Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse

The
Ruse

Andrews
Brothers

By

Felicia
Rogers

The
Ruse

Copyright
© 2013 by Felicia Rogers

All
rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof
in any form whatsoever.

Contact
Information:

Website:
http://feliciarogersauthor.weebly.com
Email: [email protected]

Published
by:

Felicia
Rogers

Cover
Design:

Elaina
Lee (For the Muse)

This is a work of fiction. Names,
places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities
to actual events and person, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any
trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be
the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There
is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review
purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or
mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

First, I would
like to thank my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for not only saving me but for
molding me into the person I am.

Secondly, I’d
like to offer a special thanks to my editor, Vivian Roycroft for without her
assistance this book would never have come to life.

Thirdly, I want
to thank my family for their constant and unconditional support.

February 1802

London, England…

Luke Andrews, Baron of Stockport,
waited patiently in the Elis Wold library. Lord Zedekiah Elis, Viscount of Elis
Wold, would attend him at any moment, or so he’d been told.

Baubles lined floor-to-ceiling
shelves and Luke perused them. An enormous amount of the items represented were
dolls.

Luke plucked one from the shelf.
The intricately painted figure sported a rouge mouth, bright blue eyes with
dark lashes, and a crown of gold atop its overly large head. The doll back in
place, he studied the rest of the collection. Their vivid colors and
disproportioned bodies attempted to force a person to find them attractive.
Silly frippery! What sort of family collects such absurdities?

Luke placed his hands in his
pockets and felt for the box. Coins bumped his fingers and he brushed them
aside. Rough edges touched his hand and he sighed with relief. Everything was
in place.

Restless, he prowled past the
crowded shelves to the window. At least the Elis grounds were well maintained
and not full of ridiculous topiaries.

Luke sighed and turned from the
window. Nothing could hold his attention for very long, not with the impending
meeting ahead of him. His wandering feet took him to the fireplace. A fire
roared, yet he experienced a slight chill. He stroked the hearth’s uneven
stones, the warmth of the rock permeating his palm.

The fact that Lord Elis had not
upgraded to a coal fireplace with a scuttle was a bit discouraging.

For lack of anything else to do,
Luke looked for wood and was shocked to find the wood box empty.

He lifted his hand to pull the
bell rope. The door opened and feeling irrationally guilty, he dropped his
hands to his sides.

An elderly man, with a short crop
of graying hair, a beak nose, and a slight stoop entered. He didn’t stop to say
hello, but rather continued to a seat behind the rather substantial desk.

Once seated, he steepled his
fingers and studied Luke. The appraisal caused a frightful set of nerves and
Luke found himself unable to stand. He took a seat across from the desk and
waited.

“So you are the great Baron of
Stockport, Luke Andrews. My daughter Zilla has told me much about you.” Luke
opened his mouth to speak but was promptly interrupted. “I am Zedekiah Elis,
better known as Zede to my friends, but as of yet you are not my friend.”

Luke cocked a brow, shifted in
the seat, and crossed his legs.
Irritating dullard
.

“I don’t know if you realize, but
Zilla is barely ten and seven. She is my only child, and yes, I’ve held onto
her longer than I should but under such circumstances that is to be expected.
Naturally, the man she marries will inherit my estate, and therefore, the
choice she makes for a husband is important to me.”

“Of course.”
Inheritance of
the estate is the only reason I, or anyone else, would willingly sit across
from you and suffer your condescension.

Lord Elis frowned and continued, “As
I was saying, I will not take Zilla’s mate choice lightly. There will be at
least a year of courtship, perhaps longer.” Lord Elis stood and walked around
Luke. He tapped his fingers on the fireplace mantel sharply. The unexpected,
imperative sound startled Luke and he swung around. “I believe she primarily
fancies you because of your title.” Lord Elis paused but Luke didn’t react,
unwilling to give the insolent cur the satisfaction. He resettled behind the
desk. “For that reason, before I settle on one man, I will require that Zilla
attend several more balls with myself in attendance. Do you understand?”

Luke nodded. He understood. The
viscount thought himself worthy to speak to a baron like a child and to watch
over him like one, as well.

“Good day to you.”

Luke stood, bowed, and exited the
library. Greeted by an empty hallway, he punched his fist into his hand and
muttered, “Blast it all.”

The meeting with Lord Elis, which
he had considered a mere formality, had turned into a formal task where he
would now be expected to woo a woman he wasn’t even sure he wanted.

Impatience grew with waiting and
he tapped his boots against the shiny mosaic floor. A footman dressed in full
orange and flamboyant green livery rushed forward and promptly escorted him to
his horse, led from the mews by a groom. Luke craned his neck and stared up at
the looming red brick manse. He felt like a carriage had run over him. The
meeting had been a complete failure, of that he was sure.

Atop his horse, he set out for
his townhouse. A minimal staff kept the house in working order. He only used it
when visiting London and occasionally rented it to other families.

The home sported whitewash and
cheerfully sparkling windows decorated with flower boxes. Manicured shrubs and
multi-colored primroses bloomed along the walk.

Beneath the shadows of his home,
he dismounted and handed the horse’s reins to the stable hand.

“Thank you, Michael.”

Michael nodded and led the horse
away.

The horse was in good hands. Luke
turned on his heel and walked inside. He removed his hat, coat, and gloves and
handed them to the footman.

“Thank you, James.”

The butler stepped forward. “Was
your afternoon productive, my lord?”

