“What are you talking about?” asked Luke.
“Why, I’m talking of the news of your family, your lordship. For whatever reason you need to rush home, I assure you I will keep the place in top shape until you return…”
Mrs. Smith continued. Luke opened his mouth to explain but she wouldn’t have it. “Like I said, I don’t know one whit about what has happened in Stockport, but know that I’m still here if you need someone to listen. I remember when I was young and my friends would come and tell me their troubles and they always seemed to leave in a much better mood than when they arrived.”
“Mrs. Smith, if I may interject?”
“Of course, your lordship.” She blinked rapidly.
“Um, yes, well, the fact is, my family is fine.”
“What?” Her hand fluttered over her heart.
“That is to say, I don’t know of any specific problem. Truth is, I find myself increasingly missing Stockport.”
“Oh.”
“That is not to say that the company I’ve kept in London has been—”
“Say no more, your lordship.” She lifted her hand. “I completely understand. That shrew of a young lady, what is her name, Zilla, crazy family all named with Z. I believe her mother’s name is Zola, why, I never heard of such a thing. But as I was saying, if I had to spend hours in the company of Zilla, I’d be ready for Stockport myself.”
Rosabel left the room still talking. Luke quit listening and finished packing. With any luck he would be on the road by nightfall.
Chapter Four
Letta escorted Brigitta to an empty suite of rooms. The door opened and dank air invaded her lungs. A fit of coughing assailed her and she covered her mouth as she entered.
“I’m sorry, miss. We keep these rooms closed unless we are expecting company. But never you fear, I’ll have it aired out for you soon enough.”
Brigitta twirled in a slow circle, careful to take in the surroundings. Brightly colored hand-woven tapestries covered three of the walls. The fourth wall sported a vacant fireplace. Blue and violet oriental rugs swathed the floor. A four-poster canopy bed dwarfed the bedroom while a long sofa and chair constituted a sitting area.
Awed, she stroked the violet silk fabric of the bed coverlet and swallowed.
Letta opened the shutters and pulled dusty sheets off the furniture. Finished, she said, “I’ll be right back. I gotta run and get the water boiling and have Manny bring up the tub.”
“Does it have to be Manny?” she asked a little too quickly.
“I guess it doesn’t but he is the easiest to get. Most of the other footmen are new and quite lazy.”
“If he is the only one…” The words trailed off and she hoped Letta understood her meaning.
Letta lifted a brow and quietly left the room.
Left alone, Brigitta searched the wardrobe. Dresses of quality hung on the rack and she drew one down and draped it across her body, studying herself in a full-length mirror.
The vision reflected back was enough to make her want to retch again. Dirt smeared her cheeks, twigs poked from her hair, and bruises covered her arms and hands. Sorrow threatened to consume her but she buried it. Here she was in the baron’s manse about to enjoy a hot bath, wear a new dress, and sit down for supper in a regal dining hall. Regardless of what came afterward, for now she would revel in the experience.
Letta returned with Manny. He carried a metal tub and set it down. He didn’t speak, but offered a grunt or two as Letta instructed him to start a fire and move the tub closer to the fireplace.
After Manny exited, grumbling, slouching footmen carried buckets of water into the room. By the time they finished, the water was an even temperature and Brigitta was able to slide inside.
Letta left the room with the promise of returning shortly. Brigitta took her at her word and bathed as quickly as possible. Dried, she dressed in the underclothes and afternoon gown Letta had draped on the bed. Unfortunately, the dress was not one from the closet. Pale yellow, the color washed out her skin. The white chemisette placed underneath to cover her breasts and her arms did little to help.
She used her fingers to comb through her tangled curls. Letta returned and had her sit while she applied a brush to the long strands.
“I’ve never seen such thick hair,” Letta complained as she dragged the brush through the mass.
“I get it from my mother,” said Brigitta, biting her lip to keep from yelping.
“I think you should have given it back,” said Letta, the corner of her lip tilted upward.
“Trust me, I tried, but my mother refused to take it.”
They laughed, Letta coughed, and the solemnity returned.
“I appreciate your kindness,” said Brigitta.
“My kindness?” whispered Letta.
“I know you have been ordered to assist me, but you don’t have to be polite while doing so.”
Letta opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“May I come in?” asked Chadwick as he pushed into the room.
Brigitta took to her feet and grabbed Letta’s hand and squeezed.
His jaw dropped and he clasped the sides of his face. “Brigitta? Is that you? You look positively stunning! And yellow is the perfect color.”
Brigitta struggled to maintain a straight face.
“If you’ve finished, please allow me to escort you to supper.”
Letta released her hand and nudged her forward. Chadwick held out his arm and she gnawed on her lip and stared at his offering hesitantly. Lifting her gaze, she studied his expression. His lips twitched as if he were amused at her uncertainty, her discomfort. Tilting her head, with a defiant air, she clasped his arm.
The trip from the suite to the dining hall floated past in a daze as she worked to shore up her courage. Portraits, tapestries, baubles, suits of armor, all flashed by and blurred together. Chadwick kept up a running monologue.
