Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 02]

by Second Chances

  She turned to the earl. "Thank you, sir. You are being most magnanimous."

  Wrexham shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware that his decision to dismiss her had nothing to do with the events of the previous night. "You have no need to thank me. I am merely doing what any gentleman would feel obligated to do," he growled.

  A discreet knock came at the door. The earl's butler opened it halfway but before he could announce the reason for his presence, a heavyset figure of medium height shouldered past him, ignoring all pretenses at politeness.

  "Excuse the interruption, Wrexham, but I thought I should warn you of the shocking event that took place last night. A band of thieves attempted to rob Westwood Manor! "

  Not a muscle twitched in the earl's face. "Indeed?"

  "Aye. Three big, brawny brutes by the account of Sandhill's servants. And vicious, too. Threatened to murder them all. The biggest one hit the head footman a wicked blow to the temple—"

  Allegra coughed.

  "—while the leader thrashed him to within an inch of his life when he tried to save the female servants from ravishment."

  Wrexham's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Shocking," he murmured.

  "Only the selfless bravery of the butler and the other footmen enabled them to finally fight the villains off. Naturally we are scouring the area for the thugs but you had best be on guard."

  "My thanks, Tristley. I shall, but in all likelihood the criminals have thought better of attempting their dastardly deeds around here," replied the earl dryly. "I don't imagine they will be heard from again."

  Squire Tristley scowled. "You're probably right—the cowards have probably fled, though I'd dearly love to get my hands on them. They'd soon be sorry they ever showed their ugly faces where I am magistrate."

  "I have no doubt of that." Wrexham refilled his cup. "Would you care for some tea?"

  "No, thank you for the offer but I'd best be on my way and warn Baron Knightley at Hillington. Pray, don't disturb yourself," he added hastily as the earl made to rise. "I can see myself out." He caught sight of the bandage on the earl's hand. "I trust you haven't suffered a serious injury, my lord?"

  "Not at all," replied Wrexham smoothly. "You know how it is, I was doing something I shouldn't have been doing, but luckily the consequences were not greater. I should suffer no lasting ill-effects."

  Tristley frowned in slight confusion. "Yes, one must have a care in the country. Well, good day to you, my lord."

  As soon as Tristley was gone from the room, Max let out a burble of laughter. "Murderers, ravishers!"

  "Max," warned Allegra in a low voice. "Let us drop the subject."

  His eyes danced with mirth. "Far be it from me to argue with the biggest, toughest brute of them all."

  Allegra put down her napkin. "I think it's time for your lessons, young man."

  Wrexham picked up the paper to hide the glint of unholy amusement in his own eyes.

  * * *

  Allegra set her basket down and took a seat on the overgrown stone fence to rest for a moment. She was still trying to make sense of all that had happened. In retrospect, the whole plan to break into Westwood Manor had been a crazy scheme, with little chance of success. Only the earl's timely interference had saved things from becoming an unmitigated disaster. She was lucky not to be moldering in the county gaol, with the only prospect for the future a trip to the penal colonies of Australia.

  Yes, she certainly owed the earl a debt of gratitude.

  Of course there was no question that part of his actions stemmed from his desire to protect his son. Yet that didn't explain everything. He didn't have to let her remain in his household, and he certainly didn't have to offer to help her. That she had never expected—but then, there was a great deal about the Earl of Wrexham that surprised her.

  He shrugged off his actions as being what any gentleman would consider doing his duty, but in her experience, most gentlemen seemed inclined to do aught but what suited their own whims. The earl, on the other hand, appeared to be that rare person with a true sense of integrity, of honor. She imagined that he would be a stalwart friend to those he cared for, just as she was sure he would also make a formidable foe. Somehow it had mattered more than she cared to admit that he had believed her tale. The idea of not measuring up in his eyes had been of more concern than any of the consequences he could mete out. Those had been more than fair, she admitted, all things considered.

