Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse (4 page)

Two weeks had passed since Luke
left London. His business along the route had been conducted to his
satisfaction and he was glad to be home. He’d stayed the first night in town,
so he would be refreshed enough to traverse the grounds and enjoy the vastness
and beauty of his home before responsibilities overwhelmed him.

Early the next morning, he left
his horse and carriage in the village and arrived at the estate on foot.

Evil thoughts of Zilla, and her
prejudiced comments, kept popping into his thoughts. What would that woman know
of the world? Her judgment was clouded by youth and a lack of intelligence. No
matter how hard he tried, he found himself increasingly unwilling to marry
Zilla just to produce an heir or increase his finances.

The estate’s accounts currently
boasted a tidy sum. The issue of coin could be held at bay for an extensive
time if he continued to live in the frugal lifestyle his parents had set before
him. As for the heir, he was sure to find a more congenial wife and mother than
Zilla Elis.

Fountains bubbled and birds
landed in the baths. Luke took the long trail and walked by the fishing pond
and hunting grounds. A rock jutted out from the mountain and Luke paused,
blocking the sun from his face.

From his high perch, the ruins of
Stockport Castle tumbled across the green below. He remembered being a lad and
staring at the ruins while holding tightly to his father’s hand. His father’s
vivid descriptions had almost made him feel as if he’d walked through the hallowed
halls that lay destroyed.

Reality of how things that stood
the test of time could still plunge into nothingness gnawed at his innards and
he wished his father was around to offer wisdom.

Downhearted, he shoved his hands
in his pockets and turned. Upon approaching the manse, he knitted his brows. A
line of people gathered. Behind them, carriages lined the road almost as far
away as the village.

He strode toward the crowd and
joined them. Raindrops fell and he tugged his top hat lower. The throng groaned
and waved umbrellas aloft. Before them the manse doors parted and they entered
the east wing of the estate.

Tourists dressed in fine frocks
with plumed hats filed into the main room, staring avidly about at his home. An
individual Luke had never seen acted as a guide, lifting his hands and pointing
at one side of the curved staircase. There a woman of refined grace descended.

The guide announced, “Introducing
Baroness Stockport, Brigitta Andrews.”

Luke blinked rapidly as the woman
turned, smiled, and waved. The crowd returned her actions. She continued to
descend until she reached the landing, where she stopped.

From the opposite set of stairs,
his half-brother Chadwick, dressed in regal attire, descended. The red coat
emphasized his broad shoulders, which he held back. His face scrunched, he didn’t
look at the crowd, but instead focused a look filled with unrequited hatred
toward the woman on the landing.

The guide lifted his hand toward
Chadwick and said, “Introducing the Baron of Stockport.”

Luke covered his gasp and huddled
deeper into his coat.
What is the meaning of this?

Before any further thoughts could
drift through Luke’s mind, Chadwick stopped in the middle of the stairs and
shouted, “And just what do you think you’re wearing?”

The woman bristled. “I’m wearing
the yellow today, my lord.”

“The yellow? Blah. I’ve told you
I detest yellow. Get thee upstairs and change this instant.” He pointed his
finger above and the lady cocked a brow and glared.

“You will not tell me what to do!
I’m the baroness and I can do as I please. If I want to wear yellow, then I
shall wear yellow!”

Chadwick didn’t waver and
Brigitta hitched her skirts and ran upstairs. Chadwick faced the crowd and
apologized for his wife’s behavior before casually turning on his heel and
leaving himself.

Shocked, Luke blindly followed
the crowd. The guide led them through the entire east wing. They studied the
wall of family portraits, swooned over the ancient family heirlooms, and ended
with a riding tour of the grounds.

With each new sight his ire
increased. While he’d been strangled initially by feelings of cold, blind rage,
the trip on horseback through the grounds cooled his temper and now he was
naught but confused.

The event ended and the visitors
left in their carriages. Discreetly, Luke sneaked into the house through a
downstairs window and raced on tiptoe to his chambers. He sat at a desk and
pondered until his head ached. Finally, he pulled the servant’s rope that led
directly to his personal valet’s room. He paced, his mind jumbled with
nonsensical thoughts. The door opened and he blurted, “Jarvis, I have a problem.”

