Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue

by Felicia Rogers

  The last time Luke had been in London he had returned home to find tour groups shuffling through his home, gawking at Chadwick, who pretended to be the Baron of Stockport, all with a fake wife. The only positive to Chadwick’s stunt was that Luke had met Brigitta.

  Now he was married with a babe on the way, and an estate in financial ruin. Chadwick had managed to loot the estate’s entire surplus through a few hands of Faro.

  Luke abandoned the desk and strode to the window. Stars winked in and out behind the clouds. Somewhere out there his brother paraded around scamming people and pretending to be something he wasn’t.

  Luke could only hope whoever the poor people were that they would survive his brother’s latest deception.

  ****

  “Andrew? Andrew? Where are you, darling?”

  Leaning heavily on his cane, Andrew stepped from the shadows of the library.

  “There you are, dear.” The elderly woman planted a kiss on his cheek. “The carriage is loaded and our journey is before us.”

  “Yes, Mother.” The word sounded peculiar to his lips, but it pleased Rowena. A smile spread across her face, drawing her wrinkled skin taunt.

  The servants lined up outside the townhouse until Andrew and Rowena boarded the carriage and the door closed. Noises filtered in as the necessary staff boarded the driver’s seat, hitched to the back, or climbed into a less secure vehicle. Doctor Harold Pennyworth complained loudly about losing his patients as the carriages lurched into motion.

  “Whoa!” Rowena clutched the edge of the bench seat. “What reckless driving! The driver will be reprimanded at the first stop.”

  Andrew braced his body. The cane flopped to the floorboard. Eventually the route smoothed and he relaxed.

  “When we reach Ravenwood, we will have a grand ball. Of course we must wait until you’re well, but then we will invite the entire countryside. And we mustn’t forget Flannigan’s wedding. I can’t believe he is at it again. The poor dear should be beside herself with fear. I’m sure they have ordered her gravestone already.”

  Andrew cocked a brow.

  Rowena patted his hand and continued. “The man has buried more wives, and probably mistresses, than any man alive. Can’t see why Lord Mountjoy agreed to the marriage, unless Clovis promised him something.”

  They stopped along the road. When they disembarked, a table with fine china and a plethora of steaming dishes from succulent roast beef to stewed damsons greeted them. The aroma set his mouth to watering.

  Seated, and napkin laid across his lap, Andrew said, “What a feast! How did the staff manage it?”

  Rowena brought a spoon to her lips. She sucked the pea soup, made a smacking sound of pleasure, dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and answered, “Kingsley has many talents.”

  The butler stood behind Rowena with a towel over his forearm, his face beaming.

  The meal ended and they returned to the carriage.

  Ravenwood was a full day’s travel from London. Andrew thought of asking why they couldn’t reside overnight at an inn, but decided it was probably because Kingsley couldn’t be in charge.

  “Why Andrew, I do believe that is the first smile I’ve seen cross your face.”

  Andrew kissed the back of Rowena’s hand. “Mother, it is because you’ve placed it there.”

  A red hue dotted the rise of her defined cheekbones and she fluttered a whalebone fan. “You do know how to flatter. I fear the village girls won’t stand a chance against your charms.”

  The conversation stalled after Rowena’s compliment. The silence made him sleepy, and his eyelids drifted shut. Soft snores emitted from his companion, growing in intensity. His eyes popped open as the sound appeared to rattle the carriage’s walls.

  Andrew abandoned all hope of sleeping. He studied the bottom of the vehicle, his hands, and anything else that might distract him. Horse hooves clomped close by and Andrew lifted the curtain. Kingsley rode alongside.

  “Your lordship, we will reach Ravenwood within the hour.”

  “Thank you, Kingsley.”

  Andrew settled back in his seat and attempted to plug his ears.

  ****

  Farrah shivered beneath the covers and pulled them tighter about her neck. Red light filtered through the thin drapes announcing the coming dawn. Before the fireplace a shadowy figure rose and stoked the dying fire.

  “Good morning, Lady Farrah.”

