Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse

by Felicia Rogers

  “But, sir! Zilla and I are in love. We wish to be married.” He forced the correct amount of desperation into his voice and hoped for the best.

  Without turning around, the elderly man lifted his hand and pointed toward the door. Chadwick rammed his hat upon his head and left the office. A brief glance up the formal staircase revealed Zilla and her chagrined expression. Apparently, she was aware of their topic of conversation and liked the outcome no better than he did.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Depressed and not a little angry, Chadwick returned to his room at his friends’ house. Lord Elis had made his position perfectly clear. He was not a welcome addition to the Elis family. Honestly, he should have known. Since his time on earth had begun, he hadn’t been a planned addition to any family.

  His mother, a laundress from the village, had happened upon the old baron, Luther Andrews, on a dark and stormy night. The baron had lost his wife in a recent accident, and he was in the village seeking solace at the bottom of a glass.

  Luther had stumbled from the tavern and was immediately set upon by a band of ruffians. Carol, his mother, had beaten them off and escorted Luther back to her home.

  Carol had recognized the baron and being shrewd, had taken advantage of the situation. The baron awakened the next morning, stripped naked and swathed with Carol’s body. Months later, she had showed up on the baron’s doorstep, showed her rounded stomach, and found her place among the aristocracy.

  Chadwick had been born nine months after that fateful night. Luther had welcomed him hesitantly but had refused to give him all the rights and privileges he’d afforded his first-born son. Chadwick had allowed resentment to rule him for years until he decided it was more fun wasting his brother’s inheritance than spending his days bemoaning his fate.

  Raking his hand through his hair, Chadwick studied his appearance in the mirror. The black jacket, a tailored shirt of softest white linen, black breeches, and black boots had been specially selected for the occasion. It had been his one chance at freedom. Freedom from debt, freedom from Luke’s overbearing nature, freedom from all his mistakes — and he’d blown it.

  Bags packed, he called downstairs and ordered a carriage be brought around. But on the stoop, he was surprised by Zilla. A shawl tightly wrapped around her shivering shoulders, she twirled an umbrella over her head. Her shoes were mismatched and her hair lay in disarray about her shoulders. She appeared vexed as she paced like a caged tiger.

  She spotted him, glancing down at the valise in his hand. Placing her hand on her hip, she shouted, “Just where do you think you’re going? I’ve waited seventeen years to get out from under my father’s thumb and I order you to stay put until you convince him we are to marry.”

  Warily Chadwick eyed those who passed by. Many stopped and gawked while others dropped their jaws but hurried past. What if someone recognized him and it brought shame to his friends? He needed to get her away.

  Zilla leaned toward him, her chin jutting out. “I will not tolerate being deserted. My father is but a man. If you truly love me, then you would whisk me away, defy him. Don’t let him tell you what to do.”

  Chadwick grabbed her upper arms and glared into her face. “Miss Elis, I appreciate you coming to see me off, but perhaps you should run along. The street is no place for a woman of your substance.”

  Anger flared behind her eyes as she stomped her foot, landing it on the toe of his shoe. He grunted under his breath and worked to relax his facial muscles but didn’t let go of her arms.

  Her voice lowered to a scorching whisper. “I know not what your newest plan is. However, I assure you that disgracing me on the street will only bring you and your family to more harm. My father is a powerful man—”

  He squeezed her arm tighter and dragged her over the stoop and inside. In the foyer, he whispered through gritted teeth. “There is nothing about you that I find the least bit pleasurable.” He paused to watch shock spread over her face. “I would not spend one second of time in your company if not for your father’s funds, and since he has declined the offer I wished to put to him, before I could put it to him, I might add, I must tell you to leave and never speak to me again.”

  Whimpers followed him as he released her, slammed his hat upon his head, grabbed his valise, and skipped to the waiting carriage. Inside he laid back and relaxed upon the plush cushions.

