Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue (21 page)

Devlin paced and mumbled under his breath. From Farrah’s right came a thundering boom and she slipped backward and lay flat to the wall. A hanging tapestry flapped from the breeze of her sudden movement, and for a brief second she considered it as adequate hiding. But what of the lump she would present?

Her father stomped around the corner. A fierce scowl settled on his face. She tried to blend, closing her eyes and squinting through only one lid. He grabbed the handle and flung the library door open.

“What’s the meaning of this? I’m not a pock faced child you can summon when you want to pick at someone.”

“Lord Mountjoy, Winlock. May I call you Winlock? Do come in and be seated.”

Her father growled, but entered and tugged the door. Farrah released a shaky breath and drew close. Her discernible chink had diminished, but fortuitously words still drifted to her hearing.

“What is this about?”

“Drink?”

“Devlin, of someplace I’ve never heard of, what do you want?”

Devlin cleared his throat no doubt fighting rising anger. “I assure you I’ve summoned you about a matter of great importance to us both.”

“If it is so great then get to it.”

“Well, yes.” A chair creaked. “That’s better. I’ve spoken with the solicitor and he assures me, you and I are the only two claims he considers legitimate.”

There was a tapping as if her father pecked the wooden frame of the sofa. “Indeed?”

“Yes, and since we both want the same thing, I suggest we consider resolving our issues without the law.”

“How kind of you.” Sarcasm dripped from her father’s voice.

“My proposal is simple. I will take Clovis’ place.”

“Explain.” The bellow was punctuated by shifting and Farrah’s heartbeat increased.

“I believe when you made the agreement with Clovis to marry Farrah that he gave you a considerable amount of money.” Silence bathed the room, and Farrah held her breath. “In turn you gave your land and daughter’s hand in marriage to Clovis. The only hope you had of ever regaining your land was the deal you made with Clovis that upon his death your land and Flannigan lands would be returned to Farrah. Does that about sum it up?”

Winlock’s feet struck the floor creating a tremor. “This is an outrage!”

“Tsk, tsk, Lord Mountjoy. You should be careful what you say.”

Paper rattled.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it is a very impassioned plea from a father to a friend.” The paper rattled and Devlin read:
“Farrah has gone off the deep end. This past week my guards found her in Rochdale flirting with a farm boy! I’ve tried to scare him off, even threatened his Pa with kicking them off my land, but the boy is so thick headed he doesn’t listen. He’s not good enough for Farrah. The
boor
will never make a good husband and with his relations
being
pirates he will likely be arrested and carted to the gaol.

The rumors they were more than acquaintances have tainted Farrah’s reputation. I fear if you won’t marry her then I’ll be forced to sell. My debts are too high and I need—“

“Stop.” The melancholy voice startled Farrah.

“You don’t wish me to go on? But the letter is just getting good.”

“What do you want?”

“I want Farrah.”

Farrah held her breath. Surely her father would pummel Devlin, or call for Garrett to do the honors. Or perhaps her father would explain that forcing her to wed him was not legal and he would stand up for her and not allow such an action to occur.

“Very well, but only if you strike the same deal I had arranged with Clovis.”

A sob escaped Farrah as she fled.

Brigitta woke and stretched her arms above her head. Luke lay on his side with his arm flung over his eyes. She nudged him and he opened one lid.

“Good morning, my lord.”

He planted a kiss on her cheek. “Good morning, my lady.”

She snuggled close to his side and used his chest for a pillow.

“What do you want now?” He asked sweetly as he stroked her long unfettered hair.

“I know we need to reach Farrah but since Christmas is just a few days away and we have the opportunity to celebrate…” she shrugged.

“You thought to purchase gifts to carry to Flannigan House.”

She chuckled. “How did you know?”

He sighed. “Because I know you.”

She pursed her lips as he moved from their embrace. “Where are you going?”

“Since we must purchase gifts, and reach Flannigan House today, I assumed it would be wise to rise and begin.”

“Hmm, perhaps you have a point.” She rose on her knees and waddled to the edge of the bed, crooking her finger in his direction. “Maybe we should postpone our arrival to Flannigan House by one day.”

