Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue

by Felicia Rogers

  The sweet sound of Farrah’s voice caused him to drop the knife an inch from his foot. Squealing, he jumped back as she rushed forward.

  “What? Are you all right? Did you cut yourself?”

  Heat flushed his cheeks at his delayed reaction. He grabbed a towel from the butcher block and dried his hands. “What are you doing here?”

  “I guess that means you’re unharmed.”

  “Yes, I am unharmed. But what are you doing in the kitchen?”

  She placed a wayward hand on her protruding hip and pursed her lips. “I could ask you the same question.”

  “You could.” Playfulness snuck into his tone and he struggled to hide his smile.

  “Kingsley told me you were in the kitchen preparing something to tantalize the early arrivals but I didn’t believe him.”

  “You should always believe Kingsley.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As Farrah spoke, she removed her pelisse and spencer and laid them across a chair. Her gown of dark maroon and green dipped low in the front.

  Chadwick swallowed.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  He bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head. There was nothing she could do. She needed to leave. The sight of her handsome features, her luscious body, was maddening. He couldn’t stay in Rochdale. No matter what he wanted Luke was close by. He needed to help her and secretly leave town.

  She sidled close to him, the sweet scent of her perfume tickled his nose and he backed up a step. “There must be something I can do.” The corner of her lip twitched as if she knew how she affected him.

  He shook his head more vigorously. “No, no, there is nothing. Just… just…” He gulped. “Just go upstairs and rest. I’ll be along shortly.”

  She grazed her nail along his cheek, and he closed his eyes and sighed. Why not just give in, just for a moment? He was a rake, a rascal. The black sheep of the Stockport family. He could afford to be himself, just for a moment.

  Chadwick lowered his chin. He removed the pins from her bun and filtered his fingers through her thick red hair. With his hand at the nape of her neck, he rubbed her smooth skin. A sigh parted her lips setting his heart to mad thumping in his chest. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. But oh, how he wanted to.

  He bent forward. His mouth hovered an inch above hers. Like a caress he brushed his lips across hers, then dropped his hands and stepped back. Breath caught in his throat, and his vision blurred. She staggered and held to the butcher block. Ham slices started slipping off the table. She gasped, and they both went to grab the meat, knocking their foreheads together.

  “Ow!” she yelled, cradling her head.

  Chadwick ignored her cries of pain as he went to rescue the falling hog, but it was too late.

  “What is going on in here?” The shrill sound of Mrs. Yancy pierced his ears. Her groan sounded like that of a dying woman. “Not my ham! Oh, Lord Ravenwood, what have you done?”

  She tried to rescue the remaining slices but they slithered off, smacking the floor with a loud whack. Farrah burst into laughter, but quickly recovered. Chadwick’s throat burned as he restrained his own emotions. He grabbed his sides as the rumbling sound burst from his lungs.

  Soon they were both being pushed from the kitchen into the stairwell. “And don’t you two ever step foot in my kitchen again!” Coats and a pelisse sailed through the air. Chadwick caught them with one hand.

  “Well, that did not go as I expected,” Chadwick said, studying Mrs. Yancy’s agitated form.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Farrah, unable to hold her serious expression as she descended into another fit of giggling.

  Chadwick followed suit for only a moment before becoming somber. Had he really just ruined Mrs. Yancy’s dinner? How was he going to rectify this new situation?

  “I’ll send into town for another slab of meat. Surely one is waiting at the butcher.” Chadwick ran a hand through his hair. He was nasty and unkempt from his hour in the kitchen, completely unfit for polite company much less the company of companions at a planned ball.

  “Why don’t you go to your room and change and I’ll send a footman into town?”

  “Thank you, Farrah. I believe I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  ****

  Brigitta stretched her arms over her head. Andrew Ravenlowe had the most comfortable bed in all of Rochdale. Pulling the covers to her shoulder, she sighed and let her eyes drift downward.

  Visions of Luke leaning over a desk writing in a mad flourish awakened her. She rose from the bed and placed her feet over the side. Slipping her feet into her soft-soled shoes she then padded to the fireplace and held her hands toward the fire.