  Allegra shook her head slightly, as if as baffled by her own mixed feelings as well as the actions of his lordship. Why, she found that along with a growing respect for the man, she was actually beginning to... like him, despite her resolve to the contrary.

  He was aloof to the point of arrogance, overbearing and had little regard for polite manners, she reminded herself. Suddenly, the image came to mind of the earl planting a facer to Lord Sandhill's burly footman and Allegra smiled in spite of herself. No one could question his physical prowess, she thought, as she pictured the way he had handled the situation with cool aplomb, carrying his son to safety and negotiating the tricky descent while under fire. Those broad shoulders and long, muscled legs had....

  Two spots of color appeared on her cheeks. That was quite far enough for her thoughts to stray. She could not deny that the Earl of Wrexham was what any female would consider a most attractive man, but that didn't interest her in the least. Men were more trouble than they were worth. The rewards simply didn't justify the sacrifices—in fact, in her experience, the rewards had proven to be... rather disappointing.

  She gathered up her basket and surveyed the varied leaves and textures of the herbs and flowers. She had nearly everything she needed. It was only a matter of locating some St. John's wort, but the afternoon promised to remain a most pleasant one for a walk through the fields.

  Later that evening, Allegra knocked softly on the library door.

  "Come in," snapped Wrexham, his eyes not stirring from the book in his lap. "Confound it, Dunbar, could not whatever it is wait until—" He looked up at her in surprise.

  "Pray, forgive me for intruding on you, my lord. I..." Suddenly she felt foolish and awkward. What had appeared in the light of day a reasonable idea now seemed patently ridiculous. If she could have retreated with a shred of dignity intact, she would have done so.

  "Well?"

  There was nothing for it but to go on. She placed a glass of liquid on the round table by the side of his armchair. Wrexham regarded the frothy green contents and wrinkled his nose slightly at the herbaceous odor.

  "What in the name of heaven is that, Mrs. Proctor?"

  "I... well, I spent a considerable time with an elderly woman in our parish who was known for her healing skills. She taught me quite alot about herbal remedies. This one is particularly good for pain and inflammation. I... thought it might be of some help for your knee."

  The earl stared at her, then the glass.

  "Max told me that you are loath to use laudanum because of its ill-effects over time," she continued in a hesitant voice. "This herbal tisane has no such drawbacks and is nearly as effective. I have given the recipe to Cook."

  Still he said nothing.

  Allegra gave a ghost of a smile. "You need not fear that nightshade is one of the ingredients."

  That brought a smile to his lips as well. "Not trying to hasten me to an early demise? It would be most imaginative, and as I have said, you have no lack of imagination."

  "I like to think I have no lack of common sense either, sir. You see, I would have nothing to gain by doing such a thing."

  He picked up the glass and eyed its contents. "And what do you hope to gain by this?" he asked softly.

  She stiffened. "Its ingredients do not include honey or sugar either," she said tartly. "I have already told you, I have no notion of trying to sweeten you up. If you do not wish to drink it, then by all means, do not." She turned to go. "However, you would be a fool. It works. Good night, my lord."

  Her hand was nearly on the door latch wh
en he spoke.

  "A moment, Mrs. Proctor."

  She turned, a wary expression on her face.

  "Thank you."

  The color of her eyes lightened. "You are welcome, sir." She regarded his leg propped up on a plump hassock in front of the fire. "I trust that it will bring you some immediate relief."

  The door flung open, nearly clipping her on the chin. "Oh, there you are, Mrs. Proctor." Max entered the room, a wedge of apple tart in his hand. "I have been looking all over for you."

  "It seems you have been quite thorough in your search. Did you imagine she was locked in the larder?" remarked his father dryly.

  Max grinned. "It has been at least two hours since supper," he said as he polished off the last bite. As he wiped his hands on the seat of his pantaloons, the earl rolled his eyes heavenward. "Max, I hope you will not put me to blush with such behavior in London. Your aunts will truly ring a peal over my head for raising as a heathen."

  The lad caught himself in mid-gesture and reddened. "Sorry," he stammered.

