The door slammed shut. Brigitta groaned aloud, grabbed her basket, turned on her heel, and stalked away.
Instead of heading home, she hoisted the basket under her arm and took the path to the River Mersey. She found a clearing in the woods and set about gathering broken sticks and rocks. Depressed by the thought of returning to her lonely abode, she built a fire pit where she was. However, the fire wasn’t so easily started. She had to rub the flint pieces over and over. Finally, a spark caught the tender, and the flame spread. Hunger gnawed at her gut, and she thought of throwing the meat directly into the fire, but instead she washed a rock and set it in the center. The meat on top, and the potatoes sitting in the ash, she hoped to eat soon.
The wind kicked up and Brigitta huddled closer to the flames. She inhaled deeply, the aroma of the cooking food made her stomach rumble. Jewel, the old hag, didn’t deserve any part of her meal.
She flipped the meat and studied the waves on the water. Wind whistled through the trees, rattling the leaves, and Brigitta pushed the potatoes farther into the ash. Impatiently, she tapped her foot. In the distance, sunlight glinted off the windows of the baron’s estate. Rumor held that the estate was built so close to the ancient Stockport Castle that they shared the same hallways.
Brigitta laughed at the thought and narrowed her gaze. Even through the trees, she could make out the Stockport Castle ruins. The motte-and-bailey castle had been demolished in 1775, at around the same time Baron Luther Andrews had built the west wing of his estate. Her father had told her many stories about his visits to the castle, filling her head with notions of grandeur and wonder most girls couldn’t even hope to dream about.
If she closed her eyes, she could almost visualize the grand balls with women dressed in gowns that doubled the size of their bottom. How they must have looked! Turning sideways to walk through doors, bending to ensure their feather-plumed hats stayed atop their heads, and even struggling to stay upright as they wobbled like ducks during their dances.
Brigitta covered a snicker. She was ever thankful that styles had changed. Now gowns were more simplistic. Restriction of movement was a thing of the past. Finery of course was still a part of a noble’s life, but it wasn’t as gaudy as it had once been. It did take away the humor when one poked fun, but there were always ways to make that occur.
The potatoes blackened before her eyes and Brigitta used a stick to roll them from the flames.
The afternoon was alive with sounds. Distant voices, horses neighing, crickets chirping, and birds tweeting filled the air.
Brigitta froze. Overhanging tree limbs rattled and in front of her, the underbrush spread apart. She widened her eyes and jumped to her feet, holding the stick in front of her for protection.
“What are you doing here?” asked a man dressed in livery as he pushed into her clearing.
She gulped and pointed at the fire.
“Cooking? On the baron’s property?” The footman crossed his arms over his chest.
Angry, Brigitta said, “I don’t think the baron owns the sticks.”
“Oh, you don’t, do you? Well, I guess we’ll just have to see about that.”
The man grabbed her arm and hoisted her over his shoulder.
“Hey, what are you doing? Put me down!”
The man struggled to talk and hold her. “Be still!”
“I will not!”
He adjusted her position and she used her fists to whack his back, but it availed nothing, for his grip only tightened.
Her head bobbed and her stomach churned. “If you don’t stop I’m going to be sick.”
The man laughed. “If you had anything in your stomach to lose, then you wouldn’t have been in the baron’s forest cooking. What did you do? Did you use a slingshot and kill one of the baron’s fowls? Or perhaps you hit a squirrel?”
“I don’t feel so good. You should set me down.”
The man’s answer was to continue walking. The nausea increased and she was powerless to control her next act.
****
Luke lifted the tails of his jacket and settled on the parlor sofa next to Zilla Elis. Her mother and father sat across from them on another sofa, while young men and women clustered nearby on lone chairs. The informal gathering took place in the Elis household and was just one of many that had occurred throughout the month.
