Chapter Thirty-One
The coins jangled in Chadwick’s pocket as he descended the inn’s stairs and discreetly sent Lady Margaret a wink. She lifted a glass in his direction and he turned away lest they be spotted.
The inn’s back room, out of sight of the main room, contained several gaming tables filled with participants. The coins grew heavy in his pocket and he joined a whist table. Surely his luck was changing. He’d left Zilla behind with no consequences and he sat in the room with a full bag of coin.
Behind him, the real gamblers played Faro. Sweat beaded on his brow and he tried to focus on the whist game through the seductive call of the cards.
His partner grew frustrated with his constant bungles and asked for a new cohort. Removing himself with a bow, Chadwick immediately found himself seated at the Faro table. The game was like a drug and before he knew what he’d done, the bag in his possession had grown lighter.
The delightful night passed in a blur. Drinks passed through his hands as fast as the cards and the coin, and when sunlight filtered into the room and the coach driver announced their departure, he realized not one coin remained in the canvas bag.
As Chadwick tried to sort out what had happened, Lady Margaret descended the stairs with Mr. Malcolm and it felt as if his heart stopped. She winked at him, and thinking fast, he rose from the table and headed upstairs as if he were set to replace the bag.
While the lady and her companion were distracted, he grabbed his things. The window was too high to jump from so he casually strode into the room below, nodded in Lady Margaret’s direction, and then walked outside. Panic overwhelmed him. He needed to escape, and now.
The sunlight blinded him as he headed toward the stable behind the inn. One carriage remained, an open curricle parked with its shafts propped against the carriage house’s wall.
“I would like to rent your curricle to transport me to Stockport.”
The coachman grunted. “Sorry, but it’s out of commission. Mail coach in front of the inn is going that way, though. You can purchase a ride with them.”
Chadwick shook his head. “I do not wish to be crammed in with a bunch of smelly, annoying travelers. I’m the brother of the baron and I prefer to ride alone.”
“Well, that does change things a bit, but still, you can’t take this curricle.”
Chadwick stomped his foot, frustration mixing with his panic. Soon now Lady Margaret would realize what he’d done. “If it is a matter of coin, I assure you that upon arrival you will be handsomely paid. I can’t wait another second to quit this place. So hitch the horse to the curricle and I’ll be off.”
“But, I done told you—”
He’d had all he could take. Chadwick lifted his baggage and struck the coachman across the forehead. He wobbled and fell over onto a hay bale. Assured the man still breathed and would only have a sore head, Chadwick hitched a horse to the curricle. A scratch caught his attention and he narrowed his eyes.
“I can’t believe it!” More words escaped him as he realized the curricle was the one he’d lost on his way to the summer estate. Knowing he took his own curricle assuaged his guilt as he drove it outside.
Whipping the beast, he raced out of the stable yard just as screams rent the air.
****
The rector lay on the seat, buried his head under his arm, and muttered to himself. “I didn’t mean to do it. I should never have gambled away the church’s money. I should have left the tithes alone, then Chadwick would never have had anything to use against me. What was I thinking? What will I do? What will I do?”
Sweat beaded upon her upper lip and fear clenched her heart. Brigitta peered through the curtain, determined to cast her fear aside and escape. The window was too small for her to climb through. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. It ricocheted from the cliff face and slammed back against the doorframe, knocking her onto the seat. The carriage rocked violently.
It settled and she peeked out the window again. Approaching fast was a space where the verge grew broader and the cliff face fell back away from the road, and if she timed it just right then she might be able to fully open the door.
Anticipation caused her heart to race. When the moment came, she thrust the door open and climbed out, clinging to the oscillating wood. The door swung, whipping back and forth in rhythm with the galloping horses, and she held on for dear life. It swung backward against the carriage, putting her close to the driver’s box.
Wind buffeted the carriage. She stretched out her leg and her slippered foot grazed the seat, but she wasn’t close enough. Shifting her weight and swinging the door on purpose, she tried to get closer. This time her foot touched the spot in front of the seat, but she couldn’t pull herself over. Up ahead the mountain jutted out. If she didn’t reach the seat soon, then she would smash into the rocks.
The door swung outward, hesitated, and then slammed against the side of the carriage as if folding back on itself. This time she grabbed the roof and held on as she swung her leg over and fell into the seat. The carriage rocked, and she gripped the seat with both hands and held on.
The reins lay over the horses’ backs in a tangled mess. She would have to crawl out, and hang above the ground that raced beneath her, to reach them.
A curve loomed ahead. Choice made for her, she fell to her knees and stretched forward. The tips of her fingers grazed the reins. If she just stretched a bit farther, then she might reach it. Just a little farther…
****
Luke and the officers galloped their horses along the curved road. The sheer drop on one side sent fear into his heart as they raced along.
What must Brigitta think? If only he’d had time to explain the truth, as he’d intended, then everything would have been better. But the officers had barged in before he could speak and there was no telling what Rector Morgan had told her while he’d had her alone.
The road narrowed and the men slowed, allowing the horses to canter two abreast. Fear gnawed at his gut as he clenched his teeth, and they crossed the narrow pass. If Rector Morgan’s actions harmed Brigitta, Luke would ensure the man’s life was never the same if he survived at all.
