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Authors: Annette Blair

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

An Unforgettable Rogue (10 page)

BOOK: An Unforgettable Rogue
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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Alex and Claudia exclaimed in shock as Hawk walked in on their conversation about the money that Alex owed Judson. Claudia shot to her feet. “In exchange for, ah, dancing lessons,” Claude said.

Alex released the breath she had been holding.

Hawk’s jaw set and he leaned more heavily on his cane.

“I mean, you know, how to act when one dances. Chesterfield taught Alex,” Claude said. “And she was supposed to teach me—for when a man asks me to dance, if ever one does. I need to learn everything, and not just about dancing. I have just been asking questions, which Alex has been trying, and failing, to answer. Is that Bea calling?” Claude curtseyed and ran from the room.

“What was that about?” Hawk asked, seating himself opposite Alex.

“She has been asking questions is all, just as she said, things a young woman is curious about, and she was embarrassed that you walked in on us.”

“I see. I see, also, that your swain has left.”

“Do not mock him. Chesterfield was here because he was worried about me. Please remember that he would have rescued everyone in this house by marrying me, which he was very well aware of, and willing to do, anyway. If you had not survived, he would have made me a good husband, as I would have made him a good wife.”

“But I did survive.”

“Yes you did.”

“I am sorry, Alex, not so much for surviving as for every selfish thing I have ever done or said to you, including today, especially today.” Hawk cringed. “Perhaps I should apologize in advance for my every half-witted remark or action of the future we well.”

Alex rose and went to look out the window. “Do you feature a ride about the grounds this morning, to view the property?”

“First, you must forgive me, then you must break your fast, then we will take that ride.”

“You are right. I should eat something.”

Hawk sighed. “Eat then, after which we can tour the estate. He hooked his cane on his left arm, and took her on his right. They went to the kitchen, where their appearance together seemed to cheer the servants.

Hawk met Mrs. Parker, who served as both cook and housekeeper.

“Welcome home, your grace.” The woman bobbed a curtsey.

Hawk accepted a cup of coffee while Alex took toast and tea. “Have you spoken to your solicitor about your cousin and heir?” she asked. “The last I saw, Baxter was carrying on and spending money as if he might run through your fortune in a fortnight.”

“I did speak to my solicitor, but not to my father’s, who is the man that matters. My own agrees with you, however, that Baxter is like to squander it all. At least there is still Hawks Ridge. As far as the estate and title reverting to me, all possible petitions have been filed. It simply remains for them to be approved, signed and sealed, which, as you know, could take years, especially with my father’s solicitor having passed away as well, and his heir off in Scotland at the moment. Meanwhile, Baxter, himself, seems to be gallivanting in the American colonies.”

“Let us hope he gets stranded there.” Alex sipped her tea. “We are no worse off than we were.” Her expression softened when she regarded him, almost in wonder, as if seeing him for the first time, and incredibly happy about it, despite his earlier thoughtlessness. “We are, in fact, a great deal better off than we have been for some time.”

Hawk remained silent, afraid she was wrong and would soon realize it. That he had saved her from a dire fate and thwarted Chesterfield into the bargain, always a pleasure, was the best that had come of his return. What he feared most was that they had not even imagined the worst. “Ready for that ride?”

Alex rode Buttercup, a sorrel mare she had raised, herself, which served double-duty on the home farm. Since Hawk’s Arabian now belonged to Baxter, Hawk rode one of the field horses, Bumptious, a robust, light bay with three white stockings. A sad day for the horse set. If anyone from Tattersall’s saw him, Hawk thought, he would be forced to resign his membership in the Jockey Club.

Nevertheless, it was a fine, dry day for a ride, almost sunny, in fact. Bright enough for him to spot every cracked and broken window. Clear enough to see the gothic molding on the east tower as it fell to earth with a resounding crash, narrowly missing a mongrel that dashed away squealing, tail between its legs.

Once upon a young and selfish time, Hawk mused, he might have dashed away, himself, from this primitive and destitute situation in which he found himself—in name, in holdings, even in his own physical aspect.

