The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Three

by Farmer, Merry

  As fast as lightning, two of Barsali’s people rushed forward to take the suitcases and to help Matty off the horse. They were welcomed into the circle of the wagons with smiles and well-wishes. Matty seemed overwhelmed by the outpouring of kindness. She smiled shyly at the women who greeted her and drew her over to the fire, where breakfast was being cooked. Lawrence felt a huge measure of relief that she was welcomed so eagerly, but there was more for him to do before they could all leave.

  He turned to Damien and said, “Are you ready to leave?”

  “As soon as you secure Barsali’s release,” Damien confirmed with a nod. “Though it would be best if we were to leave under cover of darkness tonight.”

  “Understood. I’ll time my actions so that they’ll cause the least amount of trouble for us all.”

  “For which we are grateful,” Damien said.

  They exchanged a few more words, and Lawrence took a moment to enjoy a cup of coffee with their new tribe, but he couldn’t sit idly by forever. Within a handful of minutes, he was up, saying a quick goodbye to Matty, then heading back along the lake shore.

  His plan was simple. Barasli was in jail. The band wouldn’t leave without him. Crimpley wouldn’t release him. Which meant Lawrence would have to rescue him from jail. There was no better time to accomplish that than during Jason and Lady E’s wedding. Lady E might have been an arrogant cat, but she was right about the fact that the wedding would be the social event of the season in Brynthwaite. Lawrence didn’t think he knew of a single person in town who wasn’t going, which meant the jail would have minimal guard.

  His plan was to take up a concealed position near the cell where Barsali was being held and to wait there. But as he approached the town hall, he came across Flossie driving a small wagon out of town.

  “Flossie?” he called. She pulled the wagon to a stop near him, and he went on with, “What in heaven’s name are you doing out here so early?”

  Flossie let out a long-suffering sigh. Her face pinched in pain for a moment, then she said. “I received a summons before dawn this morning, demanding I come to Huntingdon Hall.”

  A rush of anger on Flossie’s behalf filled Lawrence. “Lady E?” he asked.

  “Who else?” Flossie replied in a flat tone. “She probably wants me to dress her hair and arrange her veil and clean her bedchamber and slaughter the fatted calf.”

  “Doesn’t she realize you’re not in any condition to do that?” Lawrence asked.

  Flossie laughed out loud. “I doubt Lady E realizes anything that is inconvenient to the way she wants things to be.” She paused, let out a breath, then frowned at him. “What are you doing so far from the forge this early?”

  Indecision gripped Lawrence. He should answer Flossie’s question honestly. She deserved that and Jason deserved it as well. But not on a day that was already going to be painful for them, not when so much hung in the balance in their lives.

  “It’s nothing,” he lied with a smile.

  Flossie wasn’t remotely fooled. She fixed Lawrence with a stern look—the kind of look that likely brought Jason to his knees and kept him in a state of constant arousal. “What aren’t you saying?”

  “You have enough to worry about already,” Lawrence insisted.

  Flossie pursed her lips. “Alex said that Marshall told her you are planning to run off with the gypsies. Is that true?”

  Perhaps there was no way to hide the truth from Flossie after all. “It’s something I need to do,” he said.

  Understanding dawned in Flossie’s eyes. “I take it you aren’t planning to bring Willy with you?”

  Guilt nipped at Lawrence’s heels. “He’s better off with you and Jason, just as Connie is better off at Morningside Landing and Elsie is with Mother Grace.”

  Flossie’s brow went up. “You’re leaving Elsie with Mother Grace?”

  “Yes.” Lawrence couldn’t tell whether she approved or not.

  Flossie sighed. “It’s your decision,” she said. “Though if you ask me, you should find a way to say goodbye to Willy before you go.”

  She had a point. One he hadn’t stopped to think about. He rarely interacted with Willy or Connie anymore, but that was no excuse for him to drag their sister away without a goodbye.

  It was too much to think about in the moment, so he put on a smile he didn’t feel and told Flossie, “You’d better not keep Lady E waiting, today of all days.”

  Flossie let out another humorless laugh. “Don’t I know it.” She gripped the reins as though to prompt her horse into motion again, but before she did, she said, “Lawrence, I trust you know what you’re doing, but keep in touch.”

