Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse (21 page)

Chadwick lifted his hand and
opened his mouth to explain, but Lord Elis stayed him by raising his hand.

“I do not wish to make this
affair public knowledge. The shame of having believed your claim to the peerage
will only serve to make my daughter less desirable to other suitors. Therefore,
I merely wish for you to leave my estate and never to return.”

“But, sir! Zilla and I are in
love. We wish to be married.” He forced the correct amount of desperation into
his voice and hoped for the best.

Without turning around, the
elderly man lifted his hand and pointed toward the door. Chadwick rammed his
hat upon his head and left the office. A brief glance up the formal staircase
revealed Zilla and her chagrined expression. Apparently, she was aware of their
topic of conversation and liked the outcome no better than he did.

Depressed and not a little angry,
Chadwick returned to his room at his friends’ house. Lord Elis had made his
position perfectly clear. He was not a welcome addition to the Elis family.
Honestly, he should have known. Since his time on earth had begun, he hadn’t
been a planned addition to any family.

His mother, a laundress from the
village, had happened upon the old baron, Luther Andrews, on a dark and stormy
night. The baron had lost his wife in a recent accident, and he was in the
village seeking solace at the bottom of a glass.

Luther had stumbled from the
tavern and was immediately set upon by a band of ruffians. Carol, his mother,
had beaten them off and escorted Luther back to her home.

Carol had recognized the baron
and being shrewd, had taken advantage of the situation. The baron awakened the
next morning, stripped naked and swathed with Carol’s body. Months later, she
had showed up on the baron’s doorstep, showed her rounded stomach, and found
her place among the aristocracy.

Chadwick had been born nine
months after that fateful night. Luther had welcomed him hesitantly but had
refused to give him all the rights and privileges he’d afforded his first-born
son. Chadwick had allowed resentment to rule him for years until he decided it
was more fun wasting his brother’s inheritance than spending his days bemoaning
his fate.

Raking his hand through his hair,
Chadwick studied his appearance in the mirror. The black jacket, a tailored
shirt of softest white linen, black breeches, and black boots had been
specially selected for the occasion. It had been his one chance at freedom.
Freedom from debt, freedom from Luke’s overbearing nature, freedom from all his
mistakes — and he’d blown it.

Bags packed, he called downstairs
and ordered a carriage be brought around. But on the stoop, he was surprised by
Zilla. A shawl tightly wrapped around her shivering shoulders, she twirled an
umbrella over her head. Her shoes were mismatched and her hair lay in disarray
about her shoulders. She appeared vexed as she paced like a caged tiger.

She spotted him, glancing down at
the valise in his hand. Placing her hand on her hip, she shouted, “Just where
do you think you’re going? I’ve waited seventeen years to get out from under my
father’s thumb and I order you to stay put until you convince him we are to
marry.”

Warily Chadwick eyed those who
passed by. Many stopped and gawked while others dropped their jaws but hurried
past. What if someone recognized him and it brought shame to his friends? He
needed to get her away.

Zilla leaned toward him, her chin
jutting out. “I will not tolerate being deserted. My father is but a man. If
you truly love me, then you would whisk me away, defy him. Don’t let him tell
you what to do.”

Chadwick grabbed her upper arms
and glared into her face. “Miss Elis, I appreciate you coming to see me off,
but perhaps you should run along. The street is no place for a woman of your
substance.”

Anger flared behind her eyes as
she stomped her foot, landing it on the toe of his shoe. He grunted under his
breath and worked to relax his facial muscles but didn’t let go of her arms.

Her voice lowered to a scorching
whisper. “I know not what your newest plan is. However, I assure you that
disgracing me on the street will only bring you and your family to more harm.
My father is a powerful man—”

He squeezed her arm tighter and
dragged her over the stoop and inside. In the foyer, he whispered through
gritted teeth. “There is nothing about you that I find the least bit
pleasurable.” He paused to watch shock spread over her face. “I would not spend
one second of time in your company if not for your father’s funds, and since he
has declined the offer I wished to put to him, before I could put it to him, I
might add, I must tell you to leave and never speak to me again.”