Yet he could not look at Alex without realizing how very fortunate he would be, despite present circumstances, if he were worthy of her. In his weaker moments, Hawk wished to the devil that he had not sworn on his honor as a gentleman to set her free. But he had, and he must. He would not let her down this time, as he had let them all down when he abandoned them. He would not.

Hawk returned his attention to a perusal of the estate and pondered the ways and means by which it could be improved. For the safety of his family, the house itself needed immediate attention.

Given the clarity of the day, the damage seemed even worse. Paint peeled from molding, where molding existed. Bricks lay scattered on the ground, having fallen away in clusters. The manse looked as if a giant beast had gnawed upon it, taking several large bites from its corners.

As they rode, they saw deer feeding in flower gardens and wild ducks swimming in the huge bowl of a broken fountain. Ivy crawled along every surface of the house, and in some places, it had made its way inside.

At the bottom of the drive, near the gate, the sky shone bright upon the surprising sight of Alexandra’s Aunt Hildy leaving the abandoned gatehouse in the most furtive of manners.

Without words or conscious thought, he and Alex slowed their mounts and stepped within the trees, until Hildy passed. When they made to exit their cover, there came his uncle Gifford, out the same door, so over-easy in his gait and manner that he, too, caused suspicion.

As one, Hawk and Alex backed their mounts into the trees and waited for Giff to pass, as well, whistling, of all things.

Hawk saw his surprise reflected in Alex’s expression. “What do you make of that?” she asked.

“Ah, I had rather not conjecture.”

Her eyes widened before she shook her head, dismissing whatever notion entered it, and Hawk wordlessly followed her onto the drive.

Huntington tenants, he found, were few, but those in residence were hard workers, respectful, and protective of their mistress. Clearly, they adored Alex. Of him, however, they seemed to be reserving judgment, though most had the mistaken notion that he was some kind of war hero—another of Alexandra’s tales, Hawk feared.

Still most tenants had suggestions as to how he could alleviate his wife’s burdens by taking them over as soon as may be, and they were absolutely right.

“Perhaps when we get back to the house, you will allow me to go over the accounts,” Hawk said. “I may be able to find ways to improve the property and increase its yield.”

“I neither know how, nor do I have the time, to keep accounts, so there are no books to look over.”

“But, Alex, you must.”

“My father never did.”

“Which is precisely why the Lodge and estate are near ruin and have lost so much money.”

“Well, there is no money now to lose,” she snapped as she turned her horse. “So keeping books matters not a whit.”

“Alex, wait.”

She slowed her mount. “Perhaps you think you can do a better job than I have?”

Hawk slowed as well, and they trod along side by side. “Only in keeping accounts,” he said. “Those I will do better, for you never did them at all. But for the rest, given your obvious monetary restrictions, I am in awe of your accomplishments.”

Alex reined in her mare to overlook the property at the estate’s highest vantage point.

Hawk pulled up beside her. “You deserve commendation with thanks.”

Alex nodded, grudgingly acknowledging the compliment.

“There, down at the home farm,” Hawk said, “who are those workers in the field?”

“Uncle Giff is collecting the last of the summer vegetables, Claudia and Beatrix are weeding.”

“Good Lord. By themselves?”

“Of course not.”

“Thank God.”

“Aunt Hildegarde is catching the winged and multi-legged insects that eat the vegetation, and Nanny is helping by eating them.”

Hawk opened his mouth, but no words came forth.

Alex laughed. “They do not usually work alone. I am generally there working beside them.”

Bryce regarded her, as if she had turned green. “What have I done to you?”

“You have done nothing. I am grateful for our present situation.”

“Grateful?”

“To the lad who rescued you.”

“Ah, Gaston. A good lad, if a bit misguided.”

“How old is he?”

“Ten now, I think.”

“A baby? Robbing corpses?”

“A baby trying to survive. As are we all. Along that line, I have been thinking that besides keeping the accounts and managing the estate, I can also do most of the required repairs to the buildings, inside and out, I believe.”

“What we really need,” Alex said, regarding him from the corners of her unexpectedly mischievous eyes, “is someone to repair the roof.”

Hawk’s bark very nearly resembled mirth. “Roof climbing is out, at least for the moment. And do not say that you will do it, yourself, for I will not allow it.”

“Actually Beatrix is desirous of that position, the monkey.”

