Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue (10 page)

****

Had the floor fallen away or was Farrah standing on marsh? Perhaps her life had become a dream? Had she heard correctly? Did Rowena’s pretend son just offer to assist with her plight?

Rowena’s brows dipped deep and she pursed her lips before springing to her feet. Finger pointed to the ceiling, her jaw dropped open to speak but she closed it. She tapped her chin and collapsed back on the sofa like a woman much younger than her seventy years.

“A stunt of duplicity, Andrew?”

“Mother, just imagine the fun we will have!” Andrew proceeded to build his case until even Farrah was intrigued.

“Why should Lord Greywold be allowed to enter a household and swindle it away. I say he should not! Why if he has done this once then perhaps he has done so a thousand times. No, we must stop his thievery.” He accented his words by punching his hand into the other. “Together we shall end his reign of terror.”

Farrah’s heart hammered madly against her ribs and she jumped to her feet. “Let’s do it!”

Plans were laid to start that afternoon. All thoughts of worry stayed in reserve until Farrah rode in the plush carriage alone on her return journey to Norhaven. She bit the inside of her cheek. The information that Devlin foolishly believed she belonged to him, and the knowledge that her father had an unspoken ulterior motive had been kept close to her breast as she spoke to Rowena because she hadn’t thought the information helpful to her cause.

Worry beset her. To feel better she rehashed the details of Andrew’s plan. The idea of meeting him publicly and him expressing an interest in her seemed easy enough, for she found him exceedingly handsome. What worried her was how the plan would lead to regaining her husband’s land. Andrew was convinced he could help her recoup what belonged to her without her accepting attention from Devlin or another suitor.

Lifting the curtain, she stared longingly out the window. What would it be like to be a farmer’s wife? Difficult, yes, but freeing. She could run amongst the trees. She could feel the fresh mud between her toes. She could stroke the soft wool of ewes.

A vision of Angus floated across her vision and she fought a pang of guilt. Pushing the thought away, she leaned against the carriage’s seat. Why should she consider Angus’ feelings when he hadn’t seemed to worry about hers?

Another tinge of guilt assailed her. A few weeks of tormented thoughts hardly seemed worth a man’s entire life’s work. Yet what of Devlin swindling Clovis minutes before his death? The fake footman and disguised lord deserved to be hanged not receive more lands and another title!

How had Devlin managed it? Surely Clovis hadn’t gambled with his staff on such an expensive level. How had a man pretending to be a footman been able to offer an item of equal value? Why had Devlin hidden his true identity and taken employment beneath his station?

The questions pained Farrah’s head. The vehicle shuddered to a halt and Garrett opened the door. “My lady, where have you been?”

She blinked rapidly as she stepped out onto the first step and was blinded by the December sun. “I don’t believe that to be your business, but if you must know I’ve been visiting Ravenwood.”

She shoved past him. He touched her arm gently. “My lady, I must warn you, another solicitor has arrived.”

Worry clenched her gut and she forced a confident reply. “Good. Perhaps the matter of ownership will soon be settled.”

Garrett increased the pressure of his hold. “My lady, I fear the solicitor may challenge your claim.”

“If he must, then he must.” Farrah pretended she didn’t care. “If he gives Flannigan lands to Devlin then I will go home.”

Garrett released her, swallowed, and shifted his gaze. “But your father—”

“What about my father?”

“I gave Lord Norhaven our land to get him to marry you.”

The sound of her father’s voice had her whirling around. The words he spoke struck fear in her heart. Anger welled inside and she stalked toward him. “You did what?”

Her father moved forward, grasped her arms, and gazed into her face. “It was the only way I could make you a decent match.”

She threw his hands off and stepped back. The raised patio edge struck the back of her knees. The prickly hedgerow snagged her skirt and incensed her. “Am I so tainted you gave up everything to be rid of me?”

“It was to be temporary!” His face reddened and his jowls shook as he bellowed. Farrah shied away and he advanced. Spittle flew with his angry words. “One simple task, marry Clovis and produce an heir. The old man passes,” he snapped his fingers, “and you’re the new owner of Flannigan and Burrows lands.” He stroked his balding head.

