Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue (6 page)

Staff members paused in their activities and bowed their heads as he passed. Heat flushed his face at the attention. He didn’t halt his forward movement until he reached the stables.

“May I help you, my lord?”

“Yes. I would like a nice, stable mount.”

“Very well, my lord.”

The stable hand attached the saddle and Andrew climbed astride. He hoped to escape the view of the house before his mother or Kingsley spotted him. Otherwise his ride around the grounds might be forbidden before it began.

“Good sir, would you mind pointing out the markers for Ravenwood?”

The man didn’t frown or express any amount of concern as he proceeded to answer.

Andrew tipped his hat. “Thank you.” He galloped away glad to be on his own for at least a brief moment.

****

The wind ruffled her hair and stung her cheeks. Behind Farrah no alarms sounded or horsemen followed. She was perfectly alone on the hilltop, riding across Flannigan lands.

A fence row came into focus and Farrah drew hard on the reins. For as far as the eye could see the closure ran. “Must be Ravenlowe land,” she whispered.

Fog rolled in and settled around the horse’s hooves. Visibility diminished and she feared laming the animal. She dismounted and guided the horse to a peak. From her position she could make out the roofline of the Ravenwood house. Two tall, pointed colorful spires accentuated the corners of the rectangular building, reminding her of a cathedral in Rome. The topiary gardens sported a variety of stone statues. Gardeners slinked along the worn paths pruning dead plants.

Farrah found a smooth boulder and sat. The cool stone permeated her wool gown and pelisse. She wrapped her arms around her middle and shivered. A shadow passed overhead. She gasped as a greatcoat settled about her shoulders.

Tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, Farrah twisted and stared at the gentleman settling beside her. Broad in shoulder, his thick black hair settled over his brow and accentuated his coal colored eyes. His white linen shirt and cravat shone bright against his gray trousers and Wellington boots. Legs crossed at the ankles, he laid his gloved hands in his lap.

“You’re lucky I lost my hat.”

“Pardon?” Now her tongue released.

“I said, you’re fortunate the wind took my hat. Otherwise I would never have seen you sitting here. Is it always this cold? And, what of the fog? I think I’ve not seen it so thick in a month of Sundays.”

“Well, I-I—” Words completely failed her. Why was she babbling like an idiot?

“Of course I haven’t been to Ravenwood in some time. Perhaps this is the normal way of things and I am the one remiss.”

“The weather is common.” She had responded! Pride soared in her breast, until she noted his expression. His mouth quirked upward and he rubbed a spot between his brows as if he attempted to withhold laughter.

“Since you understand the weather, perhaps it was unwise to go out with nothing more than a thin silk pelisse.”

Chastisement from a complete stranger rankled. She rose to her full height, the marshy ground affected her equilibrium, and she toppled forward. The warmth of his hand encasing her arm shot a ripple of tingles along her already chilled flesh.

How was she to express fury if he continued to rescue her?

He patted her vacated seat and she plopped beside him with a grunt, immediately regretting her indelicate action. His only reaction was to cock a brow, but propitiously failed to comment.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself, I am—”

She clasped her gloved hand over his mouth and he arched his brow. “Please do not tell me your name.”

He shrugged his shoulders and she removed her hand. How could she explain her request?

“I suppose you have good reason for not exchanging monikers?”

“I do.”

He waited patiently, studying the seams of his leather gloves. She wondered what ran through his mind. Would he force the issue of exchanging names?

****

Should he force the issue of exchanging names? The young mistress in his company seemed inclined to remain anonymous. Perhaps her route worked better for all concerned. In his current situation as newly arrived to a town he should be familiar with, keeping his identity a secret might behoove him.

The lady trembled, whether from cold or fear, was unclear. Red curly hair peeked beneath her bonnet. Bright green eyes peered at him through reddish brown lashes. Freckles dotted her rosy cheeks. Indeed the lady was lovely even with the thick brown woolen gown she wore.

A question nagged at his consciousness. Why was she riding alone? Or…perhaps she wasn’t alone.

His heart beat faster as he scanned the tree line for liveried footmen. They might be hidden in the bushes, arrows notched and ready to sail directly into his heart. He scooted a couple of inches away from the young lady.

