Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue (11 page)

A fire lit behind her eyes. Jaw locked, teeth clenched, she fisted her hands to her sides and rose to her full height. Inches separating them, she hissed, “I will do as I please.” Before he could open his mouth to protest, she spun on her heel and stalked from the room.

The shock of her behavior left him gawking. The door slammed shut, he ran his hand through his hair, and dropped to the sofa. What was he to do now?

****

Brigitta stomped up the stairs as loudly as her soft-soled slippers would allow. She slammed the door to her suite, stalked to her dressing table stool, and dropped. She palmed her chin and stared at her wide, crazy eyes.

She released a breath. What had possessed her to argue with Luke? His goal was only to protect her and their child.

She slapped the dressing table, stood, and paced. Why couldn’t he understand her desire to reunite with family? He was the only person she had in the entire world. If something happened to him then she would be alone again.

The letter lay unfurled on the dressing table. She leaned over the crinkled paper and read it again.

Dearest Brigitta,

I apologize for taking so long to write.
It seems forever since last our families visited. Mother would be disappointed that we’ve lost touch. Why does it seem when the mothers go
the entire family collapses?

Brigitta paused in her reading and swiped away a stream of tears. Vision cleared, she resumed.

Father has been a complete bear since mother’s passing. I’ve come to the conclusion a man should not be left without a wife.

I sit here twisting my hair in knots over what I wish to tell you. You’ve been a
trustworthy
confidant
and
I’ve always
known
we shared a connection even though our visits were infrequent.
With no sisters
of my own,
I’ve allowed you to fill that place in my heart. So I will just say what is on my mind.

I’m in love! Angus McLin is the son of a small farmer
who
lives on father’s land.
We’ve had the most amazing summer!
Clandestine meetings in the heather fields, strolls through the town center, attending the local fair.

The letter ended abruptly. When it resumed, the style of writing had changed from smooth strokes to a more erratic scrawl. Ink blots dotted the page. Had her cousin been crying as she wrote? Brigitta chewed her nail as she continued.

I planned to tell father
about Angus,
but the timing never seemed right. I didn’t mean to cause harm. Alas,
everything is in disarray!
Father
has declared I am to marry an elderly gentleman,
a man
old enough to be my grandfather! I tried to say no, I thought of running away,
even to a
Spanish
nunnery! I imagine your laughter,
but I assure you my circumstances are dire and have continued to worsen. The opportunity
to escape has even been
taken from me as I’ve been guarded night and day like a prisoner.

Here the letter stopped again. Brigitta flipped to the next page which held the most recent information.

My letter has been interrupted more times than I care to count! There is no privacy
afforded me. I write to you now as a woman in deep distress. The wedding to Clovis Flannigan, Earl of Norhaven,
has
occurred. I am still in disbelief that I’ve married. But you won’t believe what
has
happened. My husband perished! On our wedding night no less. It was a devastating event,
and while I hoped
his demise
would mean I could resume my life
as a
widow, perhaps marrying Angus in the
future,
even that
has been stolen from me.

A man of some unknown reputation appeared and swindled Clovis out of his land and property
as I waited in the wedding chamber.
The rogue has even insinuated that I’m part of the Flannigan property and belong to him as well!

If you are able to come, I would love to have your support.
I know you will understand my jumbled thoughts even when I don’t understand them myself.

Your
loving
cousin, Farrah Burrows

The abrupt ending left Brigitta feeling deeply unsatisfied. The idea her cousin was involved in a measure of duplicity brought deep concern and renewed memories. The way Farrah described her situation brought chills to Brigitta’s soul. Was it possible Chadwick had traveled to Rochdale and even now threatened the future of her cousin?

Brigitta must be allowed to travel to Rochdale. She just needed to convince Luke.

****

Winlock fought the physician. Garrett and Trace attempted to hold him still so the physician could examine him and were struck more than once. Farrah remained off to the side and folded her trembling hands before her.

When her father calmed, the doctor dried his hands and approached Farrah. “My lady, you mustn’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. My father is a crotchety old cuss. It will take more than Devlin Forster’s erroneous words to bring him down.”
She hoped.

The physician secured his coat. “I will return to check on him later this evening. Make sure he rests.”

Farrah agreed, sure that her efforts would be futile. Overexerted from his fight, her father lay against the pile of pillows. Garrett and Trace left the room and Farrah settled in a chair.

Her father’s color returned to normal and the rhythm of his breath normalized. Her back ached from the stiff chair. She stared out the parted draperies. Dollops of sunlight struck the pane. The bleak hill came into focus and she closed her eyes and sighed.

The door opened and she stood. Garrett entered, cast a brief glance at his sleeping master, and drew her aside. “How was your visit to Ravenwood?”

“It went well,” she answered, not looking him in the eye.

“You seemed pleased before your father revealed himself.”

“I am pleased, but I prefer not to share the details. The walls have ears.” Every manse in the area claimed their servants couldn’t keep a secret, but she believed it had more to do with the house’s secret listening holes than the staff.