  Farrah seemed so much happier than Brigitta had anticipated. The thought that she had nagged Luke into the trip without cause made Brigitta’s stomach tighten into knots. She sighed. What would he say when he arrived at the Ravenwood estate for the ball and found that her cousin’s dire straits had been resolved without Brigitta lifting a finger? He would be displeased of course. Brigitta was happy Farrah’s situation had resolved, but she wished she might have been of more help.

  Moving to the window, Brigitta stared at the long line of carriages filing into the drive. The scene mimicked one not unlike the ball at Stockport the day Luke had kidnapped her and hidden her away at the lake house.

  Brigitta stroked her rounded stomach. The product of their love grew within her. The babe kicked, and Brigitta whispered, “You’re a strong one.” The babe responded with another kick.

  Smiling, she settled on the sofa and wondered when Farrah planned to return for her.

  ****

  Farrah hid beneath the stairwell until her rapid heartbeat calmed. What had she been thinking to thrust herself upon Andrew in such a way? He would think her a harlot and wish that when the ball ended so would their affiliation.

  Wits gathered, she rushed upstairs. Rowena’s voice, loud and strong, carried along the corridor. The dowager Countess of Ravenwood had left the subject of old age and proceeded to past loves. Gasps and stifled laughter punctuated the air.

  “Before Lord Ravenwood and I married, at the pinnacle of my youth I might add, I’d had multiple male companions. Sharp wit and a strong constitution attracts many of the male species. Of course it helped that I enjoyed outdoor activities, such as hunting and fishing.”

  Farrah searched for Andrew. Shouldn’t he be dressed and downstairs by now? Her heart skipped a beat. Brigitta!

  Skirts fisted in her hand, Farrah raced up the stairs. Gilded frames encased previous lords and ladies of Ravenwood. On prior visits, Farrah had stopped and studied these ancient portraits. Stiff lipped men glowered down aquiline noses. Prim women lifted pointed chins and preened.

  The artist had been a genius as he attempted to capture the inner soul of his subjects. If you narrowed your eyes and leaned in close an observer should discover another image hidden in the background. A wispy face showing an entirely different visage. Instead of the dignified, posed, aristocratic face of a peer, it showed a sad reality of despair.

  The melancholy emotions of the portraits escaped Farrah as she raced past. She had to rescue Brigitta and keep from embarrassing Andrew and herself with the knowledge that she had invaded his private sanctuary.

  ****

  Hesitantly, Chadwick had left Farrah. He stopped briefly at the dining hall doors. Hearing a discussion about Rowena’s past loves brought a flush of heat from his neck to the top of his ears. Before she noticed his presence he escaped upstairs.

  Jimmy, one of the more recently hired footmen, stopped him. “My lord, Kingsley and Lady Ravenwood are busy. Might I have your approval?”

  Chadwick sighed and shot a glance at his disheveled appearance and shoddy attire. Soon all the guests would arrive and he would be ill prepared to greet them. It was imperative he be in place when the guests were escorted in. Through a series of hand signals, the staff would know where to direct each guest. Gamblers were sp
ecial and therefore needed additional instructions. Did he have time to help the footman?

  Jimmy held a door, and Chadwick hurried inside. Protective sheets had been removed from the furniture and fresh bedding had been applied. Cool air permeated the room and Chadwick shivered.

  Jimmy hurriedly started a fire. “Sorry, my lord. I opened the window like Juliet instructed, but I forgot to start a fire when I closed it.”

  “Don’t fret. The room is suitable for any guest.” He left Jimmy to his task and sought his room.

  The door knob against his palm, he halted as Farrah skittered toward him.

  “Wait!” She paused, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath.

  “Far—” Jimmy stepped into the hallway, and he changed her title. “I mean Lady Farrah, I need to change. If you will wait for me downstairs…” He let the words trail off.

  She laid her hand on his forearm. “You can’t go in.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t go in your room, I-I have something I need to show you.” She tugged on his arm and he stumbled toward her.

  Under his breath, he whispered, “Farrah, what is going on? You know I have to prepare for tonight’s activities. The ball is for you more than I.”