  “I will,” he promised with a nod.

  Flossie drove on, leaving Lawrence feeling more at a loss than he ever would have anticipated. Once again, the feeling of being split in two, of being part Brynthwaite and part something else tore at him. He owed it to himself to explore his unexplored half, but he would be losing a lot of things in the process.

  Flossie

  Flossie frowned as she drove the wagon away from Lawrence. She couldn’t figure out why for the life of her the conversation hadn’t settled well with her. It was something more than the fact that Lawrence was leaving. She glanced over her shoulder as she made a turn, catching a final glimpse of Lawrence’s back before she drove out of sight. The man had every right to do what he thought best, even if that meant leaving Brynthwaite and his friends. But instinct told her there was more to it.

  Her thoughts stopped short as a twinge of pain hit her middle. She winced and sucked in a breath, urging her horse to go faster. The last thing she wanted to think about was the pain. It wasn’t the first twinge she’d felt that day, and she had a sinking feeling it very much wouldn’t be the last. Part of her thought that if she could just ignore it, move forward, get her work done, and get the wedding over and done with, then she’d be ready for the baby to come.

  “Not yet,” she scolded her stomach as the wagon sped up the final approach to Huntingdon Hall. “You stay where you are, at least until tonight.”

  Her body ached in a response that wasn’t at all reassuring. At least there was still time left. Her waters hadn’t broken, and everything she knew about childbirth said that her waters would break before the situation turned dire.

  That thought wasn’t even slightly reassuring as she drove the wagon around the circular front drive of the Hall, pulling it to a stop as Hugo came down to greet her.

  “Good morning, Miss Stowe,” the dour-faced butler said, helping her alight from the carriage—though there was nothing “light” about her descent. She was so awkward and so distracted that the old butler practically had to catch her as she fell out of the seat. “Ready for the big day, are we?” Hugo asked.

  Flossie grinned at him as she straightened herself, letting out a humorless laugh. It was the only kind of laughter she had left anymore. There was no humor in the situation at all. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she sighed.

  “And Mr. Throckmorton?” Hugo asked, walking her to the stairs that led to the front door and offering her an arm as she climbed up.

  She winced over another stab of pain before saying, “He’s up. Truthfully, he didn’t really sleep last night. He has…much to consider.”

  The last was an understatement of extreme proportions. After the offer Mr. Piers Johnson had made to buy Jason’s hotels, not only couldn’t Jason sleep, he could barely sit still. He’d spent hours the night before talking through all of the possibilities with Flossie. Selling the hotels meant that Jason would be firmly ranked among the idle rich. It also meant that he could pursue whatever pastime he wanted. And though it had only come up a few times in the hours of circular arguments over what he should do, it might mean that there was no true reason for him to go through with the marriage to Lady E.

  Except that he’d made a promise to the woman. And Jason Throckmorton made good on his promises. Particularly to anyone who had played a role in his youth. It could be argued
that Lady E only played a peripheral role—as muse and object of youthful fantasy—but that seemed to be important to Jason.

  Or else he just couldn’t stomach the idea of losing the object of his desire for so long, even if he didn’t remotely desire her anymore.

  Either way, Jason had spent so much time and energy debating Mr. Johnson’s offer and its consequences that by the time morning rolled around and it was time to begin preparing for the ceremony, he was too tired and confused to do anything more than go through the motions of dressing and making sure the legal documents were in order. Flossie knew him well enough to trust his judgement, but as she’d secretly believed in her heart of hearts all along, there was still a very good chance the wedding wouldn’t actually happen in the end.

  “Oh, thank heavens. You’re here at last.” It was Lady Charlotte, not Lady E, who met Flossie in the middle of the hall. Alex’s mother was already dressed in a gown that was far too fashionable for Brynthwaite and had her hair piled on her head in a style better suited to a younger woman. She seemed deeply anxious, though.

  “Is everything all right?” Flossie asked, ignoring her pain.

  “Perhaps,” Lady Charlotte said unconvincingly.

