Free Alissa Baxter by The Dashing Debutante Page A

it, Mr Chanderly, but many of the landowners in this district treat their labourers very badly. The Vicar’s wife, Mrs Simpson, told me a while ago of the terrible conditions in which some of their parishioners exist, and when I visited a few of the families, I was shocked to see that they are living in utter penury. I spoke to my brother about it, and he agreed to provide food baskets that I could deliver to the poor. But I soon realised that they needed more than just food to survive. They also needed blankets and clothes and other such things.” She paused for a moment, looking away from him. “My money is tied up in a trust fund until I either marry or attain my majority which means that I cannot help the peasants from my own purse. But I still wanted to do something to aid them. So — so I decided to obtain the funds they needed, but weren’t receiving, from the very people who were failing in their duties towards them — the local landowners.”
    “Poetic justice thereby being served,” Mr Chanderly concluded dryly.
    Alexandra studied her feet, not wanting to look at him, fearing the condemnation she knew she would see in his face. Finally, she said in a small voice, “I thought so.”
    Mr Chanderly was silent for a moment. Then putting his hand firmly on her wrist, he said, “Your actions, my dear, although well intentioned, are decidedly foolish. You must see that.”
    Alexandra’s heart fluttered. His touch brought to the fore the disturbing memory of his kiss that morning, something she had decided it would be in her best interests to forget. So, wriggling away from him, she moved to the opposite end of the garden seat, before replying, “I do not consider it foolish to help the poor, Mr Chanderly.”
    “No — but it is decidedly foolish to risk your life,” he said. Watching her calmly, he continued, “I do not intend to kiss you again, Miss Grantham — so you can stop looking at me like a frightened rabbit.”
    Alexandra’s eyes flew to his indignantly. “I do not look like a frightened rabbit!”
    Mr Chanderly smiled, and he said slowly, “No, you are correct — I was mistaken in my choice of animal... You look more like a wide eyed fawn, intent on escaping from a ruthless predator.”
    Alexandra sniffed. “Thank you, sir. A fawn is a far more acceptable animal to be compared to.”
    Mr Chanderly laughed, but after a moment his expression sobered. “I want you to give me your word, Miss Grantham, that you will immediately cease your highway activities. You were fortunate indeed that it was me you held up this morning, and not someone else.”
    Alexandra bit her lip. “I — I know. I am in your debt, indeed.” She eyed him uncertainly. “How did you guess it was me, Mr Chanderly?”
    “I noticed that first day when you held me up that your hands were very smooth and white. They did not belong to someone accustomed to rough, menial work. And your voice had a cultured intonation, though you tried to disguise it, so initially I assumed that you were a young gentleman, out for a lark.”
    “What made you change your mind?” Alexandra asked curiously.
    “You have a very expressive face, my dear. At Mrs Hadley’s party, when mention was made of the Bow Street Runners, you looked frightened and paled considerably. And when you looked across at me, with your large blue eyes, I suddenly realised why you had seemed so familiar that first day I met you.”
    “Oh,” Alexandra said, frowning slightly. “And I had believed my disguise to be impenetrable!” Shaking her head, she continued, “I am most grateful to you, sir, for coming to my rescue this morning.”
    “I could not very well have left you to the mercy of the Runners, although you undoubtedly deserve it for having terrorised the region in this manner,” he said sternly.
    Alexandra hung her head. “It — it was all for a good cause.”
    “A foolish cause,” he said shortly. “You have yet to give me your word, Miss Grantham,