  “Yes, I know. But I need you to see something first.”

  He allowed her to drag him downstairs. They stopped at the dining hall door. Rowena lifted her chin.

  “Oh, there you are Andrew. Please come in and meet our guests.”

  He groaned as Farrah shoved him inside. “Traitor,” he hissed between his teeth.

  A smile spread across her visage as she hitched her skirts and fled.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Devlin sauntered downstairs. Swathed in new finery from a Rochdale shop, his confidence soared. He stopped before a hallway looking glass and studied his appearance.

  The top hat shone and jutted to the side. He cocked his brow and smiled. Soon he would have everything he ever dreamed. A legitimate title, land and a home, and best of all, the woman he adored and loved.

  Coat tugged in place he called for Bennington. The butler, stooped and dragging, shuffled into the foyer. The elderly chap hadn’t been the same since Clovis’ passing.

  “You called, Lord Greywold.”

  “Yes. I’m ready to depart for the Ravenwood estate. If you will gather the ladies we will be on our way.” Devlin faced the mirror and straightened his cravat.

  “No, my lord.”

  Devlin blinked rapidly as he turned. “Did you say no, Bennington?”

  “I did, my lord.”

  Devlin whacked the tip of his cane against the tile floor. Anger soared in his breast. He opened his mouth to chastise the measly mouthed butler, but was interrupted.

  “The ladies left hours ago. In order to retrieve them for you they would be forced to make the trip twice…” He paused before adding, “…my lord.”

  So, the flippant swine hadn’t lost all his fire. Still, his insolence couldn’t be tolerated. A burst of air slapped him as the door opened. Garrett entered and stomped his feet. Snow fell from his boots and sparkled against the dark floor. He removed his head covering and ran his hand over his damp graying hair.

  Neither one of them moved. Bennington said, “Garrett, Lord Greywold is ready to travel to Ravenwood.”

  “He’s driving me?” Devlin swallowed. There was no love loss between them since he’d squeezed the Burrows family off of Flannigan lands, and the only rescue was if Farrah married him.

  “The regular driver drove the carriage over with the ladies, my lord.”

  “If the carriage is gone, what am I to ride in?”

  “The Burrows have their Berlin stowed in the stables, my lord.”

  “Surely you jest! You shake snow like you’ve enjoyed a blizzard and you expect me to ride in a half open vehicle?”

  Garrett attempted to hide his happy expression by scratching his brow.

  “There must be another mode of transport.”

  “Only one.”

  “Well what is it? Time gets away from me.”

  “There is the curricle.”

  “The curricle,” left his parted lips in a rushed breath. How could his only two options be a half open or full open carriage? It was unconscionable!

  “If you don’t believe me, feel free to check the stables for yourself.”

  Devlin desired to slap the smirk from the footman’s face. “Then you will need to put on the hood.”

  “I’m afraid it has ripped and needs to be repaired.”

  So the footman was determined to make him uncomfortable. No matter. “Bennington, bring multiple covers. Hang them close to the fire until they are heated. I’ll wait until they warm before I depart.”

  Their jubilation over his delay was infuriating, but he refused to supply them with a satisfying response. He flounced into the other room and flopped into a seat, crossing his legs at the ankles, and drawing his hat low over his brow. The delay passed quickly and soon he was shivering inside the Berlin.

  Small pleasure was taken in Garrett’s discomfort. The footman sat in the driver’s seat with his back ramrod straight. Snowflakes gathered on his back and shoulders.

  The short trip’s progress was impeded by multiple vehicles staggering along the road. Carriages swayed awkwardly along the freezing ground. Females peeked beneath folded blinds, wisps of breath proceeding from their mouth, as they stared at him with awe. No doubt they believed him ill. Why would anyone in their right mind expose themselves to such weather conditions?

  Focused on his surroundings, he didn’t notice they’d arrived until the Berlin shuddered to a halt. He imagined Garrett’s trousers breaking free from the seat, ice crystals lingering behind in the fabric. A smile widened his lips as he descended.

