Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue

by Felicia Rogers

  His mouth felt like cotton, and he croaked, “Water.”

  Juliet laid a glass to his dry lips and helped him sip. “Go slow, your lordship. You don’t want to gag.”

  The refreshing liquid hit his throat and he choked which threw him into a fit of coughing. The doctor rolled him onto his side and berated the maid. “You must take more care. It is a wonder the fellow survived at all. We don’t wish to increase his injuries.”

  Juliet backed away and the doctor brought the glass back to his lips. “Only a drop at a time, Lord Ravenwood. You mustn’t overdo.”

  Andrew licked his lips. “Lord Ravenwood?” His voice sounded unfamiliar to his ears and he cringed.

  The doctor replied, “Yes, Lord Ravenwood.” Andrew repeated the name under his breath. The doctor added, “You were involved in an accident, but your mother rescued you.”

  “I-I don’t remember.”

  “That is to be expected. You suffered a head injury. I understand you remained unconscious in a cell for many days.”

  “A cell?”

  The doctor appeared reluctant to elaborate and changed the subject. “Your mother will be delighted to hear you’ve awoken completely. I’ll fetch—”

  He squeezed the doctor’s hand. “Something is wrong.”

  “I’m sure—”

  “No. I-I don’t remember this place or these people.”

  The doctor avoided his gaze and Andrew’s worry increased. “As I said, that is normal. In time—”

  Andrew shook his head, the action caused intense pain and he closed his eyes. The doctor’s hand was cool and soothing against his forehead.

  “You’ve had entirely too much excitement for one day. Get some rest and I will return to check on you later.”

  Andrew reached out, but the doctor had turned and gathered the maid. Before he could utter a word they had both fled from the room.

  Chapter Four

  The banns had been read, the clothes ordered, the wedding party sent for, and the estate decorated.

  Clovis had blustered to his aging comrades over dinner the night before, “The lass will never marry another, so might as well give her a suitable ceremony.”

  The staff had eyed her warily. Behind hands they had whispered of her immediate demise. To their knowledge no woman had survived birthing Lord Norhaven’s child and they didn’t expect her to be the first, especially with her narrow hips.

  The morning brought a new level of indignities as Farrah was forced to sit in the library as Clovis’ lawyer strutted about and listed Clovis’ assets. “I’ve drawn up the documents. After today, if either of you perish, the other will receive a vast inheritance.”

  Garrett positioned himself in a corner with his arms folded and a frown covering his face. Hours later, the lawyer gathered his papers, shook hands with Clovis, and left. Clovis settled behind his desk. Ignored and hurt, Farrah rose and entered the empty hallway where she was immediately detained by Garrett.

  He shifted his gaze back and forth. “I don’t like this.”

  She cocked a brow and placed her hands on her hips. “You mean you don’t like that Lord Norhaven will inherit our lands if I perish?”

  “My lady, I—”

  She relaxed her position. “Don’t bother. Father knew well what he was doing when he agreed to this union.”

  “But your father believed you were young and would outlive—”

  Her heartbeat throbbed between her ears. “Ah, so the truth is revealed. Father believed I would outlive the elderly Flannigan and provide the Burrows line with extra land, the only way a useless daughter can.”

  Garrett rushed to explain, but she hitched her skirts and fled. His footsteps trailed off as she ascended the staircase. She slammed her bedroom door and fell across her bed. The plush yellow coverlet absorbed her sobs. In two days, her life would change forever. She would be Countess of Norhaven and expected to fulfill certain duties. One of which might kill her.

  She rolled onto her back and studied the ceiling. What was Angus doing? Was he hopping aboard a ship and sailing across the ocean? Was he running around town with his chums enjoying his days and nights? Did he think about her plight at all?

  If he knew she’d been forced to wed, what would he do? Would he rush to her aid or would he stay away and enjoy the freedom only males incurred?

