Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 02]

by Second Chances

  "That is up to Mrs. Proctor," replied the earl. His eyes met Allegra's. "However, I can vouch for Lord Bingham's discretion, and with his broad circle of acquaintances in Town he may have heard something useful regarding Sandhill."

  She nodded her assent. "I trust your judgment in this, my lord. You have my leave to tell him whatever you feel is necessary."

  Bingham regarded both of them thoughtfully before speaking. "Why the sudden interest in your neighbor? Thought you couldn't abide the fellow—not that I blame you. Dashed rum sort, if you ask me."

  "What do you hear of him in Town?"

  "Well, now that you mention it, there have been a few disturbing rumors floating around." Bingham stopped to clear his throat, throwing pointed look at Max and Allegra.

  "Oh, you may as well go ahead," said Wrexham with a sigh of resignation. "No doubt they would find a way to make my life intolerable until I told them."

  "Well, over the past few years, Sandhill has begun to play quite deeply at... certain gaming establishments. Though he wins occasionally, it is not near enough to cover the losses, which, from what I've heard, have become more and more frequent. Apparently the son is an even worse profligate and at times, the amount of their vowels have reached staggering proportions. The thing is, it's well known the family fortune is on its last legs. And yet the blunt comes from somewhere to pay the debts, for paid they are." He paused and his mien became quite serious. "The first odd occurrence happened about a year ago. Do you recall how the Duchess of Courtland's emerald necklace disappeared at a house party given by Rockham at his Devonshire estate?"

  Wrexham's brows came together. "I vaguely remember reading of it—you know I pay little attention to that sort of thing. But if I recall, there was no evidence of any intruder, and the lady in question is featherbrained enough to have mislaid the bauble."

  "Even Her Grace would manage to remember where she put down something worth nearly twenty thousand pounds," said Bingham dryly. "Sandhill was present on that occasion, as he was when the next piece of jewelry was discovered missing at Hiltshire's gathering."

  "I imagine a number of the same people made up both parties," pointed out the earl.

  His friend nodded. "True enough. But after that, the modus operendi changed. Thefts began to occur with regularity among the ton, always when the victims were engaged for the evening and the servants either given leave for the evening or occupied in another part of the house—whoever masterminded things had an uncanny knowledge of the habits and schedule of Society." His voice dropped low enough that Allegra had to strain to hear his next words. "You know I enjoy a rather broad circle of friends. Well, whispers have reached me that two men, one older, one much younger, are the ones responsible. My source describes them as right flash coves what talk funny—in short, gentlemen. He tells me the loot is taken by cutter to the Continent, where it is fenced, usually in Paris or in Amsterdam. When pressed for further description of the ringleaders, he claims never to have actually seen them, but from what little he has heard, the pair fits your neighbors."

  Max began to say something but his father cut him off. "Have you contacted the authorities about this?"

  Bingham shrugged. "You know as well as I that without hard evidence or someone willing to give testimony, it is not a charge that would be taken seriously. But my advice is to stay well clear of the man. He is a nasty piece of business."

  "But—" blurted out Max.

  Wrexham shot him a warning look as the butler entered to announce that dinner was served, causing the lad to swallow his words. It was with ill-disguised impatience that he managed to keep still under the first covers were removed and the footmen had left the dining room.

  "Mrs. Proctor has also been a victim of Lord Sandhill and his son!"

  For an instant, Bingham's expression betrayed a flicker of surprise before he composed his features back into the mask of a perfect gentleman. "Indeed?" He slanted a glance at Wrexham. "I would not have thought him so clumsy as to risk preying on a member of your household, Leo. What..."

  "What could he have possibly wanted from an impoverished widow?" finished Allegra with an ironic smile. "As it happens, my father possessed a very rare book. When he died, Lord Sandhill contrived to have it... fall into his own hands rather than mine. As it was some time ago, I was not in the employ of Lord Wrexham."