How could her father have done this to her? To their family? To their servants? He’d offered their property as a dowry so someone with a title would marry her? Why had he not just let her be? She could have married Angus and been happy. Tears threatened to spill over her lids, but she held them at bay. At least now she knew her father’s motivations even if she didn’t understand them.

Garrett stepped between them. “Lord Mountjoy, perhaps we should retire inside. The solicitor—”

Winlock pushed past them and Farrah exhaled in relief and moved away from the hedge.

Garret whispered, “My lady, I should have warned you. I’m sorry.”

“As you should be.” Garrett’s vision fell and she added, “But thanks for the rescue.”

His face lifted and he offered his arm which she gratefully accepted, needing the strength he supplied. The embarrassment of falling and kissing the dirt was not something she desired at the moment.

Devlin stalked the library like a caged animal. Volumes, encased in brown leather, expounding on the virtues of living a life as a husband and father, lined the floor to ceiling bookcases. Who knew so many tomes had been published on the subject?

Taking one off the shelf, Devlin flipped through the pages. The author’s droll language and empty platitudes infuriated him, and he thrust it violently back in place. The solicitor, Gaston Gouge, reclined in Clovis’ seat behind his massive desk. Gaston cocked a brow at the noise, but made no comment.

Devlin continued to browse. Rage filled him over the extended wait. Where had the young woman gotten off to? He turned to ask the solicitor and was shocked to see the man now leaning back with his feet propped on the corner of the desk. Devlin fought his escalating anger. He prepared to address the solicitor but was interrupted by the library door crashing into the wall.

“I demand to know what is going on here!” An irate elderly gentleman strode into the room with Farrah at his heels. She stopped and her personal footman, who acted more like a guard, hovered over her, a fierce scowl on his lips.

Their anger gave Devlin great pleasure. Some men deserved their comeuppance and Devlin was happy to provide with his recent stunt.

The solicitor lunged from the chair, tugged at his greatcoat, and drew himself to attention. “Lord Mountjoy, what an unexpected surprise.”

“Humph,” grunted Lord Mountjoy.

Ah, so
this is
the great Winlock Burrows,
Baron
of
Mountjoy, owner of the
Burrow
Wood
estate
. The crotchety lord was well known in Devlin’s circles. Long had one of his fellow flimflammers sought a way to bring the arrogant cur down to size and now by a fluke he’d gained the privilege. His feeling of pleasure was almost too salacious to describe.

“I demand to know the meaning of this. My daughter holds the rightful claim to Flannigan lands and no other.” Winlock narrowed his eyes in Devlin’s direction, and Devlin fought a smile. He had the lord worried and the deliciousness of the event made him giddy.

“Lord Mountjoy, I apologize for the confusion, but it seems Lord Greywold may indeed have a valid claim. I’ve been sent to investigate—”

“You? But you are little more than a child! I will not be dictated to by such.”

“And yet, I hold your entire fortune in my grasp.”

Devlin wanted to clap his hands and yell
bravo
, but refrained by biting the fleshy part of his cheek.

Winlock narrowed his eyes and wagged his pudgy finger before Gaston’s face. The measly mouth solicitor seemed to shrink, his bravery crumbling under the direct assault.

“You may be in charge for now, but mark my words, if you try to swindle me you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

Gaston’s eyes bulged with fear and Devlin dropped his head and massaged his temples, his imaginary applause dying.

Winlock faced him. “As for you,” Devlin pointed to his chest, “you play a dangerous game. When I find out how you falsified Clovis’ signature I’ll have you hanged for forgery.”

“Why don’t we skip the inquisition and you can destroy me now.” Devlin leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, exuding confidence.

Riled, Winlock clenched his fist and swung. Devlin easily sidestepped the slow punch. Mirth bubbled inside him and he cleared his throat.

Winlock’s breath came in short, shallow gasps. His face transformed to the color of a beet and he clutched his chest.

Farrah’s scream rent the air and Devlin had to leave the room before he doubled over in laughter. Next time the lord might want to practice fighting before attempting to brawl with a man half his age.

