The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Three

by Farmer, Merry

  George snorted with laughter. “God forbid I ruin the sham marriage of a pathetic sapphist.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Elizabeth balked, her face reddening. “My marriage will be anything but pathetic. It will be the event of the season.”

  Alex shot her a sideways look, strangely unsurprised at the part of George’s insult she chose to take offense to.

  “Once I am married,” Elizabeth went on, “Jason will be the head of our household at Huntingdon Hall, and you may count on the fact that the first thing I will have him do as master of that domain is cast you and your feckless father out.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” George said, but there was a new spark of wariness in his eyes.

  “Try me,” Elizabeth said, crossing her arms. “Jason has no love for you, that is certain. You continually threaten to call on the law to intervene on your behalf. Well, how do you think the law would feel about an interloper who isn’t even related to the family squatting on Dyson property?”

  Surprisingly, George took a step back. He was red-faced and clearly still furious, but a decided air of impotence hung over him. Alex had no illusions about her cousin’s true character, but a bit of Elizabeth’s arrogance did come in handy now and then.

  “You haven’t heard the last of this,” George seethed, backing down the aisle toward the door. “Arabella is my wife, and I will keep what is mine. She cannot run forever.”

  Perhaps she was inspired by Elizabeth’s boldness or perhaps she had simply had enough of George’s barbaric ways, but before he could turn to leave, Alex called, “Why do you even care, George? You have no great love for her and Arabella despises and is frightened of you. Why not simply let her go and seek out a woman whose inclinations are more like your own?”

  George narrowed his eyes at her. “I will keep what is mine. I will show Arabella, you, and the world that no one defies George Fretwell.”

  He charged out of the church before Alex could get another word in. She shook her head, let out a sigh, and moved to sit in the nearest pew. Sitting felt so good that she groaned in pleasure as her muscles eased a hair. “That man is headed straight toward misery, and he’s welcome to it,” she said, adjusting her seat so that she could rub her lower back.

  “He deserves all the misery he can get,” Elizabeth said with a sniff, staring at the church’s open door. “And I will have Jason banish him first thing.” She paused, arms still crossed, and said, “Boorish though he can be, Jason is useful for some things. Otherwise, why else would I marry him?”

  Alex’s brow shot up. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts about this marriage.”

  Elizabeth pinched her face, let her arms drop, and said, “Of course not.”

  Alex was utterly unconvinced. “Elizabeth, if you’re having any reservations at all, you cannot go through with this. Jason loves Flossie. They should be married, not the two of you.”

  “Nonsense,” Elizabeth said, brushing the idea away, though her cheeks were bright red as she did and she couldn’t meet Alex’s eyes. “Flossie is eager to have her next-born child inherit whatever my father is able to pass on through me. Jason adores me—in a platonic way, of course—and needs the social clout my endorsement will bring to convince his business partners in London that he isn’t mad. And this wedding will be the social event of the season in Brynthwaite.”

  “Elizabeth,” Alex said scoldingly. “Do you honestly believe all of that?”

  A flicker of uncertainty passed through Elizabeth’s expression before she forced it into a smile. She looked directly at Alex at last, saying, “Of course I do. And now, there is much work to be done.”

  She marched off for the chancel—where Mary and the other volunteers had returned to work—before Alex could challenge her further.

  Alex let out a breath and shook her head. Disaster loomed all around her, and all she could do was sit back and watch.

  “You handled that nicely,” Mother Grace said, approaching her through the pews on the other side of the aisle.

  Alex sat straighter, her anger flaring all over again. “You could have stepped up to defend Arabella as well,” she said.

  Mother Grace shrugged as she reached the aisle. She leaned against the side of the pew and studied Alex. “Why would I have intervened in your admirable show of strength in the face of male pride?”

  Alex gaped at the woman. If she had felt even fractionally stronger, she would have stood and glared at her, eye-to-eye. As it was, the best she could manage was to say, “Why are you here? Marshall doesn’t want you here. You’ve done nothing but cause trouble and upset people. Why don’t you go back to your woodland oasis and lock yourself away from the world for another two dozen years?”

  It was rude of her, she knew, but it felt so good to finally tell the woman off that some of the tension that sat on her shoulders drained.

  At least until Mother Grace crossed her arms and shook her head with a condescending chuckle. “You have no idea what my life has been like, missy,” she said. “You don’t know what I’ve been through, distancing myself from my child. I’ve suffered long enough, and now that the truth is out, I will claim what is mine.”

  Alex had to push herself to her feet at that point. It was the only way to combat the woman’s cheek. “You walked out of Marshall’s life when he was a babe. You forfeited your right to claim him as your own. You have no business waltzing back into his life and wedging yourself in where you are not wanted. If Marshall says he does not want you in his life, then you do not get to be in his life.”

  Mother Grace seemed completely nonplussed by her speech. “If you think—” she began.

  Alex ignored her, walking down the aisle and away from her. After the buzz of turmoil she’d just been through, she needed fresh air and sunshine. There were plenty of benches where she could sit in the churchyard until she felt equal to the task of continuing to decorate for a wedding that should never happen.

