Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 02] (19 page)

"I'm not tired—"He made to sit up but the movement sent a spasm of pain through his ribs, causing him to bite off his words with a sharp intake of breath.

Allegra raised one eyebrow. "You are sure you don't wish to drink the medicine?"

"Well, perhaps one more time," he said through gritted teeth.

She passed him the glass, then stood up. "If you don't mind, I am tired. I shall see you in the morning."

"Sorry to be such a bother," he mumbled. "I know it must be deucedly flat to sit here with me for hours on end. I don't mean to be such an ill-tempered companion."

"You know I don't mind."

He flashed her a grateful smile. "Good night then, Mrs. Proctor. And thank you."

"Good night, Max."

It was not really very late, nor was she really as tired as she had led Max to believe. Before retiring to her own chamber, she decided to visit the library to borrow a book she had been meaning to start. There were so many wonderful volumes in the earl's collection. She wished she had a chance to devour them all, for she doubted she would ever have access to such a vast choice ever again. A sigh escaped her lips at that depressing thought. At least the earl had been kind enough to let her run tame among them while she was here.

She was busy perusing the shelves next to the fireplace when the sound of the door opening interrupted her thoughts. She turned around with a guilty start.

Wrexham was standing in the doorway. He had removed his coat and the knot of his cravat was loosened in a casual manner. A book was tucked under his arm.

"Oh! I thought you had already gone upstairs, my lord. I didn't mean to intrude on your—"

"You are always welcome to avail yourself of any book here." He came into the room and stirred the fire until a flame leapt up from the banked coals. "Has Max kept you captive until this hour? I'm sorry if he is making life a sore trial for you."

She let out a little laugh. "It is a delight rather than a trial to see him recovering so quickly. But I fear we are not going to be able to keep him abed much longer. I've already had to resort to threats of tying him to the bedposts."

Wrexham chuckled. "Which no doubt you would do."

"Now that is exactly what he said. Am I such a harridan, then?"

"Not at all." He put the book down on his desk and strolled over to the sideboard to fix a glass of brandy. "Merely someone with, shall we say, strong ideas and the resolve to see them carried out."

"Ah. Worse than a harridan—a managing female."

The earl's mouth twitched at the corners. "I see I should cease trying to cross verbal swords with you tonight Mrs. Proctor, for no doubt I will end up neatly skewered in no time." He gestured towards the arrangement of bottles. "Would you care to join me? A brandy, perhaps?"

Allegra shook her head. "You might be required to lug me upstairs again like a sack of grain. I don't believe I have ever apologized to you for that."

"Rest assured you are quite unlike a sack of grain."

A faint color stole to her cheeks. She quickly bent her head and made a show of studying the gilt titles.

"A sherry, then," he continued. Without waiting for a reply he poured out a glass for her along with a brandy for himself and carried them towards the fire.

She took a moment to select a slim volume of Shakespeare's sonnets from one of the lower shelves, then came around to accept the glass and take a seat by the hearth. As Wrexham sat, stretching out his long legs towards the blazing logs, the grizzled deerhound rose from where he had been slumbering in the shadows and padded towards the earl, stopping first to deposit a rather wet token of his affection on Allegra's hand before greeting his master with a contented whoof.

Wrexham's fingers ruffled the silky fur. "You are one of the chosen few, you know. Sasha usually tolerates only Max and myself."

"I told you, animals seem to like me."

"Animals and children," murmured the earl with a hint of a smile. He cleared his throat. "I don't believe I have properly thanked you for all you have done for Max. Your quick thinking quite probably saved his life, and the constant concern and attention with which you attend the sickroom—"

She lowered her eyes. "You need not thank me as if I am performing some duty, my lord. I have become very... fond of Max."

He nodded, a strange expression on his face. "I suppose it is that for which I am grateful. My son has not had...." His words trailed off as he stroked Sasha's massive chest. The dog wriggled in pleasure. "You—" began the earl, before he stopped abruptly, a faint color rising to his cheeks.

Allegra's curiosity was certainly piqued. The notion that Wrexham could be discomfited was intriguing to say the least. "What?"

He shook his head. "Never mind. I was about to make a rather cow-handed remark."

She smiled at that. "Surely you know by now that there is little that can offend me."

His lips twitched in return. "Very well, I was going to say I am sorry that your marriage did not result in your own children. You would be a very good mother."

A stab of sadness and some other emotion altered her face for the briefest of moments, and he inwardly cursed himself for causing her pain. Just as quickly, though, she composed her features. "That is... most kind of you to say, sir. However it will never be."

"You may remarry, Mrs. Proctor," he said quietly.

Her face became quite pale. "I have told you, I don't intend taking on the bonds of matrimony again, but if I did, there is no reason to believe I would be any more capable of giving my husband a child than I was before."

He didn't miss the longing behind the matter of fact words. Though he knew perhaps it would be best to let the subject drop, he went on, driven by a sudden need to know more about her and her life before she came to Stormaway Hall. "How long were you married?"

Allegra took a deep breath. "Six months. An influenza epidemic swept through our village and my husband insisted on tending to many of the parishioners. His was not a strong constitution to begin with, so when he contracted a case himself, there was little the doctor could do."

"I'm sorry."

"Max has told me your wife also succumbed to the fever—"

"Yes." The earl's voice was clipped. He immediately steered the conversation back to her. "Your bereavement is... recent?"

She shook her head. "Quite some time ago, when I was young. I married at eighteen."

"A childhood acquaintance?" he persisted.

"No. He was my father's curate." A wry expression played on her lips. "He was the first person I had ever met besides my family who expressed an interest in books or ideas. I took his long silences for deep thought and a sensitive intellect. Once we were married, I found out that they were merely long silences."