  Farrah’s heart leapt into her throat, and she rose on her elbows and studied the intruder. A severe bun sat atop a strange woman’s narrowly shaped head. Her face was cut in sharp angles giving her a menacing look. A long black dress draped her emaciated frame from ankle to wrist.

  “Who are you?” whispered Farrah afraid to talk louder and send the specter like woman into a ghostly frenzy.

  She faced Farrah, and Farrah fought the desire to flatten against the rough headboard.

  “I’m your lady’s maid. I’ve been the lady’s made to every Flannigan mistress.”

  “Oh.” Farrah gulped.

  “I’ll bring your breakfast tray.”

  “Thank you.”

  The maid seemed to float across the floor. At the door she stopped. “After you eat, I’ll help you prepare for the day.”

  The door clicked closed and Farrah drew in a ragged breath and tried to relax her shredded nerves. She shouldn’t let little things like her new maid get to her. Soon everything would change. She would be wed to the male version of a black widow, and if she was lucky she might live another year.

  Why hadn’t she run away when her father announced his plans for her future? Or at least sent word to Angus? Whether he returned to aid her would have helped her understand his true feelings.

  Yellow sunlight streamed through the parted drapes and created a rainbow over the stone floor. The world’s happiness at her impending doom angered her.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stomped her chilled feet. The rug swathed her toes in warmth. The door opened, and she twirled expecting to find her daunting maid. Instead Devlin stared at her. Her heart skipped a beat and she grabbed a spread from a nearby chair and draped it around her trembling frame. “What are you doing in my room?”

  He closed the door. The rapier at his side rattled with his closing steps. “Lord Norhaven sent me to check on you.”

  Her pulse raced until she felt steam would expel from her ears. Moving her hand to her jutted hip, the spread slipped and cold air struck her exposed shoulder. The footman widened his eyes and Farrah scrambled to readjust the covering. He laughed, presumably at her reddening face and increased discomfort.

  Regaining her courage, she said, “My new maid has already arrived to assist me.”

  “Ah. You have met Lucretia. She is quite the formidable character.” He took a seat on her sofa and stretched his lengthy legs before the fire.

  Farrah forced herself to glare at his face, her knocking knees fortunately hidden beneath the folds of her chemise and the coverlet.

  “Seems kind of odd to have a wedding at midnight, but Lord Norhaven isn’t known for being traditional. Word is, a ball is planned for before the ceremony.” He laid his arm across the sofa’s back and stroked the wooden framework eyeing her carefully.

  “If you say so,” she shrugged her shoulders and took a seat opposite him. The plush paisley chair clashed horribly with the room’s décor.

  “Peers from the countryside will attend.”

  “Good for them.” Farrah gazed at the window. The light dimmed as dark clouds drifted overhead and blotted out the sun. That’s better. Now nature reflects my mood.

  “This is a perfect opportunity for you to—”

  The door struck the wall with a loud bang. Lucretia trembled and the tray’s dishes rattled. “What is he doing here?”

  Farrah said, “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  An odd look stole over Devlin’s face as he stood, bent at the waist, grabbed her hand, and kissed it. “Until we meet again.”r />
  Lucretia tilted her head and furrowed her brows. Devlin passed by her with a snigger.

  ****

  The Ravenlowe carriages shuddered to a halt outside Ravenwood. Staff members formed a line on either side of the entryway. Andrew’s throat tightened with emotion. The brick manse was two stories tall and like an adorned rectangle. Green ivy rose from the ground and clung to the wall. Fancy topiary gardens presided over both at the east and west ends of the manse.

  “Welcome to Ravenwood, my lord,” said Kingsley as he bowed at the waist.

  The other staff members cocked collective brows and eyed him warily as they followed suit. Andrew escorted his mother through the servants and inside the house.

  Due to his lengthy recovery, they had arrived the day before the Flannigan wedding. Tomorrow they would be forced back into the carriage to traverse the land once more.