Whimpers followed him as he
released her, slammed his hat upon his head, grabbed his valise, and skipped to
the waiting carriage. Inside he laid back and relaxed upon the plush cushions.

Nary a stray thought of guilt
assailed him. Poor Zilla was out of her league. She had thought to swindle him
when in fact he had been trying to swindle her. The mutual benefit would have
been worth it, but he feared that as her money had dwindled, the appeal of her
would have diminished as well.

The carriage dropped him and his
luggage at a coaching inn. He caught the mail coach north. He closed his eyes
and attempted to nap. As the sun set, the driver banged on the roof.

“We’re approaching our stop for
the night, sir.”

Chadwick yawned and said, “Very
well.”

They parked at an inn along the
road. The driver took care of the coach and the horses while he secured a room
for the night.

****

Luke wrung his hands. The tour
would be here any moment. The chapel had been reset, the vicar was in place,
and Brigitta had dressed in her wedding garb; they just needed to get the
guests from the tour group to the chapel without incident.

Word of the wedding had traveled
throughout the county and so today the tour group was particularly large. The
guests waited before the split staircase for the baron and baroness to descend.

From his vantage point, Luke saw
Brigitta wave. Her expression seemed confident and he relaxed.

Jarvis announced the baroness,
and Brigitta lifted her chin and descended. Luke wasn’t far behind. Once they
reached the landing, he clasped her hand, and said, “Everyone in attendance is
invited to witness the renewing of our vows. Barring any incidents of weather
or swooning,” Brigitta pinched him, and he smiled and continued, “the wedding
with occur.”

The guests filed out with excited
chattering. Once the hall had emptied, Luke escorted Brigitta outside and
across the lawn to the chapel. Unconsciously his finger stroked the smooth skin
of her hand. Longing consumed him and tingles raced along his arm. How could he
be so lucky as to find someone as beautiful as Brigitta? One with beauty inside
and out.

His feelings almost consumed him
as his throat filled with emotion. They reached the glen and he reluctantly
handed her over to Jarvis with a warning. “No fainting this time.”

He left them to take his place before
the altar and the vicar. Those in attendance smiled and pointed at him.
Everyone seemed to be in a pleasant mood.

Straightening his cravat, he
cleared his throat. Two words, and they would be the most important words of
his life. Once he’d said them, he would be officially married to Brigitta. If
she ever remembered the “marriage” with Chadwick, he could explain it away as a
dream, or do what he probably should have already done and steel himself to
admit the truth. But for right now that thought was far from his mind.

Brigitta stepped into the nave
and glided up the aisle. A bouquet of flowers was cradled against her chest.
The closer Brigitta drew, the slower she seemed to walk. Finally she was there
beside him. He clasped her hand and she squeezed his. Tingles of anticipation
raced along his spine as the vicar spoke.

****

Brigitta narrowed her gaze and
twisted her head to stare at the vicar sideways. Blinking rapidly, she saw his
lips moving but couldn’t hear him. The words he spoke sounded as if he urged
her to do something and she muttered, “I do.” Luke repeated the phrase.

Within seconds she faced the
crowd and was announced as the Baroness of Stockport, Mrs. Brigitta Andrews.
Congratulatory backslaps echoed in the church and the surrounding glen.
Respectable merchants, and others who were strangers to her, shook her hand.
Everything seemed like a dream, out of place, as if she’d experienced it all
before but in a different way.

An ache began in her head.
Something seemed very wrong and she massaged her temples. Wobbling, she leaned
against Luke. He whispered in her ear, “Are you all right?”

“Yes. When do they serve the
bride’s pie?” she joked.