He cocked a brow and drew a lose cravat around his neck. “But what of your cousin’s dire straits?”

“Farrah replied yester eve and informed me she had the situation under control. She fears she may have escalated her dilemma prematurely so I don’t think she will mind if I’m a day behind schedule. Besides, I’m enjoying lounging with my husband without fear of rumors.” He moved closer and she grabbed his cravat and tugged him forward. Her lips hovering above his, she said, “We never had a proper honeymoon.”

He flung the cravat against the wall and kissed her. Her lips twitched beneath his. Perhaps two days in Rochdale wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

****

Farrah hid in the kitchen. The cook and two scullery maids rushed about, complaining.

“Those Hagan brothers sure eat like Lord Norhaven used to. Their stomachs are like the bottomless pit. Seems no matter how much food we serve they are always clamoring for more.” The cook stirred vigorously. The stew’s aroma wafted toward Farrah and her mouth watered.

“Now Lady Farrah eats like a bird just barely picking at her food. Children starving and she sends half her plate back to the kitchen. Don’t she know we ain’t allowed to share her victuals. Sure the hog gets ’em but what good does that do.”

“I’ll wager she is too depressed to eat.”

Farrah nodded in agreement with the scullery maid.

“I would say you’re foolish. Women eat more when they’s done feelin’ bad.”

The scullery maid fervently denied the cook’s claim and shared an example to support her theory. Farrah tuned it out after the first couple of minutes, instead thinking on her newest set of concerns.

Devlin’s words of helping her be free and still keep her land had all been a lie. He wanted everything. If he had a chance to marry her then he would probably poison her and bury her on the hill of graves. Then he could have it all.

And how could her father agreeing so easily? What sum of money had Devlin meant? And what sum would be enough that her father would risk her standing before a minister and not revealing the truth, that she was being forced into marriage?

Boisterous noises traveled down the stairwell as the six Hagan boys tumbled into a heap at their base.

The cook planted her hands on her hips, her eyelid twitching. “What are you boys doing in my kitchen?”

Farrah drew her shoulders back and prayed they wouldn’t see her.

“Doyle, look over there. Ain’t that dad’s latest wife?”

Doyle directed his gaze where Cormac’s chubby finger pointed. He squinted. “That does look a sight like ’er, but why would she be hidin’ away down here. The heat in this place is like the ninth circle of—”

“Maybe she’s hungry. Ain’t got an ounce of flesh on her bones,” inserted Hugh.

The boys bickered back and forth about her motives. Fists were raised and Farrah feared their words would lead to blows.

“Now you boys get out of my kitchen. I won’t have any fightin’.”

Cormac grabbed Hugh and Doyle by the ears and hauled them out the back door. The other three brothers trudged along dragging their heels. When the door shut the cook eyed Farrah.

“What are you doin’ here?”

No my lady, just what are you doing here? Farrah bristled at the disrespect, but realized she was in the cook’s domain. “I only came to say… to say…” she bit her lip, noted the steam from the stew, and quickly said, “I came to say the stew smells delicious.”

The cook preened under the compliment, even going so far as to pat her hair and smile, which was a rare sight. The scullery maids hovered with their hands clasped in anticipation of their own compliments. Farrah struggled to find more to say, and when Devlin strode into the room she found she was almost relieved. Almost.

“What are you doing down here? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your father and I need to speak with you posthaste.”

“Excuse me,” said Farrah, hitching her skirts and running up the stairs. Her heart thumped madly in her chest. This was it. Devlin would reveal her newest torment and how her father would help him.

She entered the first floor of the house. Devlin was a few steps behind. Instead of going to the library, where her father surely waited to tell her of her fate, she ran out the front door and headed for the woods.

****

Chadwick threw the note into the fire. Flames licked the colorful, perfumed stationary. Devlin had wasted no time changing the game. Imagine Devlin sending out invitations to his impending wedding! Had the lord even consulted with Farrah? And if so, when? The two of them had only been together for a day. Was it possible the plans and invitations had been created so quickly? More likely the lord had already had everything ready and waiting.