****

His mother’s solemnity worried him. Her current attitude often came before a random act of madness.

The butler hovered in the background, stoking the fire, arranging pillows, and filling cups. Several times he shot worried glances toward Rowena before coming to stand directly behind her. “Lord Ravenwood, do you require anything?” he asked.

“No thank you, Kingsley.”

The butler strode toward the door and halted. A frown tinged his lips as he casted a lingering glance at Rowena before exiting. So Andrew was correct, his mother was on the verge of an episode.

He clasped his hands together and studied her. She lay on the sofa. A bony withered hand covered her forehead. Her colorless eyes glazed. What should he do? She looked so frail. The feelings he should have for her, struggled to burst forth. His heart hammered against his chest as he fell by her side and clasped her loose hand. It felt clammy.

“Mother?”

She blinked and looked at him.

“Are you ill?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I wondered if you were all right.”

“Of course I’m all right.” She sprang from the couch like a lithe tiger and stalked to the mantel. She stroked the gilded portrait of a young man in a riding outfit. “He would have been proud of you.”

Andrew frowned. He presumed the man was her dead husband and his father. The portrait stirred no memories or feelings and he had a tinge of guilt that he couldn’t share in her emotions.

She sighed. “I don’t understand why you want to help.”

He waited.

“Lady Norhaven, Farrah, oh, I give up! Why did you offer her aid?” She slid across the room, clasped his hand, and drew him to the sofa. “I know you have a kind heart and feel for others, but this girl is only looking out for herself.”

Andrew fought his confusion. Were their families not friends? “Mother, would you believe me if I said I feel the need to acquire restitution?”

She faced him. “Balderdash! I would much more likely believe you like the young lady and fancy her for yourself.”

“Well there is that.” He smiled, glad she understood.

She laughed and slapped him playfully, but her serious manner returned. “You’re a good boy. Why would you need to acquire restitution?”

“Mother, we all have skeletons in our closet.” Andrew swallowed; with his memory loss his skeletons could be vast.

****

Luke leaned in his chair and tapped the quill to his forehead. Numbers on the book blurred and he massaged his eye sockets. Vision cleared, he reviewed the accounts again. The estate funds finally seemed on the mend. After Chadwick’s liberties with the estate’s money, the figures before him presented a pleasant situation.

The door squeaked, and Brigitta entered. A smiled tugged at his lips as she sashayed around the furniture with deliberate action. He’d never seen a woman with child look more beautiful.

They had arrived at the Stockport Estate and settled back into their normal routine. The tours continued on a weekly basis, the tourists thrilling at the opportunity to visit the estate during the winter season.

He rose and moved to the sofa, patting the cushion next to him. Brigitta settled her hands in her lap. She sucked on her lower lip and his heart flipped in his chest. Yes, she had never looked more beautiful.

Luke kissed her cheek. A rosy hue flushed her face. Her embarrassment endeared him all the more and he leaned forward to plant a kiss on her lips, but she laid her fingers across his.

“Luke, may we speak?”

He nodded and moved back, his lips tingling where her fingers had been. She studied her hands. “It appears serious. Is something wrong?” His heart rate increased and he quickly added, “Is something wrong with the babe? With you?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, we are all right. I-I well I want to take another trip.”

“A trip?” He drew his brows together. What could she be thinking? Their trip to London had been physically draining on her and he had determined they would stay at home until the babe was born. There was no need to put her in danger so they could stroll about the countryside in the detestable winter weather.

“I know we agreed to stay home until the babe was born, but something has come up and I need to make a trip north.”

“But where?” He wanted to ask why, but refrained hoping to infer the reason based on the location.

“I must hasten to Rochdale.”

“Rochdale? Whatever for?” He couldn’t keep the force of his confusion from his tone.

“I have received word from a distant relative. It seems they are in some need.”

“But are there not others who can assist? You are in no condition to travel those rutted roads.” She patted his hands like she would a wayward child and he bristled and stood. “I insist you write a reply to your family member and inform them you are in no condition to travel.”