“Absolutely not.”

“My exact words. For the nonce, then, all leaks must simply … leak.”

Bryce nodded. “Unfortunately. How are we set for funds, Alex? Is there any money at all?”

This would be a good time, Alex thought, to tell Bryceson that she still had more than three hundred pounds left from the five thousand she had accepted from Chesterfield … under false pretenses, as it turned out. But she could not, for the revelation was not entirely hers to own, not to mention how angry Bryce would be.

“We have some little money,” she said. “With the planting, and the few animals we keep, we will not starve.”

Hawk frowned. He should have done better by them all. “I will write to Gideon this very day, to ask him to put in a good word for my petition with the Prince Regent, as regards the return of my title and property.”

“What about your military pay?” Alex asked. “Is there any of that left?”

“I can contribute the grand sum of one hundred and thirty-seven pounds, two shillings, and three. Rich, are we not?”

Alex laughed. “We are, indeed. And since we are, it is time Claudia had her season. What better time than now, for we can also reintroduce
you
to society.”

Hawk shook his head. “I hate the thought of all that blasted society fuss.”

“Do you? When women were swooning at your feet, I thought you rather enjoyed the bustle and fuss.”

Hawk quirked a brow. “You used to loathe it.”

“I guess we have switched places, then.”

The words seemed to steal the very air from Hawk’s lungs. “Let us put Claude’s season off for a year,” he said. “Until the spring, at least, so I can recover my ability to walk without the cane.”

Of a sudden, Alex understood, because she remembered Hawk’s lifelong yearning for perfection, acceptance, approval, what have you. But understanding his need to recover his steady gait did not alter the facts. “A season will cost too much in the spring. Claudia would need a larger and grander wardrobe then. Besides, she is very nearly a spinster already.”

“Claude is a baby, certainly no spinster. And you will need a proper wardrobe, as well.”

“My bride clothes should suffice.”

Thunder glanced off Hawk’s dark, furrowed brow. “Purchased by Chesterfield? I think not.”

“I purchased some things, myself.”

“Good. You will discard everything Chesterfield purchased and wear only what you chose and paid for.

“Fine, then, I shall go about London in my corset and stockings.”

Hawk was struck dumb by the image of Alex striding down St. James’s Street in nothing but her corset and stockings.

When she raised a brow, he recalled the point of their conversation. “No season,” he said. “Not this year. We cannot afford one.”

“I have been saving for this, Bryce. I believe that Claude’s season is among the necessities we must afford.”

“At the best, we might be able to purchase her a new wardrobe, since you already have your blasted bride clothes—every item of which I despise for their purchaser. But dressed like this, I am barely fit for a gentleman farmer, never mind escorting my niece about the marriage mart.”

“In regards to your clothes….”

“I told you,” Hawk said. “These are all I have.”

“But the ones you left behind may have been relegated to a trunk at Hawks Ridge. If Baxter kept any of your old retainers, one of them might be loyal enough to your family to search the attics for you.”

“Even if my clothes were returned to me, we do not have the money to fire Claude off properly, I tell you. The entire family can hardly be accommodated at Stephen’s Hotel, and we absolutely do not have the blunt to take a house in town, even for so short a season.”

“Let us just see what time brings,” Alex said, enigmatically, even then turning Buttercup toward Hawks Ridge.

Shaking his head, sure there was some salient point he was missing, Bryce turned his plodding beast in the same bloody direction.

Here, Alex thought, as they made their way along the poplar lined drive of Hawk’s stately family seat, the lawns were manicured and greening nicely, though the drive lacked that certain flair brought on by foot-high weeds.

As far back as she could remember the situation had always been thus. Hawks Ridge had shone bright where Huntington Lodge appeared tarnished.

In the opposite manner, however, her own dear father had always been everything a loving and doting parent should be, while Hawksworth’s critical, demanding sire had been a man given to furious wrath. Though she did not think that Hawk feared his father’s wrath as much as his rejection.

They stopped beside the rose garden when Leggins, the old head gardener, straightened and tipped his hat. “Blimey,” the grizzled man said, scratching his head as he regarded Bryceson. “Blimey, Guv, you ain’t dead.”

BOOK: An Unforgettable Rogue
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