“The house has been here since before Stockport Castle was destroyed. However, we did acquire several pieces from the old place. My brother likes to keep old things hanging about.”
They ended in the dining hall. Brigitta glanced around; her heart thumped madly in her chest as her concern mounted that she would never find her way back to her room. Chadwick placed a hand on the small of her back until she took a seat. He scooted her close to the table before taking his own chair at the table’s head.
Twenty people could easily sit around the table but only their two seats were filled. Multiple candelabras provided light. Food covered half of the tabletop and Brigitta salivated at the smells.
“I’ve had the cook prepare a variety of dishes. Feel free to eat whatever you wish and until you’re ready to burst if you so desire.”
Brigitta would concern herself with embarrassment later. For now she planned to feast. The meal was half consumed and she patted her stomach before she realized she hadn’t tasted a single item.
A short pudgy man, with a shock of white hair, strode into the room. “Sir, may I have a word?”
“You will excuse me?” asked Chadwick.
“Of course,” said Brigitta.
Chadwick left the room and Brigitta broke off a piece of chicken and popped it into her mouth.
****
Chadwick followed Roland into the hallway. “What do you think?”
“Sir, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“No, it’s perfect. She is perfect. All I need to do is woo her for a few days, find a minister willing to pretend to marry us, and then invite the tourists. It will work like a charm.”
“But what if she doesn’t cooperate?”
“That is why I need you. I can’t make her angry yet; that would ruin my attempt to woo her. So I need you to assess her behavior, her temperament. I need to know if she will show the character I need when the time is right.”
“Forgive the question, sir, but why don’t you just tell her what you want and offer her room and board for her
services.”
Chadwick patted his back. “Dear, dear Roland, you just don’t understand good theater. If she isn’t a good actress then my plan will fail. But if she really believes we’re married, and the quarreling is legit, then I know she’ll be good.”
“What of the staff?”
“What of them?” Chadwick asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“They might not be willing to go along with your plan.”
“Call them.”
Roland cocked a brow. “What about the lady, sir?”
Chadwick peeked around the corner. Brigitta popped bites of chicken into her mouth and sipped greedily at her wine cup. “She is occupied. Call the staff.”
Roland nodded and flowed away. Chadwick crossed the hall to the drawing room and waited. The staff poured in and lined the walls, the maids taking a seat when he cleared his throat. Some groups, such as the footmen and kitchen staff, sent only a representative.
“Is this all that is coming?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Roland.
Concentrating on filling the room with his presence, Chadwick sucked in deep breaths. Playing to his audience, he ignored the insipid color scheme and pretended scarlet curtains enfolded him. “Good.” He flashed his most brilliant smile. “Ladies and gentleman, I’ve called you here today on a matter of greatest importance.” First rule of getting what you want, appeal to their vanity.
A footman elbowed a maid in the side and whispered something unintelligible. Chadwick cleared his throat and all eyes reverted back to him. “As I was saying, a matter of greatest importance.” He paced and tapped his finger to his forehead. “Most of you are new to the estate, but I’m sure you have heard that in recent years the estate’s funds have dwindled. Try as my brother might, he has not been able to stem the flow. In his absence, he has given me permission to raise funds and Roland and I have devised a plan. However, the plan will not work without your assistance.”
They leaned forward.
“A young lady has come into our midst. Some of you have met her.” Letta raised her hand. “Others of you have heard about her.” Others nodded. Manny grunted. “This young lady will be key to raising funds for Stockport. How, you ask? This is how. A ruse.”
The servants narrowed their gazes. Anticipation had them licking their lips.
“The young lady and I will pretend to be married.” Gasps echoed around the room and he held his hands up for silence. “During our pretense, she and I will take on the roles of Baron and Baroness Andrews and we will put on a show for tourists. The show will bring in the money needed to fund the estate.”
Whispers rushed around the room, and Chadwick rose from his slackened position and fisted his hands at his sides. “If you disagree with my plan, then say so now. For without what I propose, you might as well pack your bags and head for home because the estate will be broke within the month.”
The servants lowered their gazes to the floor.
“That is what I thought.” He straightened his dinner coat, and said, “Dismissed.”
Collectively they rose and shuffled from the room. Roland was at the end of the line.
“Now, Roland, the staff has agreed. It is time for you to help me.”
“One more thing, sir. What about the banns? They will have to be read.”
“Then have them read.”
“But sir, they must be read for three weeks unless you acquire a special license, which would require a trip to London.”
Chadwick ran his hand through his hair in agitation. This was a complication he had not planned for.
“And what of the vicar? He will never willingly participate.”
Of course Roland was correct. The old curmudgeon would never agree to the plan. Chadwick gritted his teeth. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “What of the rector? Could he not perform the ceremony?”
“The rector?”
“Yes, yes. Hasn’t the vicar been ill recently?”
“I have heard—”
“We shall send the vicar home to visit and recover with his family. Also, send a servant to the solicitor and have a fake license created. Brigitta will not know the difference. And have the banns read starting this afternoon.”
“And the rector?”