  Despite the brevity of her explanation, delivered in a calm, steady tone, it was clear that Bingham sensed there were many more layers to the story beneath the simple veneer of her words. He took a sip of claret while regarding her with a penetrating look. "What a shock you must have experienced, to find yourself in the vicinity of your nemesis when you came to take up your position here," he murmured.

  A tight smile crossed Allegra's lips once again. "I'm sure you are well aware it is no coincidence that I am here, though it was only by a fortuitous stroke of luck that my cousin saw Max's notice concerning a tutor."

  "Max's notice? What the—" exclaimed Bingham. "Dash it all, Leo, I think it is time I hear the whole of this, if I am to be any use."

  Wrexham didn't miss the slight flush that had stolen over Allegra's features at prospects of having to endure the telling of all her misadventures. "And you shall," he replied. "Over our port."

  Allegra flashed him a look of gratitude from under her lashes, which made him feel oddly pleased.

  "But—" remonstrated Max.

  "I believe you had promised to tell me of your current studies, Max," said Bingham, smoothly following his host's lead. "I am most intrigued to hear just what sort of challenges Mrs. Proctor is putting before you."

  The conversation turned to books. Despite his air of nonchalance, Lord Bingham turned out to be as well-read as the earl and Allegra found her earlier misgivings melting away as he drew her into the conversation. His easy manners also brought out a side of Wrexham she had not seen before. The earl relaxed his usual reserved manner to trade quips and good-natured barbs with his friend. Why, he even laughed at times, the fine lines around his eyes crinkling in mirth, the dark brows relaxed rather than drawn together in a predatory scowl.

  It was a good thing she was not in the least susceptible to girlish infatuations, she thought dryly, for there was no denying that the earl's smile was rather devastating.

  By the end of the meal Allegra realized that not only had the evening not been the sore trial she expected but that she had enjoyed herself immensely. Far from treating her as a featherbrain, the two gentlemen had accorded her opinions and remarks the same attention as they gave each other. With a slight pang of longing, she wondered what it would be like to experience such stimulating conversation every evening.

  But no sooner had the notion crossed her mind then she banished it from her thoughts. In a short time, she would be back in London, forced to impose on her cousin Lucy's generous hospitality or to find a position of her own, one which surely would not include sitting down to dine with her employer and his titled guests as if she was one of them.

  Yes, that would be her fate. Unless she could retrieve her father's book.

  She stole a sideways glance at the angular planes of Wrexham's face, softened somewhat as he grinned in response to his friend's latest sally. Would he truly help her, or would his words prove no more than idle promises?

  Wrexham seemed to sense her scrutiny and turned slightly in his chair. For an instant there was a strange intensity in his eyes before they broke away and he inquired what she thought of Bingham's unflattering comments concerning a noted scholar of the day. With a mental shake of her head, Allegra put aside her musings to join back in the animated discussion. As Max was quick to add his own lively opinion, his voice warbling between bass and alto in his haste to get out his words, it was another long while before Wrexham pushed his chair back from the table, signaling an end to the meal.

  "Why don't we take our port in the library," he suggested to his friend, drawing an indignant look from Max at not being included in the invitation.


  "I'm not a child anymore," he grumbled.

  Bingham smiled in sympathy at the lad's injured expression. "Patience, Max. You are almost of an age. And besides, if you were to join us, you should leave Mrs. Proctor abandoned, which would be most unmannerly."

  Max's face brightened considerably. He turned to Allegra. "Would you care for a game of chess before you retire?"

  She accepted with pleasure and the two of them withdrew to the drawing room after a round of polite good nights, leaving the gentlemen free to retreat to the masculine comfort of the earl's library.

  * * *

  Lord Bingham could hardly refrain from laughing. "They did what?"

  Wrexham smiled himself. "It was not quite so funny at the time, I assure you, to observe my son and his tutor scaling the walls Lord Sandhill's manor house in the dead of night."

  Another chuckle came from the other man. "I take back all I said earlier about your dull existence. Why, it's quite the stuff of a Radcliffe—or Quicksilver—novel. You were actually shot at?"