The valet entered and closed the
door. A blank stare covered his face as he blurted, “My lord, we weren’t
expecting you. Welcome home.”

“There is something foul at play
here.”

Jarvis squinted, lifted his nose,
and sniffed.

“Not an odor, Jarvis.”

He lowered his chin. “Excuse me,
your lordship, but I fail to understand your meaning.”

Without pretense, Luke said, “In
the east wing, Chadwick is pretending to be me!”

“Are you sure?” asked Jarvis, his
voice lending to a squeak.

He rounded on the servant. “Yes,
I’m sure! They called his name as the Baron of Stockport and last I checked
that was me!”

“I see,” said Jarvis, worrying
his lip.

Luke shook his finger. “Not only
that Jarvis, but there was also a woman.”

“A woman, your lordship?”

“Yes. The guide introduced her as
the baroness.”

Jarvis studied the floor.

“You and I know this is
impossible because I’m unmarried.”

Jarvis lifted an oriental rug
with his toe and allowed it to drop, repeating the action several times.

Luke crossed his arms over his
chest and said with authority, “Jarvis, I want to know what is going on and I
want to know right now.”

****

Brigitta combed her hair. Curls
twisted and caught in the teeth and she pulled until her skull pained.

“What is wrong with me?” she
asked her reflection in the looking glass. “Every day I promise I won’t lose my
temper and every day I lose my temper. Just once, if I could keep myself under
control then maybe, just maybe, I would be allowed out of my room for more than
a few seconds.” The comb clattered against the dressing table.

The mirror reflected the yellow
gown lying on the bed, ready for Letta to replace it in the wardrobe.

“Doesn’t like yellow, indeed!
What happened to ‘you look stunning, yellow is the perfect color’?”

Brigitta paced her suite of
rooms, back and forth from the farthest wall of her bedroom to the farthest
wall of her living area. The deep, rich velvet color of the coverlet and window
dressings grated on her nerves. The royal color should be displayed for happier
people, not people such as herself.

Loudly, she berated herself. “Why
must I speak? My mouth is my own worst enemy.” She slapped her palm on her
dressing table and squealed with pain. Her mousy tow-headed maid, Letta, rushed
into the room. Her uniform hung sideways and her mussed hair lay tangled about
her shoulders.

“My lady?” she squeaked as she
skidded to a halt.

“Letta, what in the world have
you been about?”

The maid blushed furiously as she
studied the floor. “Forgive me for my tardiness, my lady.”

Brigitta fought a grin as she
said, “I didn’t call you.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“But now you’re here, would you
mind telling me what happened after the baron ordered me away?”

“Oh, my lady—”

“Letta, tell me.” She drew the
rough tone from the depths of her chest and Letta cowered.

With a pout, Letta asked, “Why do
you torture yourself, my lady?’

“I’m not a lady!” she yelled. Her
chest heaved and she felt her face flush. She grabbed a fan from the dressing
table. Blowing out a gust of air, she said, “Letta, forgive me for my rudeness.
But the truth is, I must know.”

Letta clasped her work-worn hands
and studied them as she spoke. “The baron ascended to his room while the crowd
explored the grounds with a guide.”

“No doubt they toured the
kitchens, the gardens, and the library, places I’m never allowed to visit!” She
threw the fan. The shallow bone frame cracked and crumbled against the base of
the wall.

Letta gasped but didn’t move to
clean the mess.

It was no use. Brigitta sighed
and threw her hands out to her sides. She was destined to live like a prisoner.
Accepting Chadwick’s proposal had been a colossal mistake. Would she not be
better off in the village? Working in a factory or washing laundry offered a
scarcity of food, but at least she would be free in movement.

“Letta, you’re dismissed.”

The maid bowed and scurried from
the room as Brigitta plopped into the chair and cradled her face. What did she
expect after only a few days of wooing? Apparently, respect from one’s husband
was too much.

It seemed her only hope was to
pray for a clandestine meeting, and then perhaps she could request at least a
modicum of freedom.

“Do you mean to say that when the
tours go through the estate, they are seeing a counterfeit me quarreling with
my fabricated wife?”