  Rowena excused herself for an afternoon nap. He wandered through the hallways admiring paintings of landscapes and peeking into unknown rooms. The adventure tired him, and soon he sought out Kingsley to escort him to his suite.

  The rooms were decidedly manly. The walls were paneled with rich, dark imported rosewood. The bed was made of fine mahogany and swathed in navy blue material, a sheer fabric draped along the top forming a canopy. The ornamental fireplace was a white marble that contrasted with the other dark colors.

  “Are you happy, my lord?”

  Andrew was speechless. He clapped his hand on Kingsley’s shoulder. “It is perfect. Thank you.”

  Kingsley’s chest swelled. “I’m glad it suits, my lord.”

  “It suits very well. Now I think I’ll take a brief rest.”

  “As you wish. If you need anything just pull the bell rope, my lord.”

  “Thank you.”

  The door clicked shut and Andrew fell onto a velvet seat and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. He was in paradise.

  Chapter Six

  Farrah slept her last night of freedom with one eye open. Lucretia strolled in and out several times, hovering over the bed and clicking her tongue.

  Exhausted, Farrah yawned and stretched. Remembering she might not be alone, she studied the shadows. Nothing moved, and she released a breath and flung her legs over the side of the bed. Cold from the floor seeped into her feet. In all of Lucretia’s visits, she had failed to stoke the fire. The embers burned low and no heat permeated the room.

  Feet sheathed in her boots, she padded to her closet and drew a brown woolen gown from a rack. The dull color matched her mood, and the rough fabric caused discomfort. For her last day of freedom she wanted everything to be as terrible as she felt.

  The house was quiet as she descended the staircase and made her way to the front door. No footman approached and offered to escort her.

  She grabbed her pelisse from a coat rack, and searched the hallway. When it appeared she was alone, she stepped outside. Morning light struck the stone path leading from the patio to the road. Gravel crunched beneath her boots as she maneuvered through underbrush toward the stables.

  Men, hats pulled low over their eyes, slept upright against the rickety building. She tiptoed past praying the door would be silent upon opening. The prayer went unanswered and she clenched her jaw as the hinges groaned in her hand.

  The men didn’t move. She gulped and slipped inside. Horses neighed as wind whipped through the slits in the wooden planks. Heads poked over the doors and eyes roved as she passed.

  Farrah considered each animal. She needed the perfect one for her jaunt. This was her last day of freedom after all. A fast horse that could sprint across Flannigan lands was what she sought. One that could make her forget her coming woes.

  A behemoth of a black horse pawed at the ground and snorted. Farrah approached cautiously and rubbed the white star pattern that decorated his nose. He moved into her gentle ministrations and she whispered calming words.

  The equine stopped his agitated movements. The saddle was heavy and slipped from her fingers onto the ground. With a grunt she heaved the contraption onto the horse’s back and hoped the stallion wouldn’t kick her.

  He seemed fine with the instrument upon his backside and waited patiently as she strapped it in place.

  She dusted her hands. “That seems to have us ready. Now,” she tapped a finger to her chin, “how do we get out of here unseen?”

  No back door appeared available and moving past the stable hands seemed racked with folly.

  A bell rang and the horse reared his head. Over and over the clanging rent the air. Outside there were whoops of delight.

  “Blimey! There’s the sound I like to hear. Finally get to go inside, warm up by the fire, and eat some of Josie’s victuals. Never met a better cook. Wonder how that woman stayed single so long.”

  A sleepy yawn echoed. “Probably because the woman is ugly. I ain’t never seen one as ugly as her.”

  “Naw, that can’t be it. A man can look past all of that if the food is right. And the food is right in that kitchen.”

  The argument drifted away as the men strolled toward the house. Farrah released a breath. She tugged on the reins as she moved closer to the door and peeked outside. The coast was clear and she was ready to make a break for it.

  ****

  Andrew rose from bed. Feet planted on the cold floor, he closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of burning wood. Andrew padded to the closed window. Thick draperies kept the winter weather from seeping into the room.