“Humph.”

“That well, my lord.”

“I’m afraid, Charles, that the
viscount is not as willing to marry off his daughter as I had been led to
believe.” Luke paused then asked, “Were there any calls while I was out?”

“No, your lordship.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in the parlor
if I’m needed.”

“Very good, my lord.”

In the parlor, Luke cut a
half-sheet of paper and composed a letter to his half-brother.

Chadwick,

I fear that my hope of
conducting my business quickly has been thwarted. I will stay in London for
only a month longer, at which time I will return. Remember that Jarvis and
Roland are your greatest assets. Continue to run the estate in a manner
pleasing to our late father, and I will return as soon as is prudent.

Your brother,

Luke

Luke sealed the letter and
directed it to the Stockport estate. He leaned back in his chair and tapped the
tip of the quill to his forehead.

Luke reviewed the visit with
Viscount Elis. If the gent didn’t have a man in mind to marry Zilla, then Luke
was mother to a group of piglets. Any father would have seen Luke’s pursuit of
his daughter as a welcome petition.

Maybe the viscount had been
scorned before. Perhaps he feared Luke would mismanage the funds belonging to
the Elis estate. But why would that be? Stockport had flourished under his
hand.

A sigh rent the air as he
pondered the possibilities. He straightened in his chair. What if he attended
Elis’ planned balls, and encouraged his friends to attend and tout his finer
qualities? By making himself more available in increments, he would become more
familiar and thereby more acceptable. Excited by his plan, he raced downstairs.

Rosabel Smith tirelessly worked
in the kitchen. Upon her husband’s death last year, she had agreed to take the
job of housekeeper and cook in his beautiful townhouse. A surge of affection
for her willingness to assume duties beyond her writ filled him as he studied
her from the kitchen entrance. She hummed and bounced as she kneaded a mound of
fresh dough. Her lace cap joggled and tendrils of graying hair escaped. Her
gray uniform sashayed across the floor.

He strode into the room and
whistled.

Mrs. Smith flashed a smile in his
direction. “Ah, your lordship, how are you this fine day?”

“I’ve been better.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Girl
troubles, my lord?”

Luke laughed. “I guess you could
say that.”

“You know my rules; I will always
treat you like family. So if you need an ear, your lordship, I wouldn’t mind
bending mine to you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith, but what
I need is a list of balls for the month.”

“A full month, eh? I personally
am not on the circuit,” she paused and shook her head at her own joke, before
adding, “but I’m sure if I ask the upstairs maid, Paulina, she will know.”

“Thank you.” He leaned over her
shoulder. “What’s for supper?”

Mrs. Smith tapped him on the nose
with her floury finger. “If you must know, your lordship, you are having
chicken, potatoes, fresh bread, and a sweet.”

“Hmm, sounds good.” He grabbed an
apple off the table, tossed it in the air, caught it, and took a bite.

Mrs. Smith shooed him from the
room and he headed upstairs to search his wardrobe.

****

Stockport, England…

Chadwick accepted the post. “News
from my brother?”

“None, I’m afraid.”

“Roland, this is intolerable. The
estate is in total disrepair, the rents I will collect from the people will
hardly be enough, and I’m out of money.”

Roland sighed but said nothing.

“You are the butler, you have to
do something.”

“Sir, your brother left express
instructions. You have permission to raise funds if need be.”

“Of course I have permission to
raise funds, but
how
is the question. I could increase rates but the
people can’t afford another cent and my debts continue to grow.”

“Perhaps if you stopped playing
Faro then you wouldn’t need to raise funds.”

Chadwick narrowed his eyes and
slapped his palms on the desk. “Faro is the only pastime I’m allowed.” He stood
straight and raked his hand through his brown hair. “I’m not allowed to travel
past Stockport, I’m not allowed to have friends visit the estate, I’m not
allowed to enjoy a woman’s company—”

“That’s because in the past you
did a little too much,” whispered Roland.

Chadwick ignored the jab. “Do you
know how hard it is to be the second son of a baron? No, you don’t. Do you know
how hard it is to be the son of a woman no one liked? No, you don’t.” He stared
out the window at the vast grounds. “I should have been allowed to travel to
London and join the theater. I would have been perfect on stage.”

“Agreed.”

“I know you say this because you think
I’m a liar, but would you care to consider that perhaps I have other talents?”
He continued to speak as if to himself. “I could put on a show, I know I could.
I would be the talk of the town. Why, if I had half a chance, I know I could be
the leading man in any play I put my mind to.”

He fell into the chair behind the
desk and propped his feet on the corner. The sound of agony the action dragged
from his confidant increased his sense of power. Head back against the chair,
he closed his eyes and imagined the wooden stage, the candlelight, the crowds
of fans, all there to watch him. Then after the show would come the hero
worship, the adoration. Women would flock to him like sauce on a goose. Notes
planning clandestine meetings would arrive in his private chambers. He would
pin them on the wall, stare at them, and enjoy the promise of the meeting as
much, or more, than the meeting itself.

He opened his eyes and gazed
around the room. The library contained mostly books but on one wall there was a
painting — the portrait of Baroness Stockport, Ethelinda, Luke’s mother. No
portraits of his mother had ever been crafted, nor would they be.

Chadwick narrowed his eyes. What
if he could make the money by putting on a show? Surely local peers and those
of wealth would pay for a bit of entertainment.

Steepling his fingers, Chadwick
formulated a plan.