“I will converse with the rector.”
“But sir, the likelihood—”
“That will be all.”
Roland bowed and sighed. “As you wish.”
“Good. Now, before you run those errands, go into the dining hall and make her angry.”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“I don’t know. Stare at her, insult her, say something, anything, to make her upset. I know you can do it.”
“Thank you for the confidence, sir.” Roland stalked across the hallway and entered the dining hall.
The rector would be more than happy to falsify documents and anything else on his behalf, after Chadwick informed him he knew of his transgressions. Faro was a fine gentlemen’s game, but rectors should abstain.
Chadwick edged around the door facing and rubbed his hands in delight. He could practically feel the coins jingling in his pocket.
Chapter Five
Two weeks had passed since Luke left London. His business along the route had been conducted to his satisfaction and he was glad to be home. He’d stayed the first night in town, so he would be refreshed enough to traverse the grounds and enjoy the vastness and beauty of his home before responsibilities overwhelmed him.
Early the next morning, he left his horse and carriage in the village and arrived at the estate on foot.
Evil thoughts of Zilla, and her prejudiced comments, kept popping into his thoughts. What would that woman know of the world? Her judgment was clouded by youth and a lack of intelligence. No matter how hard he tried, he found himself increasingly unwilling to marry Zilla just to produce an heir or increase his finances.
The estate’s accounts currently boasted a tidy sum. The issue of coin could be held at bay for an extensive time if he continued to live in the frugal lifestyle his parents had set before him. As for the heir, he was sure to find a more congenial wife and mother than Zilla Elis.
Fountains bubbled and birds landed in the baths. Luke took the long trail and walked by the fishing pond and hunting grounds. A rock jutted out from the mountain and Luke paused, blocking the sun from his face.
From his high perch, the ruins of Stockport Castle tumbled across the green below. He remembered being a lad and staring at the ruins while holding tightly to his father’s hand. His father’s vivid descriptions had almost made him feel as if he’d walked through the hallowed halls that lay destroyed.
Reality of how things that stood the test of time could still plunge into nothingness gnawed at his innards and he wished his father was around to offer wisdom.
Downhearted, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned. Upon approaching the manse, he knitted his brows. A line of people gathered. Behind them, carriages lined the road almost as far away as the village.
He strode toward the crowd and joined them. Raindrops fell and he tugged his top hat lower. The throng groaned and waved umbrellas aloft. Before them the manse doors parted and they entered the east wing of the estate.
Tourists dressed in fine frocks with plumed hats filed into the main room, staring avidly about at his home. An individual Luke had never seen acted as a guide, lifting his hands and pointing at one side of the curved staircase. There a woman of refined grace descended.
The guide announced, “Introducing Baroness Stockport, Brigitta Andrews.”
Luke blinked rapidly as the woman turned, smiled, and waved. The crowd returned her actions. She continued to descend until she reached the landing, where she stopped.
From the opposite set of stairs, his half-brother Chadwick, dressed in regal attire, descended. The red coat emphasized his broad shoulders, which he held back. His face scrunched, he didn’t look at the crowd, but instead focused a look filled with unreq
uited hatred toward the woman on the landing.
The guide lifted his hand toward Chadwick and said, “Introducing the Baron of Stockport.”
Luke covered his gasp and huddled deeper into his coat. What is the meaning of this?
Before any further thoughts could drift through Luke’s mind, Chadwick stopped in the middle of the stairs and shouted, “And just what do you think you’re wearing?”
The woman bristled. “I’m wearing the yellow today, my lord.”
“The yellow? Blah. I’ve told you I detest yellow. Get thee upstairs and change this instant.” He pointed his finger above and the lady cocked a brow and glared.
“You will not tell me what to do! I’m the baroness and I can do as I please. If I want to wear yellow, then I shall wear yellow!”
Chadwick didn’t waver and Brigitta hitched her skirts and ran upstairs. Chadwick faced the crowd and apologized for his wife’s behavior before casually turning on his heel and leaving himself.
Shocked, Luke blindly followed the crowd. The guide led them through the entire east wing. They studied the wall of family portraits, swooned over the ancient family heirlooms, and ended with a riding tour of the grounds.
With each new sight his ire increased. While he’d been strangled initially by feelings of cold, blind rage, the trip on horseback through the grounds cooled his temper and now he was naught but confused.
The event ended and the visitors left in their carriages. Discreetly, Luke sneaked into the house through a downstairs window and raced on tiptoe to his chambers. He sat at a desk and pondered until his head ached. Finally, he pulled the servant’s rope that led directly to his personal valet’s room. He paced, his mind jumbled with nonsensical thoughts. The door opened and he blurted, “Jarvis, I have a problem.”
The valet entered and closed the door. A blank stare covered his face as he blurted, “My lord, we weren’t expecting you. Welcome home.”
“There is something foul at play here.”
Jarvis squinted, lifted his nose, and sniffed.
“Not an odor, Jarvis.”
He lowered his chin. “Excuse me, your lordship, but I fail to understand your meaning.”
Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse Page 3