Chadwick slapped the mantle and rubbed his throbbing palm. His plan for a masked ball might be too little, too late. He needed inside help to arrest the property from Devlin and hand it back to Lord Mountjoy. Farrah was the most logical ally but with her feelings hurt over his recent betrayal, he could hardly count on her support even if the end result helped her.

While Kingsley was an excellent cohort, he wasn’t Roland, and Chadwick wished his henchman was by his side.

Rescuing a damsel in distress while rebuilding a crumbing empire with no help was a feat he wasn’t prepared for. Sympathy for Luke’s plight after his own departure saddled him with guilt, and he sat on the sofa and stared out the window.

Rowena strolled about the grounds. She held her arm forward like a dog led her, only there was no animal present. Kingsley held her empty hand and oft times bent and pretended to pet the imaginary animal.

“She had a dog, you know.”

Chadwick turned his head and his breath caught. Farrah appeared at his side and stared out the window. Her hair was pinned in a bun at the base of her neck and covered by a bonnet. Mud encased her shoes and the hem of her pale blue gown. She removed her pelisse and laid it over the back of a chair. Pins fell from her bun as she ran her fingers through her hair and sighed.

“Rowena had a beautiful border collie that followed her everywhere she went. Then one day he disappeared.” She paused and faced him. “Rowena would have been a wonderful mother. Kind, doting, but for whatever reason she was never given a chance.”

Chadwick gulped.

“Year after year went by and she failed to conceive. Instead of dwelling on it she began doting on a stable boy who worked for Ravenwood.” She released a shaky breath. “The day the dog went missing so did he. They found them both floating in the river some miles away.”

Farrah faced the window again. “The poor lady hasn’t been right since that day. Her husband returned from London and she begged him to have a funeral for her son and dog. He told her she was crazy and they had an argument. He tripped, fell down the stairs, and broke his neck.”

Chadwick gazed more intently at the elderly woman in the garden. “So she lost everyone in…”

“In a week’s time.”

Pity welled in his breast. She was as alone as he, just as he’d feared. Taking a chance, he asked, “How come no one has said anything to me?”

Farrah smiled over her shoulder. “Because you are her son.”

“Ah.” What did she mean? He was afraid to hear the answer.

She patted his arm. “We all know you aren’t really her son. But if she believes you are…” She shrugged and tilted her head. “However, that doesn’t stop me from wanting to ask, who are you?”

He couldn’t afford to take the bait. If she discovered his true identity he would be sent to the gaol and if that happened too early he wouldn’t be able to help her. Instead of answering, he asked, “I think the better question is, what are you doing here?”

She wagged her finger. “I see you’ve changed the subject. Since I see no harm coming to Rowena over your duplicity, I will allow it to stand without comment.” She paused. “For now.” He cocked a brow and she added, “Besides I’m here because I hope your offer of assistance still stands.”

“But what about my handing you over to Devlin? Aren’t you upset?”

“Yes, immensely. But I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe there is more to the situation than at first one sees.”

His heart soared that she hadn’t completely written him off.

She paced toward the fireplace and tapped her finger to her forehead. “I know when you brought me here, and secreted me away in the attic, you had no intentions of giving me over to Devlin. If you had then you would have taken me directly to Flannigan House. No, he threatened you somehow. He got to you. Now I want to know how.”

His heart plummeted and he sought a way to distract her from her original question. “You’re here because you want me to help you?”

“Yes.”

“Then here is my idea.”

****

Sweet perfume permeated the air. He handed her an envelope. Farrah placed a strand of hair behind her ear before running a letter opener from Rowena’s desk under the seal. The thick paper unfolded. She read the words and furrowed her brow.

You are cordially invited to attend a

masked ball at the home

Of Lady Rowena Ravenlowe on

December 20, 1802

Farrah flipped the invitation over, but no other details were listed. Just a masked ball at Ravenwood and the date. She peered from beneath her lashes at Andrew. A wide grin spread across his face. He seemed pleased with himself.