  The earl held up his bandaged hand. "Any worse and I might have had some rather awkward explaining to do to the local magistrate. Believe me, the two of them heard in no uncertain terms what I thought of such a risky scheme. It's a wonder we aren't all locked up in the gaol."

  "Actually it's a wonder they didn't manage to pull it off, for the fact is, it sounds remarkably well-planned." His expression then became very serious as he poured himself another glass of the earl's excellent port. "Mrs. Proctor's explanation is a most disturbing story—if it is true."

  Wrexham's eyes narrowed. "I do not doubt her veracity. You have met her—do you?"

  Bingham shook his head. "No," he admitted. "Still, I see little that can be done about the matter. It is unlikely that she will ever be able to recover her property, for most likely the book has long ago been sold."

  The earl's expression became even more grim. "You don't imagine I intend to let Sandhill get away with such behavior?"

  Bingham swirled the tawny contents of his glass then rose and began to peruse the titles on the nearest shelf. After a lengthy silence he turned back to the earl.

  "Leo, I have known you long enough to sense it is not the mere theft of a book that has roused you to such anger."

  Wrexham didn't answer for a moment. "The younger Sandhill tried to rape her," he finally said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "When her younger brother, a lad no older than Max, tried to stop him, Sandhill beat badly enough to cause his death. Her life has been shattered by a so-called gentleman, one of our own. You expect me to turn away and do nothing?"

  "Riding to the aid of a damsel in distress?" His friend smiled faintly. "It seems that deep at heart, you are still a romantic."

  "Don't be ridiculous," growled the earl. "I am nothing of the sort. I simply dislike seeing an injustice done, especially by one who already enjoys a privileged life."

  "Why not simply give her the money she would have received from the book rather than embark on some risky course of action? Lord knows, you're rich as Croesus and can well afford it."

  "That's not the point," replied the earl doggedly. "Sandhill and his son must be punished for what they have done. Besides," he added with a grimace. "I doubt she would accept anything from me. Why, she's made it perfectly clear that she doesn't like me any more than she does Sandhill."

  Bingham's eyebrow shot up for a moment, then his dry sense of humor reasserted itself. "Good heavens Leo, you used to have a modicum of charm."

  The earl shot him a black look.

  "I suppose that means you have informed her you mean to give her the sack?"

  Wrexham shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Wouldn't be right to be less than honest about my intentions," he muttered. "But in any case, she has no great regard for any gentleman of title—not that I blame her."

  Bingham finished off the contents of his glass. "Well, I can see there is no use trying to change your mind on this. When I return to town, I shall see what else I can discover for you. But have a care, Leo. Sandhill and son will not take any interference into their affairs lightly. And do not underestimate them—I fear they are very dangerous men."

  Chapter 7

  Allegra heard the wheels of Lord Bingham's carriage roll away from the entrance of the Hall at some ungodly hour near dawn. Sleep proved elusive after that, as she found herself mulling over the events of the past evening. Her feelings were decidedly mixed. That the conversation had been both stimulating and amusing was undeniable. And that the two gentlemen had treated her with such courtesy, even kindness, was more than she had ever have expected. But more than that, their lordships seemed to be truly concerned over her plight.

  She bit her lip in consternation. That didn't make sense. They weren't supposed to care for anything but their own pleasure. Surely Wrexham would lose interest as soon as became tedious or inconvenient to think about the matter. And no doubt Lord Bingham, despite his warm manner and friendly words, would forget such an insignificant person as a female tutor long before he returned to his busy life in London. As she had learned more than once over the past year, it wouldn't do to get her hopes up that anyone, except perhaps her dear cousin Lucy, would care enough about her troubles to help.

  As she recalled Wrexham's promise to tell his friend the full story over their port, a faint blush once again colored her features. It seemed that for the second time that day she had become the topic of conversation between the two gentlemen, a most unsettling realization. It was most difficult to have one's personal problems laid bare before strangers. Did they think her a fool? A weakling? Or worse, an object of pity?

