Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue (7 page)

Rowena’s voice reached him. He opened his eyes and stared at her concerned face.

“Are you well, dear?”

He released his death grip on the bed frame and nodded.

She laid her hand on his forehead and her lip trembled.

He clasped her hand in his. “I’m fine, Mother. Just a bit of travel fatigue.”

She patted his cheek, and hitched her skirts. “We must hurry. Kingsley will act as your valet.”

“Thank you.”

The butler stepped from the shadows. A deepening frown tugged at his brow. Had Kingsley witnessed his episode?

Rowena flowed from the room. Her maid Juliet appeared and ushered her along.

“Mother seems well after our journey.” The title and the concern in his voice felt unusual, but good in a strange way.

“Indeed. And how do you feel, my lord?”

“I’ll be fine as soon as I change from these clothes and join the other guests.”

Kingsley assisted and soon he was staring in the mirror. His black hair lay across his brow, his dark coat with gold trim fit snuggly to his waist, the bow of his white cravat peeked out at the neck. The boots formed to his calves and shone in the candlelight.

“Do I look presentable, Kingsley?”

“You do, my lord.”

“Good.”

He snapped the heels of his boots and entered the common room to wait for his mother, praying he remained presentable for the duration of the afternoon’s events.

****

Lucretia hovered until Farrah wanted to scream. The chosen peach colored gown contrasted with her pale skin and bright hair. Sprigs of greenery were inserted into the thick weave of her braid. Peach slippers ensconced her dainty feet. She looked like the furry fruit hanging from the tree, only not delectable, but rather rotted.

“The transformation isn’t my best, but it will have to do.”

Farrah fought the urge to respond to Lucretia’s rude words. Shoulders slumped, she palmed her chin. If you only have a year left to live, does anything really matter? What would change if she blasted the maid or held her peace?

Farrah opened her mouth to request a change of attire but was interrupted by the door swinging open.

Clovis swaggered in. Medals attached to his dark maroon wool coat jingled against his ample frame. His balding head reflected the flickering candlelight. His pants rode low on his hips and a footman followed bowlegged behind him, periodically tugging them upward. A giggle started in the back of her throat and she quickly covered her mouth.

“Lucretia, is she ready?”

“Aye, my lord, as ready as I can make her. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” Clovis cocked a brow and the insolent maid continued. “Of course she is not as pretty as your other wives which made it more difficult, but I guess she’ll do.”

Farrah fought her rising temper as the two conversed over her head as if she wasn’t there.

Clovis closed the distance between them and circled her, tapping a finger to his chubby lips. “I agree, she is no Allison.”

“Or Ann.”

“Not really even a Liza.”

“Definitely not an Isabel.”

Red dots flashed before her vision and heat flushed her cheeks.

“She looks pale in the peach, my lord, but I followed your instructions.”

Clovis fingered the lacy sleeves. To keep from jumping up and clawing his eyes out, Farrah squeezed her palm until her nails pierced her skin.

“I promised myself after Isabel died that each wife would wear the same gown in her honor.”

The gown’s collar grew tighter and Farrah squeezed her hands together even harder to keep from ripping the gown off her body. She focused on the flickering flames in the fireplace. Her father had to have a grand plan. He loved her. No matter what he said, he wouldn’t marry her to Clovis for just more land or because of rumors about a sullied reputation. Her gut clenched. Was he concerned he might soon die and she would be left homeless?

Clovis stomped toward the door. A short footman raced behind, tugging his master’s pants up around his waist in a quick jerky motion. Lucretia followed. At the door he whispered in her ear and she waved her hand before her reddening face.

Farrah narrowed her eyes. So the lord of the manor liked his wives’ lady’s maid? Such information might be useful in the future.

Lucretia waited until Clovis was greeted by the footman in the hallway. When the “my lords”, and “your lordships”, and the necessary groveling ended, she faced Farrah, studied her from head to toe, made a last “Humph”, and left.