  "What did you want to see me about?" asked Allegra quickly.

  The lad looked relieved to have the subject changed. "Oh, as to that, I to ask you..." He stopped abruptly. "Ah, perhaps now is not a good time," he went on, slanting a sideways glance at his father.

  Allegra took note of the slight hardening of the earl's features. "Not at all," she replied calmly. "Your father and I have just finished with our business."

  Max appeared to be studying the subtle patterns of the oriental rug.

  "I'm sure there is nothing you wish to discuss with me that cannot be said here," she continued pointedly.

  The lad shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Well, it concerns a certain skill with opening locks," he mumbled. "I... was wondering how you learned to do that."

  "Never mind," she snapped, now sorry she had pressed him. The earl had more than enough sins to lay at her door, besides thinking she was encouraging his son to further mischief.

  To her surprise, Wrexham's mouth began twitching at the corners. "Come now, Mrs. Proctor, surely you don't mean to deprive us of what promises to be a most interesting story. I admit, my curiosity is piqued on how a gently bred female came to add such unusual skills to the normal repertoire of sewing and sketching."

  Max's face brightened at the unexpected support. "It would further my education in the ways of the world, would it not?" he said slyly.

  It was Allegra's turn to color under the combined scrutiny of father and son. "Really, my lord," she muttered. "I wouldn't think you would wish to encourage such an improper topic."

  The earl chuckled. "Improper? In the light of recent events, I might as well give up trying to run a proper household."

  She found herself unable to maintain a straight face. "Well, if you put it that way." On taking in Max's eager expression, she relented. "Oh, very well. My cousin Lucy has in her employ a coachman who, along with a special knack for horseflesh, possesses certain other talents. In his youth he... tried a few other professions before deciding that his present position offered the best prospects for a long and comfortable life."

  "Your cousin sounds like a most fascinating person," remarked the earl.

  "Oh, she is," assured Allegra.

  "What does her husband think of her—"

  "Naturally, she is a widow."

  The earl's eyebrow arched in question.

  "A man wouldn't allow her to exercise her own judgment in such things."

  "Perhaps in this case he would be justified," he murmured.

  "A typical male response!" shot back Allegra, feeling there was little need to temper her tongue. After all, she was already turned out. And besides, the earl had asked for it. "John is the most loyal, resourceful servant a person could wish for. Why, he has saved Lucy from any number of unpleasant situations by using his wits and his experience. Of course, a more prejudiced mind would never have given him a chance."

  Rather than provoking a fit of anger, her heated words only increased the glint of amusement in Wrexham's eyes.

  "Pray, how did she meet this paragon of a retainer?"

  Allegra cleared her throat. "She made his acquaintance one night in... in the study of her townhouse. After a rather lengthy discussion, John decided that a change of employers was a most attractive idea."

  "I am surprised he was willing to, er, enter into such a discourse."

  "One doesn't argue too strenuously with a brace of pistols, my lord."

  Wrexham gave a shout of laughter. "Remind me to return the missing one to your keeping—once we are in London."

  "So it was John who showed you how to work the picks?" demanded Max, impatient to hear the particulars.

  Allegra nodded. "When I came to stay with Lucy and told her of my plan to retrieve my rightful property from Lord Sandhill, we enlisted John's advice."

  "He approved of your plan?" asked Wrexham.

  "No, he did not," she admitted. "In fact, he informed me that it was it was harebrained scheme likely to land me in the suds, but since he couldn't talk me out of it, he said I may as well be prepared to deal with the obstacles I would face."

  "The man had some sense, at least. You should have listened—"

  "Is it difficult?" interrupted Max. "The actual task of getting the lock to open?"

  Wrexham noted with a wry smile that he couldn't recall seeing his quiet, bookish son so animated on a topic that didn't concern the nuances of an archaic grammar. Somehow he wasn't as displeased as he supposed he ought to be. Why, even he had to admit the subject was getting rather interesting....