Wrexham gave a choke of laughter. "Forgive me," he apologized. "I am not making light of it."

She flashed him a look of understanding. "Absurd isn't it, how foolish we can be in our youth." She hesitated a fraction. "Though I don't imagine you would know anything of that. Max has also told me his mother was both beautiful and lively—everything a gentleman could wish. You must miss her very much."

The earl's mouth hardened. "My wife, Mrs. Proctor, was the most selfish and shallow lady imaginable. I was perhaps a greater fool than you in thinking she would ever care for aught but the next ball or flowery compliment."

Allegra looked confused. "But Max thinks—"

"I see no reason why Max should know of how little his mother cared for his existence." He gave a bitter laugh. "Why, when Max was four, he nearly died from a raging fever. I remember holding him in my arms one evening, his body wracking by vomiting, his skin burning to the touch. My wife looked in at his room, dressed to go out, and her main concern was not to sully her new ball gown."

His black brows drew together in an angry line at the memory. "No, Mrs. Proctor, I do not miss my wife in the least." A sigh followed. "For two halfway intelligent people, we seem, as you say, to have made some rather ridiculous mistakes in our younger years. I, for one, do not intend to ever again repeat such folly as letting the heart overrule the head."

He wrenched his gaze away from the flickering flames of the fire and turned to regard her intently. "But you—do not despair of having children, Mrs. Proctor," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "From my extensive scientific readings and from... practical experience on an estate, it can sometime take longer... " He broke off, not quite sure how to continue on such a delicate topic.

She smiled tightly. "It is kind of you to imply I may not be... barren. But it seems unlikely. Six months should be... adequate." A burning curiosity warred with her sense of propriety. "Shouldn't it?" she couldn't help but add in barely a whisper.

"Er, that would depend on the, er, frequency...."

Allegra sighed. "I imagine that four times is quite—"

Wrexham stared at her in disbelief. "What?"

Her cheeks turned a vivid shade of crimson as her gaze slid to where her hands lay knotted in her lap. "No doubt you think me a wanton, on top of everything else," she stammered. "Is that... a lot? Harry felt it was his duty to suppress any weakness of the flesh, but on occasion he could not."

"Good lord, the fellow must have been a bigger gudgeon than you have indicated," he muttered with some force. "Mrs. Proctor, let me assure you that chances are quite good that you are childless through no fault of your own."

Her eyes came up with a flicker of hope. "You mean—was not his behavior... normal?"

"Most certainly not. There is nothing shameful or sinful in a husband and wife sharing intimacies."

"I had wondered about that," she said in a small voice. "My mother died when I was quite young and so there was never a chance to—even with my cousin Lucy, well, it is not the sort of thing one discusses over breakfast."

The earl gave a harried laugh. "No, I should think not," he agreed.

Her hands began to smooth at imaginary wrinkles in her gown in order to cover her jumbled emotions. She suddenly stood up, the book she had chosen clasped to her breast.

"Thank you for the sherry, my lord." Her chin rose slightly, as if to bolster her flagging spirits. "Once again, I have need to apologize to you. I'm afraid I've shown a shocking want of sensibility in discussing such private matters with you. But I suppose by now my highly improper behavior comes as no great surprise to you." She drew a long breath. "If you don't mind, I think I shall retire for the night. It has been a long day."

Before he had time to reply, she had fled the room.

He stared at her untouched glass on the sidetable. She may not need a drink, but he certainly did.

Perhaps more than one.

* * *

The flames had flickered down to mere embers but the earl had still not stirred from his chair. Not for the first time, his hand raked through his locks, as if in search of exactly what it was that had him so overwrought.

Hell's teeth, she was nearly an innocent, he thought, feeling nothing but contempt for the late Mr. Proctor. And her fears and vulnerability were touchingly like those of a young and inexperienced girl. He would never have expected it from the self assured, worldly female she chose to appear.

But then, he had never really attempted to look behind the mask—after all, she had merely been an employee. He had been smugly satisfied with his own assessment of her character and it had only been by merest chance that he had learned the true details of her life. Details that painted an entirely different picture of his son's tutor. It didn't take the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach to make him realize he was thoroughly ashamed of himself.

His hand tightened around his glass. Had he really become so blind? First he had missed the subtle changes in his own son, and then he had failed to sense the complex emotions underneath the acerbic intellect of this unusual female who had appeared at his door. Perhaps Bingham's gentle barbs were on the mark. Perhaps in locking away a part of himself he was becoming a different person, one that he wasn't sure he liked.

A muttered oath drew the sleeping hound's attention. The big dog raised his shaggy head, then scrabbled to his feet and came to lay his muzzle on his master's lap.

"I'm not sure I deserve your loyalty, old fellow," murmured Wrexham as he scratched behind the animal's ears. "I've been a pompous ass."

His thoughts turned back to Mrs. Proctor. He wasn't sure what about her disturbed him so. It wasn't as if he was unaware of life's vagaries. She had been forced to endure more than her share of pain and suffering—but so had a great many people in the world. That life was not fair was hardly a shock to him. Why, if anything, his own experiences had made him more cynical in that regard.

Yet somehow he found himself feeling she deserved more. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she had shown spirit and courage in the face of adversity. She had not tucked her tail between her legs and retreated from her misfortunes, he though with an uncomfortable twinge. And her own hardships had not dulled her capacity for compassion, even lo—

His mind froze on the word. Yet there was no doubt that she cared as much for Max as if he were her own child. Damnation, she should have children of her own! Why the devil hadn't some man had the good sense to recognize what a unique female she was, caring, capable and one that wouldn't bore a man after a week of marriage. And damnably attractive too—contrary to what he had told Bingham, he had noticed. More than once.