  She jumped from the bed and paced. Her suite was on the east side of the house and sported a private balcony overlooking the vast gardens. She stepped out. Hills covered with purple heather rolled for as far as the eye could see. Wind fluttered the tall grass and teased tendrils of her hair. The sun warmed her face.

  Below, guards lifted their hands in greeting. She refused to acknowledge their kindness. Unwittingly, they stood between her and freedom.

  Back inside she stopped in the middle of her room. Boredom consumed her. If she didn’t find a way to distract herself, she would lose her mind.

  Tromping downstairs, she eyed the large double doors. Casting glances over her shoulder, she scooted forward and touched the handle. A man appeared at her side. Dressed in the maroon livery belonging to a Norhaven footman, he cocked a brow and studied her. “I’m afraid not, my lady.”

  “Am I a prisoner?”

  “Perhaps.”

  She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you don’t trust me to stay on the estate then by all means join me, but I am leaving these walls.”

  “Spirited, are we?”

  Her planned comment about his forward behavior was stifled when he opened the front door. She eyed him curiously, but stepped out, lifted her face, and drew in a deep breath. The man tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

  She said, “I see you took my offer literally.”

  He didn’t reply, and as they traversed the grounds, she proceeded to study her escort.

  Thick blond hair swathed his head. Tanned and brawny, he stood with erect posture and sureness of self. As they continued on their walk, he dipped his head at his counterparts.

  “Have you been here long?’ she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I find the land very much like my own home. Have you traveled much?” Seeing as she lived across the knoll that was an understatement. Would the stranger comment on such or just make another gesture?

  He shook his head.

  In the center of the courtyard she took a seat on the edge of the stone fountain. Her legs dangled and she bent over, spooned a hand full of water, and let it dribble through her fingers. “Have you ever imagined living a different life?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Ah, you say no but your body says yes. You are built like a champion. You should be living off the land with a wife and babes by your side, or fighting for the King in distant lands, not cooped up here answering the beck and call of a two-bit lord.”

  The gentleman flinched and she ignored the reaction and continued, “You may not realize it but Lord Norhaven married his way into nobility. At a young age he seduced an elderly woman, her husband had been an Earl and when he passed, she retained his title.”

  She slapped the water, enjoying gossiping about her future spouse. “Everyone knew Clovis had designs on the woman’s property. No doubt she was flattered by the attentions of such a young man, and—”

  “Stop.” The word was whispered harshly. She cocked a brow.

  “Have I offended you?” He didn’t reply. “If you insist on staring at me blankly without explanation I will be forced to continue with my speech.”

  “I would prefer you choose another subject.’

  She smiled. “I would be delighted. Discussing my future husband’s past transgressions is hardly lifting my spirits.” She tapped her finger to her forehead. “Why don’t we start with your name?”

  He stood off from her. Over his shoulder the sun began its descent, signaling she was that much closer to her nuptials.

  “My name is Devlin Forster.”

  She held out her wet hand. “Nice
to meet you. I’m—”

  He ignored her offering. “Lady Farrah Burrows, I know.”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

  “You are well known.”

  The thought of rumors circulating about her caused her blood to boil. What right did people have to sit around their parlors and discuss the details of her less than stellar future? No doubt the peerage in England took the opportunity to laugh at yet another debutante with a sullied reputation.

  As she rose water splashed onto the cobblestone path. Her speedy pace forced Devlin into a run.

  “I meant no offense,” he said as he came alongside her.

  “Of course not.” She increased her speed again.

  “Rumors circulate.”

  “I’m sure.” She hitched her skirts.

  “I recently came from London, and your future wedding is the talk of the town.”

  She stopped, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her breath raspy. “They are discussing my wedding in London? For certain?”

  “Yes.”

  She proceeded out the gate and ascended a nearby hill. A worn path was flanked by wild primroses on one side and waxy green ivy on the other. Out of breath, she puffed, “And how would a simple footman know they discuss such things?” He didn’t reply, and she added, “I assume they also speak of my death.”