Tree limbs snaked out and snagged his clothes. On and on they cantered. Thin branches covered the road and the officers dismounted and threw them over the cliff.
The afternoon wore on. They crested a hill and Luke craned his neck and peered down the other side.
“Look!” The colonel pointed off the road. There a man lay.
The colonel dismounted and nudged the man. He rolled over and groaned. Blood clotted against his forehead. Dirt covered his clothing. A mask covered his eyes and the officer removed it.
Luke blinked rapidly. He couldn’t believe what he saw. It was…
****
Chadwick peered over his shoulder but saw no one. He cut off the road onto an almost invisible trail. Thick branches struck the side of the curricle. Thickets tangled in the wheel hubs. The horse slowed and he whipped it. Harder and harder he flicked the reins. The horse reared and took off like a shot. Chadwick struggled to maintain his tenuous grip.
Looming trees, rocky spurs, and eroded boulders flashed by. Small limbs struck him in the arm, the shoulder, and the legs. The curricle rocked and bounced along the trail. The slope of the land descended, and he drew back on the reins and gently applied the brake.
Squeezing his bum as tightly as he dared, he berated himself further. Why had he gone and bet every coin on the Faro game? It was because he had foolishly believed his luck had turned.
The land changed again. Trees thickened, blocking his vision. Downed limbs crunched loudly underneath the wheels.
Chadwick whipped the horse’s rump. The seat wobbled and he grasped the edges. The wobbling increased and braving the consequences, Chadwick bent over the side. A gasp escaped his lips.
The wheel’s hub popped off. The wheel teetered back and forth. Resigned, Chadwick watched the events as if he were someone else. The wheel broke and
scattered in a random burst. He clenched the reins. Debris struck his face. The horse lunged out of control, running in an awkward weaving pattern as one side of the carriage thumped along the ground.
Sagging branches loomed ahead. Chadwick twisted his lips to the side. He could make it, he would make it. He hunched over and closed his eyes. Pain radiated through his skull and darkness descended.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Reins grasped, Brigitta crawled backward and perched on the edge of the driver’s seat. Sweat coated her hands and she tugged hard, cringing as the leather burned her palms.
“Whoa!” she yelled and the horses rewarded her by easing their headlong flight to a trot, then to a halt.
The road widened ahead and Brigitta let the steaming horses walk. Around the next curve, the verge opened and a field appeared on the right hand side. Between tall grass, a dirt path twined toward a distant cottage and she guided the horses toward that end.
Sure that she was finally safe, she stopped the horses and drew in a ragged breath. No noise came from inside and she peered past the curtain. Rector Morgan lay on his side with his head still buried under his arm. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he panted like an overheated dog.
She needed to get away from him. Her legs trembled as she climbed from the driver’s box and wobbled toward the dilapidated cottage. She collapsed on the edge of the porch as a plume of dust rose above the road they’d just survived.
A group of riders headed her way. Squinting, she could just make out the Baron of Stockport’s sober brown coat in the midst of the officers in their brilliant red. Fear raced through her heart. Was he coming to escort her to her trial?
Rector Morgan poked his head outside the carriage door and turned his evil glare toward her. “Don’t move!” he shouted.
Brigitta stood, clinched handfuls of her skirts, and raced toward the tree line.
“Brigitta!” yelled Luke from atop his horse.
She didn’t wait to see what he wanted but sprinted into the thicket, allowing the weeds and sapling trees to overtake her.
****
The forest surrounded her until she escaped his vision. Luke pursued on horseback until the route became impassible, then he jumped from the horse’s back and entered the brambles. Thorns pricked his skin and tore his clothing. Brigitta’s colored gown showed through the underbrush and Luke battled to catch her.
The trees ended and Brigitta paused in the middle of an open field. Cut and bleeding, she panted. Sweat streamed along her cheeks and her gown was plastered to her frame. He stopped and stared at her. She appeared as an embattled survivor, tenacious and determined. Pride swelled in his breast at her resilience.
“Please, Brigitta, stop running.”
“Why?” she yelled.
“Because I–I—”
He couldn’t finish the sentence and she said, “Because you want to give me back to Rector Morgan for trial?”
“What?”
“I won’t go.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, defiance radiating from her.
“I have no intention of giving you to Rector Morgan or anyone else. You are my wife.”
“But—”
“Listen, I know we really need to talk, but I would prefer not doing so with a field between us. Will you come closer?”
Hesitantly, she shuffled toward him. He opened his arms, and she fell into them. He smoothed her hair as she sobbed. His heart broke with each stifled sound and he promised he would never hurt her again. Finished, she lifted her chin and her eyes widened.
“Isn’t this cozy?”
At the sound of Rector Morgan’s sneering voice so close, they pulled apart. Luke pushed Brigitta behind him. Vague shadowy forms in the underbrush lingered behind the rector and Luke waited for the moment to call for his reinforcements. “I would politely ask you to refrain from staring at my wife.”