  Nary a stray thought of guilt assailed him. Poor Zilla was out of her league. She had thought to swindle him when in fact he had been trying to swindle her. The mutual benefit would have been worth it, but he feared that as her money had dwindled, the appeal of her would have diminished as well.

  The carriage dropped him and his luggage at a coaching inn. He caught the mail coach north. He closed his eyes and attempted to nap. As the sun set, the driver banged on the roof.

  “We’re approaching our stop for the night, sir.”

  Chadwick yawned and said, “Very well.”

  They parked at an inn along the road. The driver took care of the coach and the horses while he secured a room for the night.

  ****

  Luke wrung his hands. The tour would be here any moment. The chapel had been reset, the vicar was in place, and Brigitta had dressed in her wedding garb; they just needed to get the guests from the tour group to the chapel without incident.

  Word of the wedding had traveled throughout the county and so today the tour group was particularly large. The guests waited before the split staircase for the baron and baroness to descend.

  From his vantage point, Luke saw Brigitta wave. Her expression seemed confident and he relaxed.

  Jarvis announced the baroness, and Brigitta lifted her chin and descended. Luke wasn’t far behind. Once they reached the landing, he clasped her hand, and said, “Everyone in attendance is invited to witness the renewing of our vows. Barring any incidents of weather or swooning,” Brigitta pinched him, and he smiled and continued, “the wedding with occur.”

  The guests filed out with excited chattering. Once the hall had emptied, Luke escorted Brigitta outside and across the lawn to the chapel. Unconsciously his finger stroked the smooth skin of her hand. Longing consumed him and tingles raced along his arm. How could he be so lucky as to find someone as beautiful as Brigitta? One with beauty inside and out.

  His feelings almost consumed him as his throat filled with emotion. They reached the glen and he reluctantly handed her over to Jarvis with a warning. “No fainting this time.”

  He left them to take his place before the altar and the vicar. Those in attendance smiled and pointed at him. Everyone seemed to be in a pleasant mood.

  Straightening his cravat, he cleared his throat. Two words, and they would be the most important words of his life. Once he’d said them, he would be officially married to Brigitta. If she ever remembered the “marriage” with Chadwick, he could explain it away as a dream, or do what he probably should have already done and steel himself to admit the truth. But for right now that thought was far from his mind.

  Brigitta stepped into the nave and glided up the aisle. A bouquet of flowers was cradled against her chest. The closer Brigitta drew, the slower she seemed to walk. Finally she was there beside him. He clasped her hand and she squeezed his. Tingles of anticipation raced along his spine as the vicar spoke.

  ****

  Brigitta narrowed her gaze and twisted her head to stare at the vicar sideways. Blinking rapidly, she saw his lips moving but couldn’t hear him. The words he spoke sounded as if he urged her to do something and she muttered, “I do.” Luke repeated the phrase.

  Within seconds she faced the crowd and was announced as the Baroness of Stockport, Mrs. Brigitta Andrews. Congratulatory backslaps echoed in the church and the surrounding glen. Respectable merchants, and others who were strangers to her, shook her hand. Everything seemed like a dream, out of place, as if she’d experienced it all before but in a different way.

  An ache began in her head. Something seemed very wrong and she massag
ed her temples. Wobbling, she leaned against Luke. He whispered in her ear, “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. When do they serve the bride’s pie?” she joked.

  He eyed her warily but led her and the guests inside the ballroom for the wedding breakfast. The cook had created an extraordinary concoction of beauty and goodness. The bride’s pie melted in her mouth and drove her to want more.

  The afternoon hours wiled away and although Brigitta was blissfully happy, she began to tire. The guests, however, seemed to have enough energy to party throughout the night.

  “May we retire?” asked Brigitta.

  “I will have Letta take you to your room.”

  She nodded, not even commenting on the fact that she was still going to her own room and not that of her husband.

  Curled in the middle of her bed, she closed her eyes. But strange scenes flashed through her mind. A vicar — no, a rector stood at the front of a parish church. A man, very similar to Luke but not him, stood across from her. They held hands and murmured words of love and dedication to one another.