“Yes, your lordship,” answered
Jarvis.

“Whose idea was this? I’ll have
their head.”

Jarvis shrank and said, “I
believe it was Chadwick and Roland, your lordship.”

Luke punched his fist into his
palm. He should have known Chadwick was the instigator. He drew in a calming
breath. “I have another question. You said they’re merely performing, creating
a ruse. However, I got the distinct impression the woman didn’t know she was
acting.”

Again Jarvis scraped his toe
against the floor and nudged the now wrinkled rug.

“Jarvis, you will answer me or I
will release you from my employ and send you and your family off my land.”

The valet cringed and puckered
his lip, and Luke felt immediate regret. Before he could apologize, Jarvis
said, “Very well, your lordship, as you wish. Chadwick, of course, knows he is
acting. He performs his part then goes about his daily business. But the woman,
Brigitta, believes she has truly married the baron.”

“And why does she believe this?”
asked Luke, crossing his arms over his chest. He tapped his foot upon the
floor, and his heart thumped in a similar rhythm. In all his days, he would
never have conceived of Chadwick devising such a stunt of duplicity.

“There was a ceremony, your
lordship.”

“A ceremony…” He drew out the
last word and dropped his arms to his sides. “Chadwick faked a wedding
ceremony? But how is that possible? What about reading the banns o-or acquiring
a special license? I’ve not been gone so long.”

“From what I can gather, your
lordship, the banns were read, but only in certain places. And the paperwork
was falsified by someone in the village.”

“I see. And the vicar? Was he
involved in Chadwick’s deceit?”

“I’m uncertain, your lordship.
Roland and perhaps one to two others attended the ceremony, which occurred in
the parish church.”

Luke rubbed his chin, his mind
awhirl with fantasies. “A-and what of the consummation?”

Jarvis shook his head. “Oh, no,
your lordship. That was one reason the young lady was chosen. You see, she has
a hard time holding her tongue.”

“I don’t understand. What has her
temper to do with consummating the marriage?”

“You misunderstand me, your
lordship. I do not speak of the consummation for I have no knowledge of that,
but rather that her short temper allows the ruse to work so well. Chadwick
stirs the young lady and sends her back to her room before she reaches the
ground floor.” Jarvis smiled. “It is always the same.”

“Brigitta, you say?” asked Luke.

“Yes, my lord.”

“So this Brigitta is forced to
stay in her room, thinking her husband is mad at her.”

“Precisely,” Jarvis answered,
seemingly proud of himself.

Luke cradled his aching head. “Is
this completely necessary?”

“The forged marriage, your
lordship?”

“Yes, the forged marriage,
keeping a lady locked in her room, the phony quarreling, all of it.”

“Chadwick seems to think so. He
explained that our area is so poor, the rents are not enough to run the estate.
The only way to keep the estate going is to charge wealthy tourists to stop and
see the show. The current staff agreed to the ruse and Chadwick hired others,
because he said it lent to the illusion of a more illustrious family.”

“Chadwick seems to say a lot,”
said Luke.

“Oh, he does, begging your
pardon, your lordship.”

“And the staff agreed to
participate in the ruse?”

Jarvis nodded.

Luke sent Jarvis away as he
mulled the situation. Like a book character, he felt as if he’d been tossed
about on a ship, swallowed by a sea monster, and spit onto dry land. If only he
could take Chadwick to task. But how? What would be appropriate for his brother’s
dishonesty?

Throwing him off a mountainous
peak seemed a tad extreme, however, punching him senseless in a round of boxing
held great appeal.

And what of Roland’s punishment?
The butler had been in his family’s employ since his father’s remarriage. When
his father and stepmother perished in a horrible carriage accident, Roland had
protected him and Chadwick from the curious. But lately Roland and Chadwick had
become thick as thieves, often leaving him out of important manse
conversations.

No doubt the two had concocted
the ruse to preserve the manse, just as Jarvis suggested, but this time they
had gone too far. Pretending to be him and fabricating a marriage to some
unknown girl would not end well.

Luke stared out the window. The
village lay just over the nearest hill. Beyond that were towns and cities
teeming with people. People who had visited his estate, toured his grounds, and
met his wife!