The rector laughed. “That is absurd. She is married to Chadwick. And I should know because I performed the ceremony. Admittedly it wasn’t grand, and I told Roland it should be so, but still it was a wedding.”
Luke crooked his finger and the colonel pushed past the trees with Roland in tow. “Roland, now is the time for you to speak.”
The butler sounded as if his mouth were full of rocks as he said, “Rector Morgan, you can stop pretending you didn’t know the wedding was a farce.”
The rector drew his brows together and crossed his arms over his chest. “I performed the ceremony, I stood there—”
“You know it wasn’t real. The papers were fakes.”
“But what about the wedding night?” he whispered.
“That never happened.”
Rector Morgan ran toward Roland, his fists clenched and face red, but officers restrained him. “Why did I listen to Chadwick? Why did I let him blackmail me?” The rector buried his head in his hands and one of the officers escorted him away.
Roland approached and bowed before them. “My lady, please forgive my part in your deception. Chadwick had incurred massive amounts of gambling debt and in the process emptied the estate’s coffers. He made up the idea of the farce wedding and the tours, where you two quarreled to draw in those with funds and charge admittance for coin.”
Brigitta placed her hand on his bowed head. “You are forgiven.”
Roland was escorted away, too. Luke wrapped his arm around Brigitta’s middle and escorted her back to the carriage, more than ever determined to make Brigitta the happiest woman alive.
****
The wheels rolled slowly along the rutted road. Brigitta and Luke rode in the carriage alone while the officers rode their tired horses before the carriage and behind, ensuring safe passage and escorting Roland and the rector. Brigitta played with the folds of her gown and gnawed at her lip.
“I don’t understand. Roland tried to assault the carriage?”
“Yes. He was in the village and heard the rumor that the rector planned to have you tried for bigamy, so he tried to rescue you. Of course he fell and we found him on the ground.”
“And Chadwick? Where is he?”
“The last anyone heard of him, he had left London and was headed home. It is possible he might have run into a spot of trouble, since he isn’t home yet. Of course, if he’s heard about our nuptials, it might be some time before we see him again, if we ever do.”
Wringing her hands in the folds of her skirts, she said, “And what of the bigamy? Am I truly married twice?”
“No. As Roland said, the only ones who even knew of the original ceremony were him, Chadwick, the rector, the other witness, and you. No papers were registered and there was no consummation. The wedding was completely invalid.”
“And my wedding to you?” she asked, peering from under veiled lashes.
“Our wedding, on the other hand, was completely legitimate. Although if you want an annulment…” He stopped talking and his stare caused heat to rush up her neck and cover her face.
She shook her head and he patted her hand and said, “Good.”
Silence resumed. Finally she asked, “What of the manse’s coin? If you are truly broke, will the tenants be forced to pay more rent? Because if they are, they will be unable to sustain it—”
He scooted closer beside her, wrapping his arm along the back of the bench. “You shouldn’t worry about that. I have no intention of gouging the tenants to pay for my luxuries. We will develop a plan.”
Brigitta sucked on her lip. He turned her face to his and she released a sigh as their lips touched.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Harsh candlelight struck his face and his eyelids fluttered open. Shadowy figures danced overhead. Pain arced across the top half of his skull. Whispered words drifted to his ringing ears but he couldn’t make them out. He closed his eyes again. Maybe when he woke completely, he would remember who he was.
****
Some months later…
“Do I look all right?” Brigitta twirled in front of the full-length mirror in Luke
’s room.
“Beautiful as always,” replied Letta as she tugged on the expanded waistline once more.
“I feel like an elephant.”
Letta laughed and patted Brigitta’s rounding belly. She gasped when it moved under her hand. “The babe kicked me.”
“Indeed she did.” Brigitta massaged the place and cooed to her unborn babe. “Are we ready?”
Letta smiled and opened the door.
Brigitta stood on the landing and lifted her shoulders in a deep breath. The plan had been mutually agreed upon. At first Luke had protested, but after inspecting the funds needed to run the manse, and the pitiful sum still available, he gave in to his wife’s idea.
He waited below on the landing and held out his arm. Slowly she descended, wrapped her arm in his, and said, “Welcome to the Andrews estate. We would like to personally guide you over the grounds and through the house, and don’t forget, I have an atrocious temper when riled. Often times I embarrass myself, but none so great as the time I stumbled onto Andrews land…”
The story of how she became the baroness entertained thousands that autumn, and those that came to hear the story from her mouth paid for the privilege and allowed the manse to run without further burdening the tenants.
Pride swelled in her breast as the crowd applauded. The look in her husband’s gaze seared into her soul, and she pushed onto her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips as he patted her middle.
It would be the first of many.
Author’s Note:
Thank you so much for taking the time to read The Ruse.
Feel free to stick around and read a chapter from book two in the Andrews Brothers series, The Rescue, and my sweet novella, All I Have. And don’t forget to look for my pre-Civil War book, Millicent, and my contemporary soldier romance, Diamond Mine, Book One of the Wounded Solider Series. All are available in ebook format.
Want to check out some of my other books?
Visit www.feliciarogersauthor.weebly.com to find out more.
Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse Page 22