Farrah leaned in the chair and let out a long breath. The peach satin gown shimmered. Flames from the fireplace casted an eerie glow on the dull wooden floor. She wobbled to her feet and moved toward the heat. She could pull off the gown and throw it into the flames. Then she could wear whatever she wished. Prisoners got to pick their last meal before their execution, so why couldn’t she pick her gown before hers?

Miraculously, Garrett appeared next to her and held out his hand. She considered the offering and chewed her lip. She failed to accept, and he said, “My lady, the guests are waiting.”

Chin elevated, Farrah took his arm, and fought the tremble in her legs that threatened to consume her body. Garrett patted her hand as she tried to collect herself.

When they stepped out of her room, the vast hallway was empty. She needed to lighten the mood or she would go mad. “Can you believe I must wed in a gown worn by all of Clovis’ dead wives?”

Garrett halted. “No more, my lady.”

“What?”

“I have watched you grow from a wee babe to a young maiden and the thought of—” He stopped, shook his head, and clasped her hands in his. “I can’t change your future lass, no matter how much I want to. So stop sharing it with me.”

He dropped his hand and she relaxed her jaw. While she worked up the courage to reply, he wrapped his arm with hers and ushered her weakened form toward the main hall.

Engraved double doors stood open. Candelabras dangled from the high ceiling and light reflected on the shiny tiled floor. Whitewashed walls took on a yellowish glow. Couples formed a line and danced. Clovis lorded over them from his kingly platform clapping his hands and laughing at a jester who performed close by.

As soon as was prudent Farrah released Garrett’s hold and moved away. Clovis hadn’t noticed her presence and she was determined to keep it that way.

Backing away from the crowd, and seeking the obscurity of shadows, she encountered a solid object. She twirled and found herself staring at a broad chest. Lifting her gaze, she came face to face with the handsome stranger from the hill.

Thick black hair feathered back from his forehead. Beneath the candlelight his skin glowed like bronzed gold and his dark eyes twinkled. Did he recognize her in the dim light?

“I beg your pardon, miss.”

“It was entirely my fault. I should pay better attention to where I’m going.”

“Perhaps I should pay better attention to where I stand.”

Heat flushed her cheeks as he accepted the blame in a joking manner.

He bowed. “Andrew Ravenlowe, at your service.”

Internally she groaned. He’d revealed his moniker! She mulled it over. The name brought a measure of curiosity and she blurted, “Are you related to Rowena Ravenlowe, Countess of Ravenwood?”

“I am.”

She tapped her finger to her chin. “Interesting. Foolishly, I believed I knew all of her ladyship’s relatives.” She was digging, would he take the hint?

“I’m her son.” Farrah choked. The man, proclaiming an impossible status, patted her back, his brow furrowed with concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she croaked. Throat clear, she said, “You shocked me.”

“How so?”

“Well—” her response was interrupted by Clovis’ outrageous bellowing laughter.

“Lord Norhaven throws quite a party,” said Andrew.

“Hmm.” Should she return to her last thought and question the idea that he was Rowena’s son? Was such a relation even possible?

“Have you met his future bride?”

“Yes,” she replied, avoiding Andrew’s direct gaze and deciding to place her questions of his parentage on hold.

“Mother promised to introduce me, but her peers continue to keep her busy.”

“You’ve missed nothing.”
And I should know
.

“Indeed? My understanding was the new lady is a character of rare beauty. A little rough around the edges, but like a fine diamond she only needs a good polish.”

Her mouth agape she considered his expression for falsehood, but he appeared completely sober.

“Would you care to dance?”

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she held her hand out to accept his proposal. “I would love to.”

Curious guests scrutinized them as Andrew led her onto the floor. Farrah tilted her chin upward and ignored the looks. She planned to enjoy her last afternoon of freedom no matter what the cost. Besides after her impending death sentence, what more could they do? Whisper words behind her back? It was almost laughable.

The band struck the chords to a reel. The dance largely kept them at arm’s length, but when they drew together he winked and butterflies filled her stomach.

The song ended and Andrew escorted her to an empty sofa. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I apologize.”

She snagged a drink from a passing tray and sipped, speaking over the rim, she asked, “Whatever for?”