  The service ended and a footman escorted her to a room and locked the door. The flood of images flashed and swam before her eyes so fast her stomach churned.

  Drenched in sweat, she woke with a start and scrambled from the blankets. She found a fresh gown, pulled it over her head, and perched on the edge of a wooden chair. The odd dream had been so vivid, it was almost as if it had been real.

  Legs folded underneath her, she leaned her head on her palm and fell asleep upright, praying the dreams would stay at bay.

  ****

  “Thank you for inviting us to your special occasion,” said a sturdy tenant farmer, dressed in his Sunday best clothing.

  “I’m glad you could come. I want you and the other tenants to know you will no longer have to worry about high rents. The manse will be taken care of without overcharging the people.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The farmer bowed and set off across the grounds, walking toward his acres.

  He was the last of the guests. Luke had spent countless hours assuring the men dependent upon him he had no plans to increase their rents. Once the estate finances were reviewed, he hoped to give some of the money back.

  He stood at the bottom of the staircase and stared longingly upstairs. He could just imagine Brigitta sprawled upon her bed, her hair spread around her head like a Greek goddess.

  He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. His stomach felt squeamish. He was overanalyzing and worrying too much. Brigitta hadn’t chosen him in the beginning but she had chosen him now. She had agreed to be his wife before witnesses. He moved onto the first step and stopped. Why did he feel so rotten, like he didn’t deserve to love her?

  Moving off the stairs, he headed to the office. Papers and bills littered the large desk. Maybe if he made restitution to the villagers, then he would feel more deserving.

  Sitting behind the mess, he sighed. There was no order to the chaos and it would take weeks to get everything straightened out and make sense of it.

  First, he would create order. He organized ledgers into the early morning hours. The sun rose and filtered light into the room. Satisfied with his progress, he rubbed his eyes and decided he needed to rest for at least a few hours.

  Before he headed to his bed, he stopped by Brigitta’s suite. Footmen greeted him as he opened her door and peeked inside. He narrowed his eyes.

  She sat upright in a chair, her head cradled in her palm as she emitted soft snores. Luke knelt before her and moved a strand of hair behind her ear. She sighed in her sleep. Her expression reminded him of an innocent baby.

  He picked her up, cradled her against his chest, and carried her to bed. Stretched out on the coverlet, she purred like a kitten and his heart skipped a beat.

  Contentment settled in his soul as he studied his wife. Finally, he had reason to hope.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chadwick rose from the lumpy mattress, stretched his arms over his head, rolled his stiff neck, and sighed. An overactive mind had awakened him during the night and caused his sleep to be remiss. Everything he’d dared to hope for was lost. Why did this always seem to be his lot? There had to be an answer. Maybe some wealthy elderly lady would adopt him? He laughed to himself as he climbed from the bed and dressed. One of these days he would have a valet to help him, but today wasn’t that day.

  Breakfast covered the inn’s table and he took the meal in silence, barely even tasting the food. When the driver announced departure, relief filled him. The coach took on more passengers. Middle-aged ladies, clearly twins, with an elderly man between them, filled the opposite bench. Another woman, younger and prettier, climbed inside and plopped down next to Chadwick.

  Her plumed hat hung askew. Feathers fell into his mouth and he shooed them away. Ignorant or uncaring of his plight, she continued to twist and turn her head as if searching for someone. She fidgeted her gloved hands and Chadwick cocked his brow.

  “Oh, where is he? Why doesn’t he hurry? The coach will leave without him and then I will be without escort. Father would never approve, never, never, never.”

  A skinny gentleman with an overly large top hat entered the coach and pushed in between Chadwick and the lady. “Excuse me, excuse me,” he repeated as he stepped on toes, elbowed Chadwick, and bumped his head into the ladies opposite them.

  “Do sit down!” the two matching ladies said in tandem.

  “I do plan to. It is just that I can’t seem to find a spot.” He shifted his hips from side to side and forced Chadwick to scoot. “There. Now I have done it.”