“As the lady wishes.”

She released a breath and relaxed. They sat quietly. Birds cawed overhead and hounds barked in the distance. He shivered.

“Are you cold, sir? May I offer you your coat back?”

“Nay. You must keep it.”

She smiled and his heart soared. He could sit here all day and stare at the young lady, absorbing her beauty could be a lifelong pursuit.

Smoke rose from the fireplaces at Ravenwood.
Home
. He should return. Rowena would expect him for afternoon tea. And of course there were preparations to be made for the Flannigan ball and wedding ceremony.

Andrew cleared his throat and went to rise, but the lady placed a delicate hand on his forearm and squeezed. He faced her.

“Would you mind waiting with me for a few moments longer? I enjoy the solitude, and I need this time, but I fear being alone.”

The incapability of the statement had him reeling, but when she smiled and batted her lashes in his direction he had trouble saying no. He resumed his seat.

“I’ve visited here many times, but never have I just sat and gazed over the land. The place is truly beautiful.”

“Yes.” He snuck a glance at his companion.

“When I was a child my family would visit Ravenwood. Rowena and my mother got along famously. My mother was the calm one, and Rowena was on the ostentatious side, so they complemented one another.” She wrapped her arm in his and placed her head upon his shoulder. The feel of her cheek through the thin linen fabric of his shirt had his heart thumping madly in his chest, and breathing became painful.

“Do you hail from close by?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know of the wonderful people hereabouts. Rochdale is a close knit community. Everyone knows everyone by name.”

Andrew gulped. He remembered no one by name. Would the townsfolk be hurt if they realized?

“At Christmas, the entire town gathers to sing carols. Then we feast on venison and roast beef, mince pie, and of course Christmas pie. But this year…” She shrugged and her eyes glazed.

“This year will be different,” he added for her.

A tear slipped from her eye and onto her cheek as she nodded. In a flurry of motion, she swiped it away, replacing her melancholy look with a smile. Gracefully, she rose and handed him his greatcoat. “Perhaps it is time I returned home. It has been very nice meeting you and I hope to see you again.”

He lifted her hand and kissed the back, never taking his eyes from her face. “It has been a pleasure meeting you as well. Perhaps we will meet again.”

She swallowed as he released her. Without a word, she climbed astride the midnight-coated horse. At the last minute, she twisted around and looked at him. “Soon, yes?”

He nodded.

She kicked the horse’s flank and disappeared into the fog. He shrugged his coat back on reveling in the warmth she’d left behind. Her honeysuckle scent saturated the fabric, and he inhaled deeply. He would never forget her, and he would see her again no matter the cost.

The carriage bounced along the dirt road. The footmen had padded the vehicle and adjusted the struts to give the smoothest ride possible, yet Andrew’s head still pained and his bum ached. Doctor Harold Pennyworth wasn’t happy about Rowena’s decision to attend the Flannigan wedding. He insisted the jaunt would hamper Andrew’s recovery. Andrew had taken a nap to appease the good doctor, but it had not prepared him for the short, uncomfortable journey.

Rowena Ravenlowe, dowager Lady of Ravenwood, hung on the verge of a mental breakdown. Moments of lucidity were often punctuated with absurdity at which time her butler, Kingsley, hid her from view.

As Andrew watched his dozing mother he remembered the first incident he had witnessed only a sennight prior.

Andrew and Rowena had enjoyed a light dinner at the London townhouse. A footman had brought in a dessert of apple cobbler on a silver tray and arranged the delight on the sideboard. He’d cut two slices and delivered each of them a portion.

All had seemed well until Rowena lifted the fork to her lips. One minute they spoke of their impending journey north to Ravenwood and the next moment apple cobbler splattered against the flowery paper-hangings. Further splats were punctuated by fits of giggling.

Kingsley had rushed in, removed the projectile, and escorted Rowena from the room. Stunned by the unexpected spectacle, Andrew hadn’t moved. A footman entered and cleared the table. After he left Andrew had cradled his head in his trembling hands.