  Deep voices sounded from one of the copious rooms off of the main hall, and Lady Charlotte gasped, grabbing Flossie’s arm and pulling her to the side far faster than Flossie could comfortably move. She nearly stumbled over her own feet as Lady Charlotte dragged her into a small, brightly-lit sitting room.

  “What’s going on?” Flossie asked.

  Lady Charlotte hushed her, then gasped and tugged Flossie out of direct view of the hall.

  “And I don’t care what you say, Father,” George Fretwell’s voice echoed in the grand hall. “Arabella is my wife, and I’ll get her back if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “This wedding is not the time to do so,” Anthony Fretwell argued with him. Two sets of male footsteps traveled across the hall toward the front door. “You’ll only cause a scene.”

  “That is the point,” George said.

  “A scene that will not reflect well on you, nor will it advance your cause,” Anthony insisted. “If you truly want Arabella back—and I am forced to believe you do not, that all this is merely a case of wounded pride—then delicacy is essential.”

  “I do want her back,” George argued. “And it is a matter of pride. If she thinks she can….”

  Flossie lost the thread of the conversation as the two men marched out the front door.

  “Thank God,” Lady Charlotte let out a breath and stepped out of hiding, back into the hall. She gestured for Flossie to come with her.

  “Thank God for what?” Flossie asked. “It sounds as though they’re planning to make a scene at the wedding.”

  Lady Charlotte’s face pinched, but she shook her head and continued on, leading Flossie at a too-swift pace through the house, through the conservatory, and out into the sunny, back garden. “At least it won’t happen here,” she said. “George and Anthony both have been furious with me since learning I knew of Arabella’s location for a fortnight before informing them. I didn’t know what to do, you see. Things were so much more peaceful with George and Anthony in London. I knew the moment they returned home there would be unpleasantness, and I was right.”

  Flossie arched a brow as she gingerly stepped down a wide, stone staircase and started toward a shady path with a view of the hillside and Brynthwaite beyond. She’d wondered why it took George so long to return from London after Lady Charlotte discovered Arabella was still in town. A part of her had hoped Lady Charlotte felt a shred of compassion for Arabella and hadn’t told George so as to spare the woman. It seemed more within her character to learn that she’d kept the news to herself for a while for selfish reasons. In the end, it didn’t matter. Arabella had enjoyed an extra few weeks of safety.

  “We should send a servant into town to warn Arabella George is coming,” she said as she spotted Lord Gerald, outside and lounging in a lawn chair once again.

  “No, no. That would be impossible,” Lady Charlotte said. “All the servants are busy preparing for the reception. No one can be spared.”

  Flossie was tempted to frown. Surely warning Arabella was more important than setting up tables and chairs or arranging tarts on a tray. It was hard to exhibit disapproval when Lord Gerald lit up at the sight of her, though.

  “Emily,” he said, attempting to sit straighter.

  “It’s Flossie, Lord Gerald,” she said, closing the distance between them, then dropping inelegantly to sit on the chair with him and to take his hand. “How are you today, my lord?”

  “Better, now you’re here,” the old man smiled at her. His papery skin caressed her hands and genuine warmth filled his eyes. “There’s been so much confusion this morning,” he said.

  “I can imagine,” Flossie said. “What with your daughter’s wedding and all.”

  “My…who?”

  A part of Flossie’s heart squeezed for the man. He was clearly having a rough day. She couldn’t blame him. The fact that he was out of bed and planted in the garden so early was a sure sign that he’d been disturbed from his usual routine.

  “I’ll just let Elisabeth know you’re here,” Lady Charlotte said, rushing back toward the house before Flossie could stop her.

  Flossie let out a breath and turned to Lord Gerald. “Now why do I have the feeling that both of us have been put out to pasture?”

  “My brother’s wife always was a flibbertigibbet,” Lord Gerald said. “She’s been rushing to and fro for weeks now, wearing out anyone who so much as looks at her.”

  Flossie’s smile widened. So Lord Gerald at least knew who Lady Charlotte was. That was an encouraging sign. “Are you looking forward to the party this afternoon?” she asked, glancing back toward the house, where some of the servants were setting up tables.

  “I could do without the fuss,” Lord Gerald said. “Though it is nice to have plum cordial now and then.”