What did this mean for his
future? What if he returned to London, met a lovely young maiden, and decided
to propose? Either he would be branded as a bigamist and a snake for pursuing
another while still married, or he would be branded as a divorcee. He wasn’t
sure which was worse.

He ran his hand through his hair.
Until he could think of what to do, he would need to hide out. Perhaps he could
move to the west wing and just allow Jarvis to attend to him.

Blast it all
! He slammed
his fist into his open palm and yelled, “Jarvis!”

Wig askew and livery lopsided,
the valet rushed back into the room, hit the ruffled rug, and slid, coming to a
shuddering halt two feet in front of Luke. He wobbled until stable and said, “You
called, your lordship?”

“I did but it seems I might have
interrupted a pleasurable experience,” Luke said, unable to hide his grin at
the sight of his ruffled servant.

Jarvis’ face colored the shade of
a pomegranate and Luke chuckled. “Come. I have many more questions to ask you.”

Jarvis tensed his shoulders as
Luke led him to a more comfortable location.

****

Two days later, Brigitta stood by
the window. The sun shone bright on this cool spring day. Heat permeated
through the glass pane and warmed her already flushed cheeks. In the distance
stood spiraling roof peaks. Curls of smoke wafted toward the sky. The town of
Stockport would soon enjoy market day and with market day the tours would
increase.

She left her window seat and
began an exhaustive search of her closet. All yellow gowns were immediately
discarded, as well as all red, blue, pink, and green. Eyeing the remaining
articles warily, she chose a maroon concoction. Underneath she added a
chemisette with white-work embroidery, long sleeves, and a high neckline. Per
her request, Letta had added extra lace and starched it, until the stiffness
pushed into Brigitta’s chin and lifted it with a regal air. Even if the style
was outdated, today Brigitta would leave nothing to chance.

She twirled before the
full-length mirror. Every criticism made by her husband had been addressed and
corrected. When he saw her this time, he would be so happy he would surely
allow her to accompany the tour. Perhaps she would even be allowed to dine with
him.

Letta opened the door. “It’s
time, my lady.”

Brigitta stopped at the doorway
and attempted to shore up her resolve. She only needed to hold her temper for a
few moments.

Her heart beat rapidly against her
chest as she stopped at the top of the stairs. Heated gazes graced her body
even as whispers floated from below.

Mentally she chanted, I will not
look. I will not look. I will not speak. I will not speak.

On the landing between the two
sets of stairs, she halted and faced the crowd. Happiness filled her and she
lifted her lip in a half smile in hope of pleasing the baron.

Several tourists pointed and a
stir arose. The people whispered, “It’s the baron!”

“This is such a treat. Until
recently few have come this close to him.”

An elderly man with a lopsided
wig said, “Just look at his regal bearing. One would never know that he and his
brother were sickly as young children. This kept them from attending Oxford or
Cambridge.”

His female companion replied, “How
dreadful. I dare say this is why people come to visit now, not only for the
entertainment but to gawk at the baron, as well.”

“Do you know he never leaves the
estate?”

“I heard it was because he fears
death.”

“I would fear it, as well, if my
mother died in such a violent manner.”

“I heard she fell from the tower
window.”

“I heard it happened in the west
wing.”

“The wing they have closed off?”

“Exactly. I also heard tell the
lady didn’t fall but rather was pushed.”

“Pshaw. She fell, all right. The
west wing is rickety and should have been repaired or torn down ages ago.”

“Hush, he is too near.”

Brigitta’s façade wavered. If she
were braver, she would chastise the lesser peers in attendance for their words.
But although she was quick to temper with her husband, her boldness ended
there.

Her pulse raced as the baron
approached. He eyed her suspiciously and tapped his finger to his chin. Her
hope soared. Perhaps she had achieved perfection and she would be rewarded for
her compliance.

“Baroness Stockport, I am
speechless,” said Chadwick.

The grin that before only lifted
one corner of her mouth now arced across her face with pleasure.

“However…”

With that one word, Brigitta’s
hope plummeted. Instead of waiting for the ensuing chastisement, she turned and
ascended. Never had she felt so lost.