  She had only just managed to lower herself onto a stone bench under one of the trees in the churchyard that faced the street when Marshall came striding up the path.

  “Marshall,” she called to him. She hadn’t been so happy to see someone in ages.

  Marshall’s stern, slightly bewildered expression lifted to a smile when he saw her. He changed directions, coming to join her. Before he reached her, though, his brow knit into a frown once more.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked, sliding onto the bench with her and resting his arm around her back. “You can’t be finished decorating for the wedding already.”

  “I’m finished, all right,” Alex told him with a wary, sideways look. She went on to answer his questioning look with, “Elizabeth is being impossible as usual, George was here causing trouble of all sorts—”

  “I know,” Marshall interrupted. “Flossie brought Arabella to the hotel and let us know. That’s why I rushed back over here as fast as I could.”

  Alex nodded, then went on with, “And Mother Grace has been particularly aggravating.”

  Marshall’s expression flattened even more. “If she’s upsetting you, I’ll demand she leave.”

  Alex let out a humorless laugh, “That’s exactly what I told her, in a way, about you.”

  “You did?” He eyed her with a mix of wariness and amusement.

  Alex could feel her face flush as she admitted, “I told her that she had no right to walk back into your life, and that if you didn’t want her around, she would just have to go back to her woodland hideaway, like it or lump it.”

  Marshall stared at her in disbelief for a moment before a fond smile spread over his face. He scooted closer to her, hugging her from the side. “That may be the most gallant thing anyone has ever said on my behalf.”

  Alex grinned resting her head on his shoulder, feeling better about things. At least, she felt better mentally. Her entire body ached, and the eerie feeling that things weren’t right filled her.

  Marshall seemed to sense what she was fee
ling. “Is everything all right? Are you certain you’re not pushing yourself too hard?”

  “I am pushing myself too hard,” Alex admitted. “Everything aches, and I just want to lie down.” She sighed. “If lying down was at all comfortable. I’m ready for this little one to be born.”

  It was Marshall’s turn to laugh ironically. “Clara was the same way with all of the girls. Babies do have a tendency to overstay their welcome.” He reached over to rub her stomach. “It could be any time now.”

  “Hmm, I know,” Alex sighed.

  Marshall continued to rub her stomach, turning to face her more fully. He frowned in concentration as he pressed on her belly. “I know it’s impossible to tell what’s going on in there, but the baby might be moving into position for birth.”

  “No,” Alex said. “Not yet. It needs to wait at least a day or two. We have to get through this blasted wedding first.” As Marshall sat back, looking as though he agreed with her, she said, “I think Elizabeth is having second thoughts, though she would never admit it to herself.”

  Marshall’s brow went up. “I think Jason is having second thoughts too, although, to be honest, I don’t think he’s ever been fully in favor of this marriage.”

  Alex sat up a bit. “Do you think there’s time to talk them out of it?”

  Marshall looked as though he were considering the idea for a moment. He then blew out a breath and shook his head. “They’re both as stubborn as oxen. They’ll insist on going through with it just to prove some kind of point that the rest of us have lost track of.”

  “That does sound like Elizabeth and Jason,” Alex sighed.

  “Although,” Marshall began. Instead of finishing his sentence, he sat back, his arm going around Alex once more as he stared across the churchyard in thought.

  “Although what?” Alex prompted him.

  Marshall glanced sideways to her. “Colin Armstrong just brought an American friend of his to the hotel. Mr. Piers Johnson.”

  “Oh?” Alex blinked. She could see in Marshall’s expression that something monumental was going on.

  Marshall confirmed her suspicions a moment later with, “Mr. Johnson has offered to buy all of Jason’s hotels.”

  “Really?”

  “For a million dollars.”

  Alex’s jaw dropped. She was incapable of answering for a moment. “That’s a fortune.”

  “It is indeed,” Marshall said.

  “Is Jason going to accept the offer?”

  Marshall shrugged. “I have no idea. Flossie will have to weigh in. I sat through the entire conversation with Johnson, marveling at the amounts of money he and Jason and Armstrong discussed, as though it were pennies. I do know one thing, though.”

  “That Jason could buy and sell us all a thousand times over?” Alex teased.

  Marshall laughed, then shook his head. “No. I know that if Jason does accept the offer, he would have no reason at all to marry Lady E.”

  “Good Lord, you’re right,” Alex said, blinking. She paused, trying to let all of the new possibilities sink in. Her poor mind was too exhausted and overwhelmed to fully grasp it all, but one thought rang louder than the others. She spoke it aloud, telling Marshall, “Depending on Jason’s decision, there might not be a wedding tomorrow at all.”

  Episode Twelve - A Wedding, Two Births, and a Goodbye

  Lawrence

  Deciding what to take and what to leave was almost as impossible as making the decision to go in the first place.

  “Do you think I should bring any of these?” Matty asked, a serious cast to her expression, as she stared at a kitchen counter full of pots, pans, utensils.

  Lawrence sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. He joined Matty at the counter, a heavy feeling in his gut. “Bring this one,” he said, taking a sturdy, iron skillet from the lot. “It’s good quality and can be used to cook several different things. I’m not sure we have room for the rest.”