  Devlin didn’t reply.

  A lone tree resided at the hill’s pinnacle. Underneath its broad branches, Farrah considered the landscape. On the crest of an opposite hill stones erected in honor of Clovis’ dead wives mocked her.

  ****

  “You must take it easy, your lordship. A setback of any magnitude might cause heads to roll.”

  Andrew held to the butler and shuffled across the room. The exercise was repeated several times a day in hopes of helping him regain his strength.

  Juliet, the maid, entered. “Will his lordship be dining with my lady this evening?”

  Kingsley answered, “Master Andrew is far too weak to sit at the table. You may inform Miss Yancy of his need for a tray in his room and I will inform her ladyship.”

  “Very good.” The maid exited.

  The sound of his name didn’t set right, but he didn’t argue with the butler. The entire staff called him Andrew and he allowed it to continue because what else could he do. There was no other moniker he knew of.

  Several days prior when he had aroused from his stupor, Andrew had been broached by James Kingsley.

  The elderly butler and house manager for Rowena Ravenlowe, or Lady Ravenwood, introduced him to the small townhouse staff. “This is Juliet Lewis, the maid, and Jane Yancy, the cook.”

  Andrew frowned. “Who am I?”

  The butler visibly relaxed, his clenched hands falling to his sides. “We feared your memory would be remiss, but we promise to fill in the details.” Juliet fluffed his pillows as Kingsley continued, “You are,” he stuttered, “A-Andrew R-Ravenlowe, Earl of Ravenwood. The only son of Rowena Ravenlowe.”

  Andrew stumbled and the butler steadied him. “Are you distracted, my lord?”

  “Sorry, Kingsley. I can’t help but think about my life. It all seems so foreign.”

  “You will adjust with time.”

  Kingsley settled him in a plush high-backed chair and threw a vibrant red and blue coverlet atop his legs. “There. You should rest. The carriage will be around tomorrow and the lot of us will travel to Ravenwood in Rochdale. I’m exceedingly glad. The city life is not for me.”

  The butler prattled on and Andrew turned to stare out the window. Carriages rattled past on the busy London streets. Couples strolled arm-in-arm in front of the townhouse, holding umbrellas aloft to block the harsh afternoon sun.

  Andrew narrowed his eyes and leaned toward the clean pane. A memory touched the fringes of his mind. He opened his mouth to call to a couple, but the chair teetered.

  “Whoa!” yelled Kingsley as he righted the chair. “You must be more careful, my lord.”

  The butler moved and Andrew resumed his position, but it was too late. The vaguely familiar couple was gone.

  Chapter Five

  Brigitta held tight to Luke’s arm. The London sidewalks were treacherous and in her current condition she needed help remaining steady. So far their visit to London had consisted of Luke hovering and her wishing he would calm down.

  They strolled before a row of townhouses sporting much traffic, and Luke tucked her arm tighter in his. “I’m not sure this trip was such a good idea.”

  She patted his hand. “This may be our last trip before the baby is born. I want to search out the shops and purchase materials for the baby’s room.”

  Luke drew her hand to his lips. He gazed into her eyes so intensely heat rush to her cheeks. With the back of his knuckles he rubbed the flushed area. His lips twitched upward. “You’re right. We should enjoy our last night in the city.”

  People passed by and cocked their brows at the affectionate display. Brigitta wrapped her elbow in Luke’s and encouraged him to continue. The last thing she wanted was to instigate further rumors. She sucked on her top lip. In retrospect maybe a bit of false gossip would play to their advantage. With funds diminished in the Stockport coiffures, and the tours providing needed income, rumors might help draw crowds.

  At the end of the block a group of men gathered before a storefront displaying samples. Luke released her, skipped backward with a fatuous action, and clasped a candy. Brigitta covered her rounded mouth with a gloved hand. He returned and bowed with the article held out as an offering. She took the chocolate delight, dropped it into her mouth, and murmured with pleasure.