  Flossie grinned at him. “Would you like me to fetch you some?”

  Lord Gerald’s eyes lit up. “Yes, please,” he said like a little boy who had been offered a treat.

  Flossie leaned toward him as best she could and kissed his forehead, then muscled herself to stand. The baby would have to be born soon, otherwise she was going to lose the ability to move on her own power entirely. As it was, she had to press a hand to her back and waddle her way up the hill in search of a servant who could provide her with a glass of the liquid treat.

  She had finally made it into the hall and waved down a footman, conveying Lord Gerald’s demands, when Lady E swept down the Hall’s grand staircase in a flurry of white silk and lace, Polly a step behind her.

  “Flossie,” she exclaimed—not entirely pleased—when she spotted Flossie. “Why are you here?”

  Whatever hope Flossie had harbored that the two of them could get through the day without charging for each other’s throats vanished with a weary sigh. “You called me here, my lady,” she said.

  Lady E reached the bottom of the stairs and stomped over to Flossie. “Oh, it’s ‘my lady’ today, is it? Not—what did you call me yesterday? A frigid cow?”

  Flossie pinched her mouth shut. It wouldn’t do a lick of good to rehash the argument from the day before, but neither was she even remotely considering apologizing for what she’d said. She merely stood where she was, waiting for Lady E to hurl some new insult at her.

  Lady E, too, seemed to be waiting for Flossie to fire the first shot. She stood there in all her wedding finery, looking beautiful enough for a French fashion magazine, but also sour enough to curdle milk. At last, she said, “I need you to sit with Papa during the wedding.”

  The bottom seemed to fall out of Flossie’s stomach. “I’m needed at the church,” she said.

  “No, you’re needed here,” Lady E insisted.

  “Jason needs me with him.”

  Lady E snorted. “You give yourself too many airs. Jason will
do just fine without you.”

  Flossie couldn’t swallow her suspicion that Lady E meant it on a larger level. “You remember what he was like in London without me?” she said, crossing her arms.

  For a moment, Lady E looked uncertain, as though she’d forgotten the depth Jason had sunk to and only now remembered. She made a frustrated sound, then squared her shoulders. “Well, I don’t want you at the wedding, so you won’t be there.”

  “Is that what you think?” Flossie smirked.

  “It’s what I know.” Lady E tilted her chin up arrogantly. “I refuse to have you present at the church. This whole thing is chancy enough. I won’t have Jason catching sight of you and changing his mind about the whole thing.”

  Flossie had to give the woman credit. She was smart enough to realize how tenuous her situation truly was, and savvy enough to know that Jason could very well change his mind if he caught sight of her at the wrong moment.

  “I won’t have my reputation ruined by being left at the altar,” Lady E went on. “And remember, Jason needs my help and influence far more than I—”

  “Need his money?” Flossie finished for her, one eyebrow arched. “We both know that’s not true.” It was a good thing Lady E didn’t yet know about Mr. Johnson’s offer. Otherwise, she would do whatever it took to drag an “I do” out of Jason.

  Lady E sniffed and picked at an imagined speck of dust on her gown. “Well, none of that matters now. You must stay here with Papa and I must fly off to the church to marry the wealthiest and most powerful man in the north.”

  It wasn’t lost on Flossie that Lady E didn’t so much as hint about love and happiness in her insistence. As deep as she intended to sink her talons into Jason in surface ways, Flossie knew that Jason would always love her and be happiest by her side. With that in mind, she asked herself if she really wanted to be present when the whole thing came together—or fell apart, depending on how one looked at it.

  The footman she’d sent off for the cordial returned with a glass of bright purple liquid. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there. Flossie took one more look at Lady E, feeling wearier than she’d felt in a long time. She still didn’t feel the same degree of devastation that she wondered if she should at the thought of the man she loved marrying someone else. Perhaps she wasn’t as upset as she could have been because she knew the marriage was a sham, a business transaction. She wouldn’t be upset with Jason if he sold his hotels to Mr. Johnson. It was Lady E’s attitude that irritated her the most, and if she was honest with herself, she wanted as little of that as possible.