  Matty nodded and took the skillet from his hands, walking it to the table. She put it in the open suitcase that sat on the table. It was already half-filled with linens, nappies for Bracken, and a few food supplies. She gulped as she fit the skillet in with the rest, then paused to soothe Bracken as he started to fuss in his sling.

  A pinch of guilt twisted Lawrence’s stomach. Was he doing the right thing? Matty hadn’t complained once in all his talk of joining Barsali’s band. She had supported his decision, listening to his reasons calmly when she had returned home from helping decorate for Jason’s wedding the evening before. She told him several times that she would stand by him completely, that his decision was a good one for their family, and not to worry about Willy, Elsie, and Connie, who all had new homes.

  But still, Lawrence hesitated. What he was doing was monumental. It would have long-lasting repercussions. He’d only briefly discussed the idea of leaving with Marshall once, and Marshall’s reaction wasn’t what he’d hoped for. With everything happening in Jason’s life, Lawrence hadn’t bothered discussing the matter in depth with him. He knew Jason would support him one way or another, just as he knew he stood on the verge of possibly losing Marshall forever. They were like brothers, but brothers fell out.

  “Are you having second thoughts?” Matty asked him quietly after he’d been standing in the kitchen, staring at nothing for too long.

  Lawrence took a deep breath and shook his head. “No. This is what we have to do. Our lives will never truly be safe and settled if we stay in Brynthwaite. Crimpley won’t be mayor forever, but he’s not the only one who looks down on us. I want a better life for Bracken and any other children we might have. And with the world changing so much, I can’t count on a solid future as a small-town blacksmith.” He listed his reasons for his actions as though reciting a lesson in school.

  Matty smiled warmly and rested a hand on his arm. “I’ll gather the last of our clothes from the bedroom,” she said before heading out of the kitchen.

  Lawrence smiled at her as she left, but the moment she was gone, his face fell. He crossed to the suitcase she’d been packing, closed the lid, then carried it into the front room of the house he’d taken such pains to have built, but that he’d never liked. There was nothing wrong with the house, and it would be a good home for someone else, but not for him.

  As if summoned by his thoughts, there was a knock on the door, and a moment later, John Logan, the man Lawrence had hired to help fulfill Armstrong’s order, stepped into the house.

  “You wanted to see me?” John asked.

  “Yes,” Lawrence said, glad John had found his note before he started work for the day. He stepped over to the small shelf near the front door, took the key that rested there, and handed it to John. “The forge and this house are yours,” he said.

  John’s eyes went wide. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I am,” Lawrence said. “Matty and I are leaving, almost immediately. It would be a shame for this house and the forge to go to waste, so I’m giving them to you.”

  “But,” John stammered. “I’ve only just started working for you. I thought this would be a temporary job, that I’d go back to my wife and children in Kendal when it was done.”

  Lawrence smiled and thumped the man’s shoulder. “Bring them here. This house needs a family who will appreciate it.”

  John continued to gape at him. “Mr. Armstrong’s order isn’t finished.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be able to do the work that needs to be done. Oliver can help. I trust you’ll keep him on. He may be different, but he’s very capable of doing the work.”

  “He is,” John agreed breathlessly, staring at the key in his hand. “You’re just giving me a house?”

  “I am,” Lawrence said as Matty started down the stairs, a second suitcase in her hands. He’d discussed this decision with her as well, and she approved. “If you decide not to bring your family here or to continue on with the forge, you can sell it. The profits are yours.”

  John shook his head. “Bu
t won’t you need the money? Won’t you need a place to live?”

  “I have everything I need,” Lawrence said cryptically. The fewer people who knew what he was about to do, the better. Especially since part of his plan skated on the thin ice of being illegal.

  “I don’t know what to say,” John said, closing his hand around the key. “Not one bit.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” Lawrence thumped the man’s arm again, then turned to Matty. “Are you ready to go?”

  Matty nodded silently, her smile emotional. Lawrence headed to the door and opened it. Matty took a final look around, smiling at John, before walking out the door with Lawrence.

  The only thing Lawrence took from the forge that John probably could have used had he left it behind was the horse. He helped Matty up onto the gelding’s back, then walked beside her, carrying both suitcases. They were light burdens compared to the loads he usually carried.

  It was early still, and much of Brynthwaite hadn’t rolled out of bed yet. That made it easier for him to whisk Matty through the edges of town as fast as possible without being seen. The fewer people saw them, the fewer would be suspicious of what he planned to do later that morning. First and foremost, though, it was important to take Matty safely into the fold of Barsali’s people.

  They saw the two of them coming as they walked along the lake shore path. The circle of brightly-colored wagons bolstered Lawrence as it came into view, seeming to confirm that he was doing the right thing. Damien, Baraali’s right-hand man, who had taken charge of the band when Crimpley had dragged Barsali to jail the day before, stood at the circle’s opening, ready to greet them.

  “Kushti divvus, pral,” Damien said, offering a hand to Lawrence as he drew near.

  Lawrence put down his suitcases and took his hand. “Brother,” he greeted the man with a nod.