  The corner of Luke’s lips twitched. “I believe you are enjoying that a wee bit much.”

  She grinned, slapped him playfully, took his arm again, and they continued.

  The tenants who leased their townhouse in their absence were on a northern holiday, which left the house empty expect for, Rosabel Smith, who served as cook and maid; Charles, the butler; and James, the footman and valet.

  A light drizzle coated Brigitta’s pelisse and bonnet, and Luke quickened their pace. They jumped developing puddles, laughing and giggling at their own spectacle. Outside the townhouse Luke drew her into his arms and planted a lingering kiss on her lips.

  He smiled and smoothed away a strand of her hair. “You look like a drowned kitten.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  A look of wicked teasing crossed his face as he deftly swooped her into his arms and sauntered toward the front door.

  “Luke! Put me down. Someone will see!”

  He kicked the door open and set her on her feet. “What is one more scandal?”

  “One more scandal is—”

  The cook skittered into the room. “Your lordship! What are you doing to my floor?” Luke cocked a brow and Mrs. Smith pointed her finger toward the staircase. “Get the missus upstairs.”

  Luke cleared his throat and Brigitta withheld her mirth over the scolding.

  Like a repentant child, he said, “Sorry for the muddle, Mrs. Smith.”

  “Humph.” Mrs. Smith crossed her arms over her chest. Neither of them moved and she laid a soft hand on Brigitta’s arm. As if sharing a secret, she bent close and whispered, “I’m not really worried about my floor, my lady, but rather your health. With a babe on the way, you need to be more careful. This weather might see you down with the ague.”

  Brigitta stared in shocked silence while Luke roared with laughter.

  ****

  Brigitta hugged a pillow to her chest and snored softly. Propped on his elbow, Luke watched his beautiful wife. The desire to touch her engulfed him and he caressed her cheek with his knuckle, enjoying the smooth feel of her silken skin. He sighed as he drew his hand back. He would love to curl up behind her and join her in her slumber, but stacks of paper littered the library desk. Charles, the butler, had placed them there in anticipation of his arrival. The sooner his work was completed, the so
oner he would be able to join her.

  The stairs creaked beneath his feet and he hurried his pace. He opened the library door, and sneezed. Mrs. Smith should have dusted by now. He would have to remind her, or maybe not. After her earlier scolding he didn’t know if he wanted to risk further censure.

  Settled in the hard wooden desk chair, he drew a stack of papers close and unfurled the top missive. Scrolled letters stared back at him and he palmed his chin and settled in for a lengthy read.

  Baron of Stockport,

  Thank you for your inquiry about your brother. I have passed the information on to our lead investigator, but I fear there will not be very many answers.

  The passenger list of the last known mail carriage to arrive in our area was blank. However, several barmaids remember a man of the description you provided who stayed overnight in one of their rooms. Apparently when they went to inform him of the morning carriage, he had already departed.

  While I don’t know if it is the same individual you speak of that perpetrated this act, there was a stableman hit over the head and a curricle under his care confiscated. The injured party does not remember the face of his offender, but as the man in question disappeared at the same time, conclusions have been drawn.

  The letter spouted knowledge of a man fitting his description having a gambling issue and Luke cradled his head and stared at the words. Months had passed with no word of his half-brother Chadwick. Luke had made confidential inquires lest he draw too much attention to the situation, but as of yet there had been no concrete information as to his brother’s whereabouts.

  The lout was probably out wrecking havoc and stealing someone’s money. He might even be doing these things in Luke’s name!

  He slammed his fist against the desk. An ink well flipped over and spilled. Quickly, he blotted the sticky mess then threw the ruined rag into the fire.

  “Why must he favor me so?”

  Chadwick’s penchant for mimicry, and the curse of their similar features, caused Luke’s intense worry. If Chadwick was running around impersonating him, it wouldn’t be the first such incident.