Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue

by Felicia Rogers

  “You didn’t!” stated Chadwick, trying to assume an appalled look.

  “I know it sounds bad, but truth is I doubled the man’s money. I counted it as an investment in my future.”

  “I bet you did.” Chadwick pretended righteous indignation and went to rise but Niles drew him back down by holding his hand against the table.

  “Wait, you have to let me finish.”

  “No, I do not, but I will.” Chadwick settled once more and waited for the young man to share his secrets.

  “I returned the purse.” Chadwick cocked a brow, and Niles continued. “It’s true! I returned the purse plus a percentage of my winnings, interest you understand.” Chadwick remained silent and Niles continued. “Anyway, while I played the game, a woman took notice of me. She was a mite older than myself and very sophisticated. She drew me aside and offered me a job, a real job. I’d been trying to get one for awhile. I can’t make my pa proud of me by gambling, trust me I’ve tried.”

  “So the sophisticated woman gave you a chance to redeem yourself, interesting.”

  “Yes, well, it wasn’t quite that simple. You see, she wanted me to be a spy.”

  Chadwick placed a hand to his chest in mock horror.

  “I know. I can’t believe I agreed to it. But she convinced me the man I watched was of the vilest sort and the world would be better off if his deeds were discovered.” He studied grooves in the table then shifted his gaze to Chadwick. “But I don’t believe her.”

  “Oh.”

  “You see I’ve had the chance to watch this person, and I’m thinking either she meant for me to watch someone else or this person has really changed his life, and I’m a firm believer in second chances.”

  “As am I.”

  “I kind of figured you were.” Niles snickered under his breath and rose. “You know I’ve been watching you, don’t you, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet you didn’t call me out.”

  “Would it have helped?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Chadwick paused before adding, “Lady Vonda doesn’t control your life.”

  “Humph.”

  “I don’t know how, but I can help you. I’ll find a way for you to escape her clutches.”

  “You are definitely not the person she described.”

  They talked into the afternoon. Chadwick offered suggestions, and Niles listened. The young man agreed to continue with his act of duplicity. He would watch Chadwick and report falsehoods to Vonda, at least temporarily. Chadwick’s hope soared. Now that the spy had been neutralized, he was free to help Farrah without fear of his past being discovered.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Farrah reread the note that had arrived an hour earlier. Her cousin, Brigitta, was in Rochdale and would arrive on the morrow barring any incidents of trouble or inclement weather.

  Farrah stared out the dining hall window. Tall grass bathed the hills. Cold wind blew, twisting and bending them. A sigh rent her lips. Was there anything for Brigitta to do? The matter seemed mostly settled.

  She’d shared Lord Greywold’s offer with her father and he’d accepted it as gospel. Anything to keep his precious land, thought Farrah.

  In light of the change, Brigitta’s haste seemed unwarranted. Farrah quickly penned a note giving Brigitta permission to slow her pace and left it on a table close to the front door.

  Seeking a distraction, Farrah decided to wander the halls. The staff busily prepared rooms for Brigitta and her husband. Clovis’ room remained closed off. Besides who wanted to spend time in a suite where someone had died?

  At the end of the hall a shadow passed. The shadow-maker stopped and looked from side-to-side. Farrah hugged the wall, and wrapped herself in a worn tapestry. The person moved away and Farrah hastened to follow. At the corner, she peered around the wall. The figure opened Clovis’ bedroom door, checked his surroundings once more, and slipped inside.

  Farrah drew closer. The door hung ajar, and she peeked through a crack between the hinges. At first glance she presumed the intruder of the wedding chamber was Lucretia. The maid hadn’t been the same since her former lover had expired. She’d been sentenced to her room and was watched by the staff since her attack on Farrah. The stranger moved and the head covering fell backward.