  The door to Ravenwood opened. Instructed to wait in the dining hall, Devlin headed that way and paused. Lady Ravenwood stood at the forefront of an attentive crowd. Her spindly arms waved through the air as her voice rose and fell.

  Andrew Ravenlowe sat close to his mother, hanging on her every word. Devlin couldn’t believe the man’s attire. Surely he didn’t plan to attend the ball dressed thusly. Devlin was embarrassed for him. Sweat stains clung to his clothing, and his hair lay limp like he’d worked in the stables.

  Moving from the door, Devlin studied his surroundings. Portraits covered the entire wall leading upstairs. While the butler was occupied with the door, Devlin slipped up the staircase. Briefly he studied each gilded frame. At the top of the landing, he slinked along the hallway.

  Flannigan House held many treasures but nothing so wonderful as Ravenwood. Round wooden tables dotted the hallway. Covered in crystal vases and filled with flowers, the wood had been polished to a high sheen. Carved wooden bowls were filled with a gold substance. Devlin leaned in closer and gasped. It couldn’t be. He picked up the rounded coins.

  Doubloons slipped through his fingers and clanked into the bowl. One stuck to his palm. The thought of placing the item in his pocket raced through his mind. His hand moved in that direction. The sound of a throat clearing had him dropping the coin onto the floor. Hurriedly, he picked it up and thrust it back into the bowl.

  Looking around for his watcher, he was surprised when he didn’t see anyone. Hands shoved casually in his pockets he strolled further along the hallway. A flash of auburn hair reached his gaze. There was his little vixen.

  ****

  Farrah had hurried to Andrew’s suite. The door hung ajar, and her heart thumped madly in her chest with worry. The room was empty and cold. Where had Brigitta gotten off to?

  Traveling farther along the passage, passed closed doors, a hint of rose tickled her senses. The corridor ended and branched like a T. Farrah chewed upon her lip and sniffed. Musk assaulted her.

  A quick glance over her shoulder revealed no one, yet prickles of apprehension flooded her. She turned left and halted. The sound of hurried footsteps halted as well. Her heart thumped wildly again
st her breast, and her breath came in short rasping gasps.

  As slowly as possible she continued. She needed to find an open door—or find Brigitta; either one would satisfy.

  Up ahead the corridor split again. The interior of Ravenwood was like a maze. If she went much farther she might lose her way.

  She rounded the corner and her eyes widened. She stood on a walkway that surrounded the upper level of the ballroom. Servants and hired staff raced around the mezzanine using long poles to light candles on the crystal chandeliers. A man wearing formal attire stopped before her.

  “May I help you?”

  “Y-yes. I’m Lady Farrah Burrows, and I believe I’m lost.”

  “Oh, yes indeed. I’m Doctor Harold Pennyworth. Allow me.”

  Doctor Pennyworth escorted her around the mezzanine to a hidden staircase. They descended to the main floor of the ballroom. “Please don’t linger inside. No one is to see the preparations until we’ve finished. I’ve already had to escort one young lady out. Just follow the path straight across and out those broad doors.”

  “Another lady, did you say?”

  “Yes. She claimed she was the Baroness of Stockport. A long way to come to enjoy a ball, I say, but then again stranger things have happened. Believe me, I know.”

  Farrah agreed and asked, “Could you tell me how long ago she came through?”

  “Yes, not more than five minutes. If you hurry I’m sure you’ll catch her.”

  “Thank you.” Farrah scurried across the shiny floor, ignoring the decorations, and praying she would find Brigitta in time to tell her to keep her mouth closed about her stint in Andrew’s suite.

  ****

  Breaking away from Rowena was like breaking away from Farrah; it wasn’t an easy task. Finally, Chadwick reached his room. A hint of rose permeated the air as the door opened. He furrowed his brow, but continued inside and hurriedly dressed.

  Vehicles arrived in droves. Guests were forced to wait in the foyer, dining hall, and other places until the ballroom was ready. Dissent flowed from the floor below. Good. If they had to wait to enter they would be less likely to leave.

  He exited his room and took the back entrance into the ballroom. The staff had completed every detail of his instructions to the letter, and he was pleased. Mask in place, he stood before the door of the ballroom.