From then on, Andrew had proceeded to analyze the unusual habits of his mother. While Rowena’s sanity remained in question, her generosity was not. Everyone in her employ spoke well of her ladyship. The day before when they had arrived at Ravenwood, the villagers had run to the carriage, waved, and shouted, exhibiting happy friendly attitudes at having their mistress return.

The wagon dipped sharply and Rowena stirred and shouted, “Watch the road, Mortimer.”

“Sorry, my lady,” came the driver’s muffled reply.

Rowena batted her lashes and arranged her skirts. “Let’s discuss our expectations.” Andrew waited glad to focus his mind on other issues. “Clovis Flannigan, Earl of Norhaven, has been married so many times he is constantly looking for ways to set his brides apart. His first two weddings were so close together, and almost identical in spectacle, that the second wife was called by the first wife’s name. That year of marriage was awkward to say the least. But Clovis learned his lesson and each proceeding wedding has been unique.”

“How has he set this one apart, Mother?”

“With a ball before a midnight wedding.” He cocked a brow and she smashed her lips together. “I know the rules say a wedding is supposed to occur before noon, but I guess midnight is before noon.” She laughed then continued. “Do you know Clovis once asked me to marry him?”

Andrew shook his head. He couldn’t say he was surprised. The man seemed like one desirous of growing a brood of children while in the process of amassing land and wealth through his wives’ demises.

“He did. But I declined. After watching him outlive the young, I knew I was without hope.”

Rowena prattled on about her youthful excursions, and Andrew only half listened. He lifted the shade and peered across the vast green pastures. They had exited the village consisting of well-kept farms and entered the rural lands between Ravenwood and the Flannigan estates. Sheep bleated on the hillside. Shepherds stood above them like lords with crooked poles. Crows circled and took turns swooping down to retrieve their supper.

Andrew drew back. If what Rowena said was true then Clovis’ bride of today would be deceased within the year. He found himself wondering if the young lady knew her fate and if she did, why she had agreed to such a future.

Rowena quit speaking as the carriage rolled to a jerky halt. She held tight to his arm. “Stay close to me. There will be viperous women here searching for a husband and with your natural good looks and Ravenlowe charm, you will be impossible to resist.”

“I shall remain by your side.”

She patted his cheek. “That’s my good boy.”

A footman in maroon and black livery opened the door. A second footman equally arrayed escorted them up three stone steps onto a tiled patio and through a grand set of double doors adjusted to the height of a giant. Shiny marble ensconced the floors, vivid red and blue tapestries covered the hall which led to a cast iron spiral staircase.

Greeted briefly by the butler, they were handed over to another footman who showed them their rooms. Portraits of various women glared upon them as they strolled along the wide hall.

At their suite doors, the footman said, “You have approximately three hours before the ball. Everyone else has already arrived and prepared for this evening’s activities. Is there anything you require?”

Andrew cocked a brow at the footman’s insolent voice. He opened his mouth to share his opinion when Rowena squeezed his arm.

“Our servants will look after us. You are dismissed.”

The footman snapped his heels, turned, and waltzed away.

“Well played, Mother.”

She shrugged. “I would rather not deal with Clovis’ staff. The arrogant jennet breeds his staff to match.”

Andrew covered his mouth to stifle his laughter as he entered their suite. They had a common sitting area with two paisley sofas, a hideous maroon chair, and a stone fireplace. The oak mantel showcased a vase of blooming primroses. A mirror sat above creating a double image of the ill decorated room. Andrew forced himself to turn away.

On the east and west side were two doors. Rowena entered one.

“Ah, this is one of our bedrooms. Seems like I remember staying in this suite when he married wife number five.”

“How many times has he wed?”

“I can’t remember, but more than five.”

“And he has no children?”

She cocked a brow, a strand of graying hair dropped over it. “No known legitimate ones.”

Rowena moved past him and opened the opposite door. The scent of sandalwood oil drifted toward his nostrils.

“This room will be yours.”

Andrew entered. His trunk was stowed at the foot of a four poster bed. How had the staff brought it in without his noticing?

Passing the container, he stroked the coarse brown coverlet on his bed. Sharp, stabbing pain rocketed through his skull. He shut his eyes. A blurry image of a similar bedroom only with dark blues and brilliant whites, floated past his vision.