Luke sipped at his drink. The parlor was entirely too fancy for his tastes. Floor to ceiling shelves lined one wall, again cluttered with those fatuous dolls. The waste of funds left his stomach tied in knots. A servant offered him a sweet and he declined.
Zilla leaned forward; her heavy perfume preyed on his increasing nausea. She grabbed a sweet and popped it into her petulant mouth. “Oh, your lordship, you must try this. Cook makes the best desserts.”
Luke grimaced. “That cannot be denied.” He had been sampling cook’s desserts at least three times a week for the last four weeks. The nausea he experienced, he partially attributed to the Elis’ cook.
Zilla slapped him with her closed fan and remarked to her friend, Lilli, “You must ignore his lordship. He is used to eating a simpler fare at Stockport and his stomach is unused to the delights London has to offer.”
Sitting in a chair across from them, Lilli fanned her face and blushed furiously at her friend’s unspoken implication. Lord and Lady Elis remained oblivious to their daughter’s antics.
In the short time Luke had remained in London and attempted to woo Zilla, he’d learned a few things. One, Zilla was a spoiled brat who needed to be turned over her father’s knee. And two, Zilla’s fortune was highly sought after.
At the various entertainments, when the dances began, like an intrusion of cockroaches men came out of the woodwork to court her. Zilla was never without a companion. Her governess became her constant chaperone, implicitly trusted by Lord Elis. Little did he know that the woman was a gossiping old biddy who directed any wholesome fellow as far from Zilla as possible.
Upon his first meeting with Zilla, Mrs. Thomason had pulled him aside and said, “Your lordship, you seem like a very nice young man. Because of this I fear I must warn you that Zilla is not the wife for just anyone.”
Luke had taken the words to mean that Zilla needed someone special and was too good for the ordinary, but he soon realized what Mrs. Thomason meant. Zilla would never concern herself with making a man happy. If her husband wanted happiness then he would be forced to bend to Zilla’s will.
Several times he’d come close to leaving London and returning to Stockport only to stop himself as he boarded the carriage. At thirty, time was escaping him. He needed to marry and produce an heir. The possibility that he wouldn’t produce an heir, and subsequently would leave Chadwick in charge of the estate, made him ill. It was enough to encourage him to meet with Zilla once more.
Suitors vied for Zilla’s attention. Today every man attending the private ball was promised only one dance. Discreetly, Luke had given up his turn and found a place to sit.
Of course his slight had been soon discovered and Zilla found a way to sit beside him and berate him for his choice of food, as well as other matters.
“I dare say Stockport is a dreadfully boring place. Lilli and I were just talking the other day that being so far from London would be dreadfully boring.”
“Stockport has its advantages,” said Luke.
“Oh, yes, Zilla, don’t you remember? Stockport has the silk factory,” said Lilli, seemingly proud that she’d contributed to the conversation.
“Oh, yes. The silk factory and the rope factory!” Zilla laughed and stared at her friends until they joined her.
“True, the rope factory is not as glamorous as some trades, but it is a needed commodity,” said Luke, fighting his rising temper.
“Commodities! What do I care of commodities?”
Zilla’s attempt at intelligence fell on deaf ears and the laughter died. Everyone in the room depended on the hemp and rope constructed in Stockport, while the London and Parisian des
igners of ladies’ gowns desperately sought Stockport silk for their fashionable concoctions.
Zilla cleared her throat. “As I was saying, I believe Stockport would be terribly boring.”
“Perhaps,” said Luke.
“Of course, I have heard that the Andrews estate is rife with pleasant gardens and excellent fishing.”
Luke puffed out his chest with swelled pride. “Indeed, it is.”
“Humph. That is too bad, because I detest pleasant gardens and fishing. They are both entirely too much work. I think servants are better put to use inside the home. Why, it takes at least five servants a day just to keep my baubles in the library dusted.”
Luke shrank back against the cushions and eyed the wall of detestable objects once more.
“Do you like to read, your lordship?” asked Lilli.