He eyed her warily but led her
and the guests inside the ballroom for the wedding breakfast. The cook had
created an extraordinary concoction of beauty and goodness. The bride’s pie
melted in her mouth and drove her to want more.

The afternoon hours wiled away
and although Brigitta was blissfully happy, she began to tire. The guests,
however, seemed to have enough energy to party throughout the night.

“May we retire?” asked Brigitta.

“I will have Letta take you to
your room.”

She nodded, not even commenting
on the fact that she was still going to her own room and not that of her
husband.

Curled in the middle of her bed,
she closed her eyes. But strange scenes flashed through her mind. A vicar — no,
a rector stood at the front of a parish church. A man, very similar to Luke but
not him, stood across from her. They held hands and murmured words of love and
dedication to one another.

The service ended and a footman
escorted her to a room and locked the door. The flood of images flashed and
swam before her eyes so fast her stomach churned.

Drenched in sweat, she woke with
a start and scrambled from the blankets. She found a fresh gown, pulled it over
her head, and perched on the edge of a wooden chair. The odd dream had been so
vivid, it was almost as if it had been real.

Legs folded underneath her, she
leaned her head on her palm and fell asleep upright, praying the dreams would
stay at bay.

****

“Thank you for inviting us to
your special occasion,” said a sturdy tenant farmer, dressed in his Sunday best
clothing.

“I’m glad you could come. I want
you and the other tenants to know you will no longer have to worry about high
rents. The manse will be taken care of without overcharging the people.”

“Thank you, my lord.” The farmer
bowed and set off across the grounds, walking toward his acres.

He was the last of the guests.
Luke had spent countless hours assuring the men dependent upon him he had no
plans to increase their rents. Once the estate finances were reviewed, he hoped
to give some of the money back.

He stood at the bottom of the
staircase and stared longingly upstairs. He could just imagine Brigitta
sprawled upon her bed, her hair spread around her head like a Greek goddess.

He ran his hand through his hair
and sighed. His stomach felt squeamish. He was overanalyzing and worrying too
much. Brigitta hadn’t chosen him in the beginning but she had chosen him now.
She had agreed to be his wife before witnesses. He moved onto the first step
and stopped. Why did he feel so rotten, like he didn’t deserve to love her?

Moving off the stairs, he headed
to the office. Papers and bills littered the large desk. Maybe if he made
restitution to the villagers, then he would feel more deserving.

Sitting behind the mess, he
sighed. There was no order to the chaos and it would take weeks to get
everything straightened out and make sense of it.

First, he would create order. He
organized ledgers into the early morning hours. The sun rose and filtered light
into the room. Satisfied with his progress, he rubbed his eyes and decided he
needed to rest for at least a few hours.

Before he headed to his bed, he
stopped by Brigitta’s suite. Footmen greeted him as he opened her door and
peeked inside. He narrowed his eyes.

She sat upright in a chair, her
head cradled in her palm as she emitted soft snores. Luke knelt before her and
moved a strand of hair behind her ear. She sighed in her sleep. Her expression
reminded him of an innocent baby.

He picked her up, cradled her
against his chest, and carried her to bed. Stretched out on the coverlet, she
purred like a kitten and his heart skipped a beat.

Contentment settled in his soul
as he studied his wife. Finally, he had reason to hope.

Chadwick rose from the lumpy
mattress, stretched his arms over his head, rolled his stiff neck, and sighed.
An overactive mind had awakened him during the night and caused his sleep to be
remiss. Everything he’d dared to hope for was lost.
Why did this always seem
to be his lot?
There had to be an answer. Maybe some wealthy elderly lady
would adopt him? He laughed to himself as he climbed from the bed and dressed.
One of these days he would have a valet to help him, but today wasn’t that day.

Breakfast covered the inn’s table
and he took the meal in silence, barely even tasting the food. When the driver
announced departure, relief filled him. The coach took on more passengers.
Middle-aged ladies, clearly twins, with an elderly man between them, filled the
opposite bench. Another woman, younger and prettier, climbed inside and plopped
down next to Chadwick.