  But it was remembering Lord Bingham's words in the garden that caused the heat to rise to her cheeks. Intriguing eyes and interesting curves! She shook her head slightly. His lordship was no doubt merely teasing his friend when he had called her a most attractive young woman. She knew she was neither. And if she had had any delusions to the contrary, they would have been quickly dashed by Wrexham's reply. An ironic smile played on her lips. The earl's words summed up the matter quite neatly—he hadn't noticed.

  Indeed, why should he?

  And why should it bother her in the least that he hadn't?

  It didn't, she assured herself as she flung back the covers with a touch more vehemence than necessary. Further sleep was nigh on impossible, so she dressed and quietly left her room, hoping that a brisk early morning walk might chase away such disquieting thoughts.

  By the time she returned to the manor and entered the breakfast room, she felt much better and was about to greet Max with a cheery good morning when, to her surprise, she noted the glum expression on his face. Even more revealing of his depressed spirits was the fact that he was merely pushing the food around on his plate, and a plate of scones sat untouched by his elbow.

  She buttered a piece of toast and sipped at her tea before breaking the silence. "Why the long face? Or would you prefer I didn't ask?"

  An elbow found its way onto the table to prop up a jutting chin. "I... I wish that Lord Bingham could have stayed longer. It can be rather flat around here without any visitors. Father prefers it that way, but... it's so quiet." He heaved a sigh and jabbed at a slice of Yorkshire ham. "Rusher said that when my mother was alive, our London townhouse was always filled with guests, and there were parties and balls."

  Allegra measured her words carefully. "I think you might find such an existence might lose its shine rather quickly—there is rarely an idea of substance discussed or honest opinion given."

  Max's brows came together at that.

  "You must also realize that maybe it is hard for your father—perhaps such things remind him too much of his loss. Was he... very much in love with your mother?"

  He considered the question for some time. "He never speaks of her," he finally answered in a small voice. "But he must have. I've overheard the servants saying she was called the darling of Society."

  She was probably diminutive, with porcelain skin, r
osebud lips and raven tresses, not tall and gangly with sun darkened cheeks and hair neither blond nor brown thought Allegra with a touch of waspishness. And Lord Wrexham probably doted on her every vacuous word.

  Then, with a start, she suddenly realized there was no portrait of the lady anywhere in the Hall. That seemed strange, but she shrugged it off and forced her attention back to Max. "Well, I'm sure you will come to appreciate that your father has taught you to value intelligent conversation over the fripperies of society. I'm sorry you are feeling blue deviled at the moment but remember, you will soon have a chance to judge for yourself, for soon you will be journeying to London. There you will get all the excitement that you desire."

  His eyes lit up a bit. "I cannot wait, save for that it also means that you—"

  "Kindly remove your elbow from your plate, Max." The earl stepped in through the french doors. He looked as if he had just returned from a hard gallop, his hair ruffled around the collar of his riding jacket, the color of his wind whipped cheeks only emphasizing the rich blue of his eyes. Right now they were fixed with a penetrating intensity on his son. "And sit up straight."

  Max's lower lip jutted out. Already in a testy mood, he was quick to take umbrage at the mild reproof. Quite deliberately, he slumped even more in his chair and began to mash his shirred eggs into an unappetizing lump with some bits of kippers.

  Wrexham sat down as one of the servants brought him a cup of tea.

  Allegra bit her lip, wondering just how much the earl had overheard. But rather than dwell on her own possible embarrassment at having discussed his personal life, she sought to stave off any unpleasant confrontation between father and son. "Max, if you are finished, perhaps we should begin our lessons now. What would you—"

  "Max," warned the earl as he looked up.

  The lad threw down his fork. "Why bother having manners? There's no one here to see them!" he said bitterly.

  "You will apologize to Mrs. Proctor for such a churlish remark," said Wrexham quietly. "Then you will forego lessons for the morning and take yourself off to your room. If you insist on acting like a child, you will be treated as one."