  "Actually it is not. Once one understands the principles by which the tumblers work, it is a matter of patience and touch," answered Allegra. She tried to repress a little smile of satisfaction. "In fact, John said I had a real knack for it."

  "Oh, will you give us a demonstration?" Max cast a glance at his father's desk. "Could you, say, open the top drawer?"

  "Certainly not!" She forced herself to meet the earl's gaze. "Be assured, sir, I would never—"

  "You would be sadly disappointed. No stolen treasures, no purse of gold."

  "No passionate billet doux?" She was immediately aghast at her words.

  The earl's jaw tightened. "I am not given to fits of passion, Mrs. Proctor. That sort of romantic fool exists on the pages of Lord Byron's verse, perhaps, but I am not one of them. Now fetch you picks, Mrs. Proctor, assuming you were not forced to abandon them in Sandhill's library. Neither of us shall have a moment's peace until you satisfy Max's curiosity."

  She could only hope her face was not as scarlet as it felt. "I will, my lord, on one condition."

  Wrexham's brows came together.

  She pointed to the glass, standing forgotten on the sidetable. "Please drink that."

  He hesitated for a moment, then drained the contents.

  Max made a face as he watched the green liquid disappear. "What was that?"

  The earl set the glass down with a thump. "Mrs. Proctor is under the impression that her vast array of skills also includes medicinal ones. In this instance I shall humor her in order that we may see the real display."

  Allegra shot him an indignant look before she turned to Max. "It was an herbal tisane which I trust will help alleviate the pain in your father's knee." As she made for the door, she added something else under her breath, drawing a grin from Max.

  "A pity it does nothing improve a person's disposition."

  When she returned, she undid the ties of the canvas pouch and laid a number of thin metal implements out on the earl's desk.

  "It is a matter of feeling the positions of the tumblers, then exerting the right pressure to move them," She went on to explain in great detail certain of the techniques and tricks her cousin's coachman had taught her. By the time the demonstration was over, the earl's desk drawer had been neatly sprung more than a few times.

  "Here," she said after the last successful attempt. "Would you care to try?"

 
Max took the proffered tool and set to work with the sort of rapt expression usually reserved for translating Virgil. It took a good deal of fumbling and one or two muttered curses but the lock finally gave way to his efforts.

  He looked up, flushed with elation. "I did it!" He snapped the drawer shut. "Let me see if I can do it quicker this time. I'm sure with practice I could have it open in a trice."

  Allegra fixed at the earl with a look that announced quite clearly who should bear the blame for turn things had taken.

  On the next try, Max succeeded in manipulating the tumblers nearly as quickly as Allegra had. "Excellent!" He stepped away from his handiwork and offered the thin piece of metal to the earl. "Aren't you going to try your hand, Father?"

  Wrexham looked for a moment as if he might refuse to dignify the proceedings with his participation, but he couldn't resist the challenge. He took the pick and regarded the closed drawer for moment, then with a few deft movements of his long fingers, he caused the drawer to spring open in half the time it had taken the others.

  Max's jaw dropped in amazement.

  "You are very good at this, sir," she murmured. "Why do I have the feeling that tonight is not the first time you have done this?"

  The earl schooled his expression to be deliberately bland. "Indeed? I cannot imagine what would lead you to think that." He placed the pick back alongside the others and returned to his wingchair. To his surprise, when he moved, the pain in his leg had lessened considerably. Not only that, when he sank into the soft leather, he felt deliciously relaxed, free of the nagging tension that usually crept upon him late at night.

  "Now, if the two of you don't mind, I would like to finish the chapter of my book without further interruption."

  "Good night, Father." There was a touch of awe in the lad's tone that only increased the earl's feeling of well-being.

  Allegra waited until Max had left the room. "Better?" she inquired quietly, noting that the tautness around the earl's eyes had eased somewhat.

  "Much." He let out a small sigh as he stretched his limbs out towards the warmth of the flames. "You are truly a female of... unusual talents," he murmured.