  “It is about time, Mr. Malcolm,” said the young lady in the plumed hat. “Father would have been greatly displeased if I had arrived alone.”

  “There is no need to worry, Lady Margaret. The coach would not have left without me.”

  “And why do you believe that to be the case?”

  “Quite simply, I carry the coin.”

  The word perked up Chadwick’s ears and he covertly perused Mr. Malcolm’s person for a purse. Nothing stood out and he determined to search again at the next stop along the carriage’s route. If the time arose when he needed coin, perhaps Mr. Malcolm wouldn’t oppose a Faro game. It never hurt to know how much your opponent had to offer.

  The bumpy ride soon left the passengers in a foul mood.

  “I fail to understand why a driver hits every bump along the road. Surely they must know it is terribly uncomfortable for the passengers.” One of the matching ladies, the one wearing roses in her bonnet, tried to pin an errant flower into position without giving her neighboring passenger a black eye.

  “Of course they know,” said the other, the one who seemed to prefer lilacs for decoration. “That is why they continue to do it. It is their sole pleasure in life to make the passengers uncomfortable. It is their only recourse for the job they despise.”

  “Children, please do not continue in this vein. Our trip is long and I will not tolerate dissension.” The elderly gentleman chastised his twin daughters throughout the afternoon as they complained of everything from the bumps in the road to the window coverings.

  By the first hour Chadwick’s teeth were on edge and he wished he had chosen a different mode of travel. Riding with a herd of wild elephants would have been preferable.

  The young lady beside Chadwick, Lady Margaret, fretted continually over her father’s opinion of her arrival time, her appearance, her speech, and anything else she could dream of. Mr. Malcolm, her escort, sat with his hat in his lap and constantly twirled it around. Each time the light struck it, he would twist it again.

  Chadwick rolled his eyes, lifted the curtain, and peered outside. Such boors. Would the ride ever end?

  ****

  Brigitta woke groggy and irritable. Somehow she had made it back to her bed.

  Studying the canopy overhead, she sighed. All night, images had flashed before her. Upon awakening, she knew at once they hadn’t been dreams but rather memories. The o
rder in which they had occurred had served to convince her.

  These memories allowed her to conclude one thing: Luke had lied to her.

  Not wishing to waste even a moment waiting on Letta, she rose and dressed in a pale green gown. Hair pulled atop her head and pinned in place, she studied her appearance in the mirror. The face staring back at her looked cynical and not entirely her own. How could one night of dreams change a person’s whole world?

  Letta entered, her face shining with exuberance. Surprise lighted the maid’s face, but she didn’t comment on Brigitta’s dressed form. “Good morning, my lady. And how did you sleep?”

  Brigitta bit her tongue to keep from expressing the truth of it and said, “I slept well, and you?”

  “Oh, I slept well enough, but I will sleep a sight better when those officers leave. The half billeted here at the estate kept my lord up and running all night long and the poor soul just now dropped off in bed. Of course that was after he spent half an hour pining over you, my lady.”

  The maid blushed and Brigitta frowned. The memory of her previous thought sharply contrasted with what she was hearing. “He did what?”

  “Before he went to bed, he came to check on you. Pardon me for spying, but I was close at hand just in case he needed something. Like a knight in shining armor, he saw you sleeping in the chair, swooped you into his arms, and whisked you back to bed. The love in his eyes reminds me of what I see when I look at—” She looked away and stopped talking.

  “Have a suitor, do you, Letta?” Brigitta relaxed at the change in subject.

  The maid shrugged and busied herself by making the bed. “The point is, I will be a sight less tired when those officers find a new billet. I do so hope they will move along soon, begging your pardon, my lady.”

  Brigitta watched the deft movements of the maid’s hands. Every action seemed to bring back another wave of fresh memories. Vague scenes of tying gowns together and lowering herself through the window, walking into a dark cavern, ending in Luke’s room, Roland escorting her back to her suite.