  Blond hair reflected in the candlelight and Farrah covered a gasp. Devlin rummaged through a drawer. At the sound he lifted his head, and narrowed his eyes to slits. She lay against the wall, her heart thumping madly against her ribs. When Devlin didn’t run out and catch her, she edged around the corner to find him bent back to his task. What could possibly be hidden in Clovis’ suite that would draw so much of Devlin’s attention?

  Farrah hurried to summon Garrett. Maybe he could help her solve the latest mystery. If nothing else at least he could be trusted.

  A maid rounded the corner. “Please ask Garrett to attend my room.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  The maid scurried away and Farrah raced to her bedroom. Rugs ruffled under her feet as she stalked from one side of the room to the other.

  Garrett knocked.

  “Come in.”

  “My lady?”

  “Garrett, yes, someone is stalking around the house, entering closed rooms and pilfering through drawers.”

  “And?”

  “And,” she drew out the word, “I want—no need—to know who it is. I mean, I need to know for sure, because I already suspect it is Devlin. But I honestly don’t know why. Why disguise yourself to walk around a home you claim as your own?”

  “Are you asking me, my lady?”

  “Not now, Garrett, can’t you see I’m pondering aloud?”

  “Of course, proceed.”

  The smile he enacted reminded her of when she was a young child caught in the kitchen taking a treat. Ignoring his expression, she continued with her rant. “The only reason for a disguise is so you can search unimpeded, so people won’t know you searched. And why would you skulk about in costume if you didn’t have something to hide.” She squeezed Garratt’s arm. “You’re a genius!”

  “My lady?”

  She’d already spun, but yelled, “Many thanks,” over her shoulder as she exited into the hall. She would find the male beast and confront him. Whatever devious plot he planned would be thwarted.

  ****

  Chadwick arrived at Ravenwood, stowed his horse, and rushed inside. Relieved the spy had reconsidered his status of employment, he fairly skipped to his mother’s library. Lady Vonda’s conniving trickery had been stymied.

  Rowena lounged on a sofa with a rag covering her eyes. He entered and she said, “Oh, Kingsley, what is wrong with Andrew? I raised him to stand up for people, not throw them under the curricle.”

  Chadwick’s heart pained with her disappointment.

  “How can I help him understand?”

  He dropped beside Rowena’s prone form, grabbed her hand, and removed the covering from her face. “Mother?’

  She blinked a few times. “Andrew?”

  “None of this is your fault. It is entirely mine. From the moment of our introduction you have been nothing but a model of morality that anyone would be proud to emulate.” Except for the episodes of madness. “I am sorry I’ve caused you such distress, but I promise I’m prepared to rectify the situation.”

  She sat up. “You are?”

  “Yes. But I will need your assistance.”

  She sighed and studied her nails as her lips arced into a grin. “I would be delighted to help. When do we start and what do we need to do?”

  “First thing, we’re going to plan a celebration.”

  She clapped. “Ooo, I love parties.”

  Chadwick smiled and patted her leg. He couldn’t have hoped for a better response.

  ****

  Luke tossed and turned throughout the night. The springs on the inn’s bed poked into his back and increased his discomfort. Fortunately, his erratic movements failed to disturb Brig
itta. With her hands cradled beneath her cheek, and her face buried in the pillow, she slept like a baby.

  Luke rose and sauntered to the window. Moonlight struck the empty sidewalk. If he closed his eyes he could almost see Chadwick. A cane twirled at his fingertips, his lips twitched in a smile. Baffled, Luke paced the room and tapped his forehead. Where had Chadwick acquired his attire? All knowledge of his location had been lost after he’d stolen the curricle from a mail coach station. Chadwick had left all his belongings behind. The only clothing he had owned had been on his back. Now he paraded along the streets of Rochdale in the latest fashions. It made no sense.

  Brigitta stirred and Luke halted. His wife had been so happy. What would happen if she discovered Chadwick was near? Would she demand he be imprisoned? Would she forgive him of his dastardly deeds? Did Luke want to know what she would do?

  And what of himself? The credit slips from Chadwick’s gambling debts had their own drawer in his desk. The mound had dwindled considerably with the coin from the tours, but what if Chadwick inquired more debt? What would he do if new bills poured in?