“Yes, actually I do. I just finished Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift and found myself most entertained.”
Zilla fanned her bosom. “I detest reading. What does a woman need with dusty books and useless knowledge? It is not like she will ever be allowed to put it to use. Much better that she stay in the home and instruct her husband.”
“But, Zilla,” said Lady Elis, shyly, “how can you instruct your husband wisely without knowledge?”
Zilla replied, “Seriously, Mother, I can’t believe you, of all people, asked this question. You’ve survived all this time without intelligence or wit, so I would think the answer would be obvious.”
The crowd shifted uncomfortably as Lady Elis buried her chin in her chest and gazed downward.
Cold rage surged through Luke’s veins as he stood and bowed; the slight to her mother was more than he could handle. Perhaps marrying the twit would be worth it just so he could place her over his knee. Tugging his coat in place, he said, “I do apologize, but I must be on my way.”
Zilla fluttered her lashes over the edge of her fan. “Must you be going so soon?”
“Aye, I must. I’ve received word from my family that I’m needed at home.”
Zilla jumped to her feet and grabbed his arm. “Oh, do tell me you plan to return? The party circuit will be so boring without you.”
Luke studied her face. Short dark-blond hair mingled in thick curls around her thin face. Her pointed nose and high cheekbones combined with hazel eyes had often been touted as a noble trademark. Tall and reed thin, she would never be a beauty. Her wealth, however, would continue to draw attention.
She batted her thin lashes. Was she really as heartless as she seemed? Or was her attitude born more from a sense of immaturity and boredom? Did he care if he ever discovered her true nature?
He answered, “I cannot promise.”
She protruded her lip like a child who had lost a favorite toy. “But you must promise! I will simply die if you do not!”
Luke bowed again. “I will endeavor to return.”
Zilla must have taken his words as a pledge because she clapped and said, “Excellent. We shall make plans to receive you in a month. That should be plenty of time for you to take care of your family business and return to my side.”
Luke didn’t answer. He paid his respects to Lord and Lady Elis, thanking them for their hospitality before quitting the room. No sooner had he turned his back than he heard Zilla calling after another gentleman.
Chapter Three
Chadwick reviewed his plan from all angles. The way he saw it, it was the only way to pay off his gambling debts and replace the money in the estate coffers before his brother returned. Complications, such as where to find a partner for his little adventure, were shoved aside under the overwhelming need to acquire coin. His pulse raced. The challenge drew him as much as his need and the thrill of the anticipated escapade brought excitement to his dull existence.
In the hour since he’d formulated the idea, he had confided the plan to Roland, the butler, who simply shook his head but agreed to help in any way necessary.
Chadwick drummed his fingers on the library’s chair arm. The sounds of shouting and slamming doors echoed through the wide halls and he jumped to his feet, startled, as the door was flung open.
“What is that terrible smell?” asked Chadwick, pinching his nose.
“Sir, I apologize. The young wench retched.”
Chadwick opened his mouth to chastise the footman but closed it just as quickly. Indeed, the footman did hold two legs encased in pale muslin, the rest of the figure presumably tossed over his shoulder. “A lady?”
“Aye.” Manny dropped her on the floor.
She rose on her elbow and moved hair from her eyes. “I demand to know where I am.”
Chadwick twitched his lips. The young lady had long curly auburn hair, pale blue eyes, and a splattering of freckles across her pert nose. If she hadn’t looked like a street urchin who had just crawled out from under a rock, her presence would have had a devastating effect on his passionate nature.
He bent and offered his hand. Grudgingly she accepted and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Welcome to the Andrews estate. I’m B-Baron Chadwick Andrews,“ he stuttered, looking at Manny, who narrowed his eyes but offered no comment. “With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
The girl cast a wide-eyed look at the footman, made no notice of his claim, and replied, “I’m Brigitta Blackburn.”