“I did not realize who you were until we strolled onto the dance floor. Now I’ve gone and revealed my identity.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but they were joined by another couple. She pinched his thigh. He grunted and shifted, before heartily bursting out with, “We mustn’t dance another step, I can’t handle it.”

Taking the bait, she replied, “A rousing reel can be quite exhausting.”

“True, but I fear since my accident I tire easily.” She cocked a brow and he patted her hand, the simple touch caused a wave of tingles to rush along her arm and she lost track of what he was saying and the voices of the nearby couple interrupted.

The lady asked, “Have you heard of the recent rash of highwaymen? Why I was afraid to even attend the wedding this evening.”

“As was I, but father insisted. He is always about free food.”

The couple shared a laugh and the lady continued, “I’m serious. They say the highwayman is alone and covered in hair, almost as if he is wearing fur!” The lady held a trembling hand to her heart and her male companion grasped it and brought it to his lips.

“You shouldn’t fear, my lady. I shall protect you.”

The fanciful giggling irritated Farrah’s already frayed nerves. She straightened, and placed her gloved hands in her lap. She was determined to find out more about Andrew. “I’ve very curious about your story.”

He leaned forward and whispered, “I’m afraid it is rather boring and I’m much more interested in you. What has brought you to Lord Norhaven’s wedding celebration?”

“Same as you I expect.” The lie tasted bitter on her lips.

“I understand the Ravenlowes and Flannigans are neighbors and longtime family friends. Mother insists she attends every wedding.”

“I see.” Farrah gulped. A servant with a tray passed and she grabbed a plate filled with melon and nibbled on the edge.

“I feel for the young lass. Spirited, headstrong, and forced to live here. But maybe she will rise to the occasion.”

“Does it matter how she reacts?”

“What do you mean?”

Farrah eyed Andrew in the well-lit ballroom. As the son of the family that claims lifelong family friendship with the Flannigans, she shouldn’t have to explain anything to him. But as a stranger, things were different. She should just share the knowledge, what would happen if he’d heard it all before? Trying not to blurt it out with all the hatred she felt, she said, “Clovis Flannigan kills every woman with whom he mates. The bride has no chance of survival, so why worry about changing or rising to the occasion, as you put it.”

“Because regardless of the future you expect, fate has a way of changing things.”

Andrew sipped his sherry and studied the young woman. The halo of bright red hair had caught his attention as soon as she entered the ballroom. Drawn to her like a moth to a flame, he didn’t care about her previous decree to remain anonymous. He needed to know her and be known by her.

The wedding guests forced a different line of conversation. Immediately, he noticed her reticence in speaking of the Flannigan wedding and bride. Nature bade him question further. The rosy hue that covered her cheeks caused a warm sensation in his chest.

Mentioning how sometimes things don’t turn out as expected must have thrown the young lady off course, because she’d become sullen. Her expression transformed from one of contentment to devastation. He prepared to ask why she concerned herself so much with the fate of the future Flannigan bride, but bells chimed announcing the wedding hour. The crowd faced the platform as Clovis lifted his beefy arms.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve gathered here tonight to witness yet another of my special unions.” Spectators laughed behind fisted hands and Andrew bent to whisper to his secretive companion only to find her absent.

Clovis continued to pander to the guests, but Andrew was uninterested. He tiptoed and glanced over the dense crowd. Red hair billowed beyond a fleeing figure. Andrew discarded his glass on a passing table as he headed for the hallway. He searched left and right. Peach skirts disappeared around a corner and Andrew turned to follow.

“May I help you?” A broad shouldered liveried footman stepped before him.

Andrew sidestepped to try and edge around him but the footman leaned in a similar fashion, blocking his view and his route. Annoyed, he leaned back and said, “The young lady who ran past, I didn’t get her name.”

The footman crossed his arms over his barrel shaped chest, but made no reply nor any indication of moving aside.

Andrew sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and reentered the main hall. The drapes had been drawn and the moon cast a glow on the floor’s uneven stones. An archway, covered in a canopy of foxgloves and roses had appeared before the platform. Pleasant aromas filled the air and Andrew found himself anticipating the moment.