  Luke slammed his fist into his open palm. He wouldn’t be held captive by his brother’s dishonorable deeds. No longer would Chadwick be able to enact Machiavellian plots against his family. Tomorrow he would search the town until he found Chadwick, and he would inform his brother he never wanted to see him again.

  ****

  The door to the library hung slightly ajar. Farrah peered through the chink. The room had become Devlin’s sanctuary. If he was in the house and not abed then he was in the library. Whether the tomes of literature, the masculine furniture, or the wealth displayed comforted him, was never stated.

  Devlin paced and mumbled under his breath. From Farrah’s right came a thundering boom and she slipped backward and lay flat to the wall. A hanging tapestry flapped from the breeze of her sudden movement, and for a brief second she considered it as adequate hiding. But what of the lump she would present?

  Her father stomped around the corner. A fierce scowl settled on his face. She tried to blend, closing her eyes and squinting through only one lid. He grabbed the handle and flung the library door open.

  “What’s the meaning of this? I’m not a pock faced child you can summon when you want to pick at someone.”

  “Lord Mountjoy, Winlock. May I call you Winlock? Do come in and be seated.”

  Her father growled, but entered and tugged the door. Farrah released a shaky breath and drew close. Her discernible chink had diminished, but fortuitously words still drifted to her hearing.

  “What is this about?”

  “Drink?”

  “Devlin, of someplace I’ve never heard of, what do you want?”

  Devlin cleared his throat no doubt fighting rising anger. “I assure you I’ve summoned you about a matter of great importance to us both.”

  “If it is so great then get to it.”

  “Well, yes.” A chair creaked. “That’s better. I’ve spoken with the solicitor and he assures me, you and I are the only two claims he considers legitimate.”

  There was a tapping as if her father pecked the wooden frame of the sofa. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, and since we both want the same thing, I suggest we consider resolving our issues without the law.”

  “How kind of you.” Sarcasm dripped from her father’s voice.

  “My proposal is simple. I will take Clovis’ place.”

  “Explain.” The bellow was punctuated by shifting and Farrah’s heartbeat increased.

  “I believe when you made the agreement with Clovis to marry Farrah that he gave you a considerable amount of money.” Silence bathed the room, and Farrah held her breath. “In turn you gave your land and daughter’s hand in marriage to Clovis. The only hope you had of ever regaining your land was the deal you made with Clovis that upon his death your land and Flannigan lands would be returned to Farrah. Does that about sum it up?”

  Winlock’s feet struck the floor creating a tremor. “This is an outrage!”

  “Tsk, tsk, Lord Mountjoy. You should be careful what you say.”

  Paper rattled.

  “What’s that?”

  “Oh, it is a very impassioned plea from a father to a friend.” The paper rattled and Devlin read: “Farrah has gone off the deep end. This past week my guards found her in Rochdale flirting with a farm boy! I’ve tried to scare him off, even threatened his Pa with kicking them off my land, but the boy is so thick headed he doesn’t listen. He’s not good enough for Farrah. The boor will never make a good husband and with his relations being pirates he will likely be arrested and carted to the gaol.

  The rumors they were more than acquaintances have tainted Farrah’s reputation. I fear if you won’t marry her then I’ll be forced to sell. My debts are too high and I need—“

  “Stop.” The melancholy voice startled Farrah.

  “You don’t wish me to go on? But the letter is just getting good.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want Farrah.”

  Farrah held her breath. Surely her father would pummel Devlin, or call for Garrett to do the honors. Or perhaps her father would explain that forcing her to wed him was not legal and he would stand up for her and not allow such an action to occur.

  “Very well, but only if you strike the same deal I had arranged with Clovis.”

  A sob escaped Farrah as she fled.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Brigitta woke and stretched her arms above her head. Luke lay on his side with his arm flung over his eyes. She nudged him and he opened one lid.