“Aye, Brigitta Blackburn. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
The head footman scoffed and Chadwick sent him what he hoped was a scathing look. Returning his attention to Brigitta, he said, “I’m sorry for the manner in which you were brought to the manse. Manny is normally more gentle when he escorts a woman.”
“Begging your pardon, but that is no woman. She is a cat, or a devil. I’ll have scratches for the rest of my life.”
Chadwick lifted his hand, palm out. “Silence, Manny. Thank you, but you may go.”
“But, sir! Don’t you want to know what she did?”
“I didn’t do anything!” yelled Brigitta.
Chadwick moved his hands up and down. “Please, calm down. I’m sure whatever it is can be explained.”
She folded her hands demurely in front of her and said, “Of course it can be explained. I was hungry so I took a few broken branches to start a fire.”
“There, you see, Manny. She just took a few sticks to start a fire.”
“Sir, this might not sound like a bad thing, but this is the way it starts. First one young lady takes a few sticks, and then more people come and they take sticks and the next thing you know the entire population of Stockport is taking your wood. What will you do when—”
“Silence!” said Chadwick, his voice rising. His chest heaved and he swallowed several deep breaths to calm himself. He placed a hand on Manny’s shoulder and squeezed until the footman again narrowed his gaze. “I understand your concern. Now, if you will politely leave my room, I assure you I will deal with the issue.”
The footman took the hint, bowed, and exited. Left alone with Brigitta, Chadwick felt like giggling in delight. The answer to all his plan’s complications unfolded before him. In fact, she stood before him.
In hopes of calming her aroused nerves, he poured them both a drink of sherry and handed Brigitta one glass. “I do apologize for Manny’s behavior. As I said—”
“He is normally more polite to women.”
“Exactly.” He pointed to the sofa and she hesitated to sit. “Do not mind your clothing. The servants have very little to do and they will relish the opportunity to wash the sofa.”
Brigitta perched on the edge and cradled the glass in her lap.
He took a sip. “So you say you used sticks from my woods to fuel your cook fire.”
“Yes.”
“Am I correct in presuming this was not your first choice?”
“Yes,” she said, gaze downcast.
“Perhaps you would care to relate to me why you found yourself in my wood preparing your supper.”
“I see no need.”
He chuckle
d. “That’s delightful; you see no need.” He sipped and leaned forward. Firelight caught his face and he was aware of his heartfelt look. “Here is what I see. I see a young woman whose clothing is tattered, whose hair is dirty, yet who has intelligent eyes and a gentle face. A woman who under the correct tutelage could have aspired to greater things than to steal from a peer.”
Tears pooled in her eyes and she sniffed. Oh, he had her now. He settled against the sofa and almost shouted with happiness. Now that he had her on the line, all he needed to do was pull her in.
He patted her knee, compassion flowing from his every pore. “Please forgive Manny for causing you such great distress and allow me to rectify the situation.”
“There is no need. If you will just let me go—”
“Nonsense! The weather has turned particularly nasty and I insist you stay here for the night.” Before she could brook an argument, he pulled the servants’ bell rope.
“Letta, you will escort Miss Blackburn.” He faced her. “I am correct in assuming it is Miss?”
She nodded.
“Good. Now, Letta, I want you to escort Miss Blackburn to an empty room in the east wing. Draw a bath, find her something clean to wear, and when she is properly attired, bring her to supper.”
Letta bowed. “Yes, sir.” She waited as a wary Brigitta followed her from the room.
****
Luke raced around the room, gathering his things. The sooner he left London, the better. With the stops he planned to make, he wouldn’t reach home for at least two weeks.
A knock sounded. “Come in,” he said, looking up from his open bag.
Mrs. Smith stood in the open doorway and wrung her hands. “Oh, your lordship, I’m so sorry to hear the news.”
Baffled, Luke cocked a brow and tilted his head.
“Of course I don’t know any of the particulars, mind you, just what Paulina heard while she scouted the market.”
Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse Page 2