Her plumed hat hung askew.
Feathers fell into his mouth and he shooed them away. Ignorant or uncaring of
his plight, she continued to twist and turn her head as if searching for
someone. She fidgeted her gloved hands and Chadwick cocked his brow.

“Oh, where is he? Why doesn’t he
hurry? The coach will leave without him and then I will be without escort.
Father would never approve, never, never, never.”

A skinny gentleman with an overly
large top hat entered the coach and pushed in between Chadwick and the lady. “Excuse
me, excuse me,” he repeated as he stepped on toes, elbowed Chadwick, and bumped
his head into the ladies opposite them.

“Do sit down!” the two matching
ladies said in tandem.

“I do plan to. It is just that I
can’t seem to find a spot.” He shifted his hips from side to side and forced
Chadwick to scoot. “There. Now I have done it.”

“It is about time, Mr. Malcolm,”
said the young lady in the plumed hat. “Father would have been greatly
displeased if I had arrived alone.”

“There is no need to worry, Lady
Margaret. The coach would not have left without me.”

“And why do you believe that to
be the case?”

“Quite simply, I carry the coin.”

The word perked up Chadwick’s
ears and he covertly perused Mr. Malcolm’s person for a purse. Nothing stood
out and he determined to search again at the next stop along the carriage’s
route. If the time arose when he needed coin, perhaps Mr. Malcolm wouldn’t
oppose a Faro game. It never hurt to know how much your opponent had to offer.

The bumpy ride soon left the
passengers in a foul mood.

“I fail to understand why a
driver hits every bump along the road. Surely they must know it is terribly
uncomfortable for the passengers.” One of the matching ladies, the one wearing
roses in her bonnet, tried to pin an errant flower into position without giving
her neighboring passenger a black eye.

“Of course they know,” said the
other, the one who seemed to prefer lilacs for decoration. “That is why they
continue to do it. It is their sole pleasure in life to make the passengers
uncomfortable. It is their only recourse for the job they despise.”

“Children, please do not continue
in this vein. Our trip is long and I will not tolerate dissension.” The elderly
gentleman chastised his twin daughters throughout the afternoon as they
complained of everything from the bumps in the road to the window coverings.

By the first hour Chadwick’s
teeth were on edge and he wished he had chosen a different mode of travel.
Riding with a herd of wild elephants would have been preferable.

The young lady beside Chadwick,
Lady Margaret, fretted continually over her father’s opinion of her arrival
time, her appearance, her speech, and anything else she could dream of. Mr.
Malcolm, her escort, sat with his hat in his lap and constantly twirled it
around. Each time the light struck it, he would twist it again.

Chadwick rolled his eyes, lifted
the curtain, and peered outside. Such boors. Would the ride ever end?

****

Brigitta woke groggy and
irritable. Somehow she had made it back to her bed.

Studying the canopy overhead, she
sighed. All night, images had flashed before her. Upon awakening, she knew at
once they hadn’t been dreams but rather memories. The order in which they had
occurred had served to convince her.

These memories allowed her to
conclude one thing: Luke had lied to her.

Not wishing to waste even a
moment waiting on Letta, she rose and dressed in a pale green gown. Hair pulled
atop her head and pinned in place, she studied her appearance in the mirror.
The face staring back at her looked cynical and not entirely her own. How could
one night of dreams change a person’s whole world?

Letta entered, her face shining
with exuberance. Surprise lighted the maid’s face, but she didn’t comment on
Brigitta’s dressed form. “Good morning, my lady. And how did you sleep?”

Brigitta bit her tongue to keep
from expressing the truth of it and said, “I slept well, and you?”

“Oh, I slept well enough, but I
will sleep a sight better when those officers leave. The half billeted here at
the estate kept my lord up and running all night long and the poor soul just
now dropped off in bed. Of course that was after he spent half an hour pining
over you, my lady.”