  “Good morning, my lord.”

  He planted a kiss on her cheek. “Good morning, my lady.”

  She snuggled close to his side and used his chest for a pillow.

  “What do you want now?” He asked sweetly as he stroked her long unfettered hair.

  “I know we need to reach Farrah but since Christmas is just a few days away and we have the opportunity to celebrate…” she shrugged.

  “You thought to purchase gifts to carry to Flannigan House.”

  She chuckled. “How did you know?”

  He sighed. “Because I know you.”

  She pursed her lips as he moved from their embrace. “Where are you going?”

  “Since we must purchase gifts, and reach Flannigan House today, I assumed it would be wise to rise and begin.”

  “Hmm, perhaps you have a point.” She rose on her knees and waddled to the edge of the bed, crooking her finger in his direction. “Maybe we should postpone our arrival to Flannigan House by one day.”

  He cocked a brow and drew a lose cravat around his neck. “But what of your cousin’s dire straits?”

  “Farrah replied yester eve and informed me she had the situation under control. She fears she may have escalated her dilemma prematurely so I don’t think she will mind if I’m a day behind schedule. Besides, I’m enjoying lounging with my husband without fear of rumors.” He moved closer and she grabbed his cravat and tugged him forward. Her lips hovering above his, she said, “We never had a proper honeymoon.”

  He flung the cravat against the wall and kissed her. Her lips twitched beneath his. Perhaps two days in Rochdale wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  ****

  Farrah hid in the kitchen. The cook and two scullery maids rushed about, complaining.

  “Those Hagan brothers sure eat like Lord Norhaven used to. Their stomachs are like the bottomless pit. Seems no matter how much food we serve they are always clamoring for more.” The cook stirred vigorously. The stew’s aroma wafted toward Farrah and her mouth watered.

  “Now Lady Farrah eats like a bird just barely picking at her food. Children starving and she sends half her plate back to the kitchen. Don’t she know we ain’t allowed to share her victuals. Sure the hog gets ’em but what good does that do.”

  “I’ll wager she is too depressed to eat.”

  Farrah nodded in agreement with the scullery maid.

&n
bsp; “I would say you’re foolish. Women eat more when they’s done feelin’ bad.”

  The scullery maid fervently denied the cook’s claim and shared an example to support her theory. Farrah tuned it out after the first couple of minutes, instead thinking on her newest set of concerns.

  Devlin’s words of helping her be free and still keep her land had all been a lie. He wanted everything. If he had a chance to marry her then he would probably poison her and bury her on the hill of graves. Then he could have it all.

  And how could her father agreeing so easily? What sum of money had Devlin meant? And what sum would be enough that her father would risk her standing before a minister and not revealing the truth, that she was being forced into marriage?

  Boisterous noises traveled down the stairwell as the six Hagan boys tumbled into a heap at their base.

  The cook planted her hands on her hips, her eyelid twitching. “What are you boys doing in my kitchen?”

  Farrah drew her shoulders back and prayed they wouldn’t see her.

  “Doyle, look over there. Ain’t that dad’s latest wife?”

  Doyle directed his gaze where Cormac’s chubby finger pointed. He squinted. “That does look a sight like ’er, but why would she be hidin’ away down here. The heat in this place is like the ninth circle of—”

  “Maybe she’s hungry. Ain’t got an ounce of flesh on her bones,” inserted Hugh.

  The boys bickered back and forth about her motives. Fists were raised and Farrah feared their words would lead to blows.

  “Now you boys get out of my kitchen. I won’t have any fightin’.”

  Cormac grabbed Hugh and Doyle by the ears and hauled them out the back door. The other three brothers trudged along dragging their heels. When the door shut the cook eyed Farrah.

  “What are you doin’ here?”

  No my lady, just what are you doing here? Farrah bristled at the disrespect, but realized she was in the cook’s domain. “I only came to say… to say…” she bit her lip, noted the steam from the stew, and quickly said, “I came to say the stew smells delicious.”