it growing amusement, dawned. “Are you telling me that you’re saddle-sore?”
“If that’s the term for the portion of my anatomy designed for sitting being unable to carry out its function without causing me acute discomfort, then yes.”
“Oh, my. I didn’t think of that,” Isabella confessed. Her eyes began to twinkle, and despite her best efforts, she broke into a wide grin.
“Nor did I. Had I thought of it, not all the fluttering lashes in England would’ve gotten me on the back of that bloody great beast.”
“Don’t swear,” Isabella said automatically as a footman removed their plates and replaced them with the dessert course. “I’m truly sorry you’re suffering discomfort, Alec.”
“You look truly sorry. Shelby, break out some of that French liqueur that we purchased very honestly since the cessation of hostilities. This syllabub sets ill on my palate.”
“Should you drink so much?”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t been in my cups since I was a lad of fourteen and almost entered into service in His Majesty’s Marines.”
“Tell me about it,” Isabella begged, enchanted at the tantalizing picture this conjured up.
Alec took a healthy swallow of the greenish liqueur, and complied. “Paddy and I’d prigged a load of French brandy, and sold most of the bottles on the street for thrice their worth. We kept two, one for each of us, and proceeded to down the contents in something under an hour. After that we went prowling the streets—it was night by then, you understand, but not over-late—and happened to cast our eyes upon an advertisement inviting all loyal young men who had an eye for riches and glory to repair to a certain locale, where they might have the honor of being enrolled in His Majesty’s Marines. The part about riches and glory certainly caught our eye—before we’d lucked on the brandy, we’d but fourpence between us, and to save our meager horde, had eaten but once in two days. We talked together, and decided that a change of scene was what we needed. Not that we were foolish enough to believe all the bombast in the advertisement, but we thought His Majesty’s service might offer honest employment, which generally is rewarded with an honest wage.
“We went up to a street in Westminster, to the location specified in the ad, and found ourselves in due course before a Captain of a m
arching regiment. He was all for taking likely lads such as ourselves—Paddy in particular caught his eye with his size, but I, being taller than the average for my age, was acceptable too. Fortunately I bethought myself to inquire about the wages His Majesty would pay us for doing his glorious work. Imagine my dismay at being told the pay was but sixpence a day! Paddy, far more than three sheets to windward still from the brandy we had consumed, considered that a great sum, but I, with my wits not quite as befuddled as his, did some calculations and discovered that, in our single night of selling stolen brandy, we had made more blunt than we would have in a year of service with His Majesty’s Marines!
“As Paddy was in no case to be reasoned with, I dragged him out of there on the excuse that we needed to answer nature’s call and would return forthwith. Needless to say, that was the last that Captain saw of us, although the brandy smugglers soon got to know and loathe us, by reputation if not by name, as we began to regularly relieve them of their wares.”
Alec grinned, took another swallow of the liqueur, grimaced, and gestured for a refill. Isabella took a drink from her glass too—quite good, the liqueur was, with a minty taste and smell—and waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, but continued to sip at his liqueur with a reflective smile on his face, as though he was reliving old memories, she prodded him.
“You never did enlist?”
He shook his head. “Sober, I found the notion appalling. Why should I—or Paddy—offer myself up as cannon fodder for King and country when King and country had never done ought for me? Sixpence a day was not near enough of an inducement.”
“So you peddled stolen brandy instead. Is that how you got your start?”
“You mean, was that my introduction to a life of crime? No. I’d always made my way by thievery, stealing whatever I could lay my hands on, and keeping or selling it as the need and mood struck me. But it was that night that I realized just how much money a clever lad could make, And I was right. We never went hungry again after that, nor had to go begging, nor accept handouts from Pearl.”
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