The maid blushed and Brigitta
frowned. The memory of her previous thought sharply contrasted with what she
was hearing. “He did what?”

“Before he went to bed, he came
to check on you. Pardon me for spying, but I was close at hand just in case he
needed something. Like a knight in shining armor, he saw you sleeping in the
chair, swooped you into his arms, and whisked you back to bed. The love in his
eyes reminds me of what I see when I look at—” She looked away and stopped
talking.

“Have a suitor, do you, Letta?”
Brigitta relaxed at the change in subject.

The maid shrugged and busied
herself by making the bed. “The point is, I will be a sight less tired when
those officers find a new billet. I do so hope they will move along soon,
begging your pardon, my lady.”

Brigitta watched the deft
movements of the maid’s hands. Every action seemed to bring back another wave
of fresh memories. Vague scenes of tying gowns together and lowering herself
through the window, walking into a dark cavern, ending in Luke’s room, Roland
escorting her back to her suite.

She bit her tongue to keep from
asking Letta what she knew. The maid would know everything, of course. She felt
betrayed. The understanding that she was not married to Luke but to Chadwick
caused her stomach to clench in knots and she felt the urge to throw up.

“My lady, you look almost green.
Should I fetch something for you?”

Brigitta shook her head. “No, I’ll
be all right. I just need to talk to the baron.”

“Right now I’m afraid he is abed,
but I’m sure he will come down to the dining hall by dinner time. Would you
like me to come and get you then?”

“Yes. And will you bring my
breakfast in here?”

“Yes, my lady.” Letta curtseyed
and hurried from the room.

Brigitta found a spot at the
window, moved the shutter out of the way, and stared at the village beyond the
trees. Suddenly her shoulders shook and her body jerked and she grabbed her
head. Everything she’d forgotten flooded back like a tidal wave. Pain from
Manny’s rough treatment, Chadwick’s wooing, the wedding with Rector Morgan,
meeting Luke, spending time with Luke at the summer house, each and every
moment of her life blazed across her mind and she fell to the ground and
cradled her head. Stunned by the horrifying events of the last few weeks, she
couldn’t move.

****

Luke woke. Afternoon sunlight
filtered into his room and he flung an arm over his eyes to block it. Officers’
voices drifted from outside and Luke groaned. When would they leave?

He struggled from bed and called
for Jarvis. The normal enthusiasm the valet exhibited seemed stilted and Luke
wondered if it was lack of time with Letta or the officers that had caused the
change.

“My lord?”

“Yes, Jarvis. I’m sorry I
overslept and left you to entertain our guests. I do wonder when they rest. But
alas, I expect they do so in waves.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Now, help me dress. I must descend
and enjoy the afternoon meal in their company.” He paused before asking, “What
is the word of Brigitta? Has she risen for the day?”

Jarvis studied the floor and
shuffled his feet. “For some hours, my lord.”

Luke noted the valet’s tone and
manner, and asked, “Is there something I should know?”

“My lord, forgive me, but I
believe it is time to tell Brigitta the truth.”

Luke cocked a brow. Worry that
Jarvis might be right caused his heart to beat louder.

“I know it is not my place, but
Letta is very concerned. It seems Brigitta woke this morning and seemed
different. Letta couldn’t rate the change, but she is almost certain your bride
has regained her memory.”

Luke groaned inwardly and ran a
hand through his hair.

“My lord, Brigitta has yet to
leave her room. Letta promised to bring her to the table for dinner because she
believed you would be in attendance.”

Luke nodded. “Thank you for your
words of advice, Jarvis. Politely tell Letta I will escort my wife to the
dining hall myself.”

Jarvis bowed. “As you wish, my
lord.”

Jarvis left the room. Luke closed
his eyes and mumbled a brief word of prayer before stalking into the hallway
and toward his wife’s suite. He had some explaining to do.