  A plethora of throws and blankets lined the back of a rocking chair, and he grabbed one and threw it over his shoulders. The fire’s warmth drew him. He plopped onto the plush sofa and wiggled his toes in a plush Turkish carpet.

  Andrew stroked the carved handle of the sofa. Nothing about the room seemed familiar. No portraits of him decorated the walls. Fear that he was in a dream assaulted him.

  The door swung open, admitting Kingsley carrying a tray. “My lord, you’ve arisen.”

  “Yes.”

  “I had the staff prepare you a tray so you could eat in bed. We must continue to assist in your recovery process.” Kingsley settled the tray over his lap.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course, my lord. May I bring you anything else? The newspaper perhaps.”

  Andrew shook his head. “This is plenty.”

  “Very well. If you need anything just pull the rope. We’ve assigned George as your valet. He is well versed in the ways of the house, and—”

  “I prefer you, Kingsley.”

  “Yes, but I have many other duties that I must—”

  “I promise not to interfere with your other duties.” He lowered his head and examined the food before him. Fresh buttered bread, eggs, a slice of ham, and a cup of warm milk. He swallowed and hoped Kingsley would not deny him. How could he possibly work with another when everything seemed so unfamiliar?

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  He lifted his head and grinned. “Thank you, Kingsley. I promise not to be a bother.”

  The butler bowed and left. Andrew consumed most of the meal and set the remains aside. The Flannigan wedding was scheduled for later that afternoon which gave him limited time to explore the grounds of his own estate and familiarize himself. The last thing he wanted was to embarrass his mother or the Ravenlowe family.

  Instead of calling for Kingsley, he dressed himself. A look in the mirror revealed his folly. The cravat rested askew and the shirt’s buttons were out of line. Sighing, he tried again. Presentable, he exited his room and descended the stairs.

  Staff members paused in their activities and bowed their heads as he passed. Heat flushed his face at the attention. He didn’t halt his forward movement until he reached the stables.

  “May I help you, my lord?”

  “Yes. I would like a nice, stable mount.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  The stable hand attached the saddle and Andrew climbed astride. He hoped to escape the view of the house before his mother or Kingsley spotted
him. Otherwise his ride around the grounds might be forbidden before it began.

  “Good sir, would you mind pointing out the markers for Ravenwood?”

  The man didn’t frown or express any amount of concern as he proceeded to answer.

  Andrew tipped his hat. “Thank you.” He galloped away glad to be on his own for at least a brief moment.

  ****

  The wind ruffled her hair and stung her cheeks. Behind Farrah no alarms sounded or horsemen followed. She was perfectly alone on the hilltop, riding across Flannigan lands.

  A fence row came into focus and Farrah drew hard on the reins. For as far as the eye could see the closure ran. “Must be Ravenlowe land,” she whispered.

  Fog rolled in and settled around the horse’s hooves. Visibility diminished and she feared laming the animal. She dismounted and guided the horse to a peak. From her position she could make out the roofline of the Ravenwood house. Two tall, pointed colorful spires accentuated the corners of the rectangular building, reminding her of a cathedral in Rome. The topiary gardens sported a variety of stone statues. Gardeners slinked along the worn paths pruning dead plants.

  Farrah found a smooth boulder and sat. The cool stone permeated her wool gown and pelisse. She wrapped her arms around her middle and shivered. A shadow passed overhead. She gasped as a greatcoat settled about her shoulders.

  Tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, Farrah twisted and stared at the gentleman settling beside her. Broad in shoulder, his thick black hair settled over his brow and accentuated his coal colored eyes. His white linen shirt and cravat shone bright against his gray trousers and Wellington boots. Legs crossed at the ankles, he laid his gloved hands in his lap.

  “You’re lucky I lost my hat.”

  “Pardon?” Now her tongue released.

  “I said, you’re fortunate the wind took my hat. Otherwise I would never have seen you sitting here. Is it always this cold? And, what of the fog? I think I’ve not seen it so thick in a month of Sundays.”

  “Well, I-I—” Words completely failed her. Why was she babbling like an idiot?