****

Devlin slammed the small door shut. If only he knew what Farrah planned! Rule number three in the swindler’s playbook:
Having a leg up in any game assisted
in the win
.

He climbed down from the chair and scooted it back in place. Conveniently Winlock had been stowed in the room next to his and he’d found the listening hole between the two suites.

Maybe he should insist Gaston be placed nearby as well. Devlin could use the excuse that one never knew when they might need legal advice. He restrained his laughter. He constantly needed legal advice.

If he could get them close then he could eavesdrop on all the major players. A thrill of excitement shifted through his tense body. It was the only excitement he was likely to get. His room was drab with that dreadful maroon designated to the Flannigan family. Then there was the issue of the droll company. He would have given anything to have drawn the Elis Wold scam. The daughter was an atrocious bear with facial features like a scaly toad, but at least the return was high and he would have been in London. He could have taken a stroll to a local gaming house and secured extra funds. Or visited with his employer, the thought of which sent his heart racing.

He ran his hand through his hair. As it were he was stuck in the country. He spat on the floor. He despised the country.

Devlin headed downstairs. Heated gazes lifted toward him and he shoved away his fear and concern. What did he care if the Flannigan staff didn’t like him? As soon as he became sole owner of the land he would fire the staff one by one.

Inside the dining hall, Gaston leaned back in a chair. A grin covered his face and Devlin took a seat opposite him.

“Why are you happy?”

The solicitor bristled and made his body stiff, placing a fake scowl on his face.

“That’s better,” said Devlin, pleased with his power.

“Forgive my relaxed position, but I find lifting my legs increases my ability to think. A great physician—”

“Name?” Devlin feigned interest. If the solicitor considered them friends he would more easily rule in Devlin’s favor.

“Why he would be unknown to you Lord Greywold, but he was a visionary in my village.” Gaston paused, but Devlin didn’t comment and he continued. “The physician had the theory that blood flow increased brain activity. I added my own twist. If I subsequently elevate and drop my legs, then my blood will be jostled and rush to my brain more frequently, thus increasing my flow even more.”

“Has your theory been proven correct?” Devlin cleared his throat. He would not allow himself the pleasure of laughing at the ignorant fool.

Gaston shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Every time I go to relax, I’m interrupted.”

Devlin narrowed his eyes, before he could make further comment, Gaston stood and whirled around. Devlin internally groaned as Lord Mountjoy entered the room. How had he arisen so quickly? The man should have been down for days.

Winlock grunted and settled in the chair at the head of the table. His daughter, the beautiful spirited Farrah, remained off to one side while Garrett resided on the other.

“Lord Mountjoy, I pray you’re well,” said Gaston his lower lip quivering.

The simpering fool
! He was still afraid of the wrong person! Before the game was over Gaston would change his mind, Devlin would make sure of it.

Lord Mountjoy fisted his hands on the table and glared at the solicitor, who ran his finger around his cravat and gulped. “Let’s get this over with. What do you want?”

The solicitor blinked rapidly like he didn’t understand Winlock’s meaning but Devlin understood.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t act coy. I want to know what it will take to settle this matter.”

“Why, an investigation will settle the matter.”

“I mean without an investigation. Time is of the essence and I don’t wish to waste another moment.”

“There is no other way.”

Winlock released his grasp and leaned in his chair, his brow furrowed. “So you refuse to be reasonable.”

Devlin tired of the exercise. “Are you worried, Lord Mountjoy? I thought you said I was a forger and had no claim to the land.”

“I only wish to spare everyone’s time since we know who has the rightful claim.”

“I have all the time in the world.” Devlin crossed his arms over his chest and allowed his grin to widen.

Winlock narrowed his eyes until he resembled a hunting cat.

“There are other ways to settle the matter,” said the solicitor.

“Indeed, do tell.” Devlin enjoyed the game more and more.

The solicitor explained, “If the young lady consents to marry Lord Greywold then no one needs contest. Both parties would acquire rights.”

Devlin warmed to the idea. Marrying the young woman wouldn’t bother him in the least. Publicly Farrah was a charming woman with poise and grace, but privately she showed her spirit which he liked immensely. He’d attempted to woo her, of course, but she had ignored his advances. Perhaps a push from her father was in order.

Farrah frowned and Winlock shouted, “I will not give my daughter to the likes of him!”

Devlin couldn’t resist. “So you prefer your daughter marry a man thrice her age or perhaps you prefer one knocking on death’s door so you can swoop in and take his land when he falls into the grave.”

Winlock dropped his jaw. Devlin feared another episode, but the man quickly recovered his stanch resolve.

“Baiting me will do little good. I’ve been at this a lot longer than you.”

I doubt it.
Devlin struggled to keep his expression neutral.

Winlock stood. “Come, Farrah.”

The lady skittered behind her father and Devlin imagined her trailing along behind him, the feeling brought an excess of satisfaction.

“I’m just saying maybe we should consider Devlin’s offer.”

Farrah couldn’t believe it. Her father, stubborn as ten mules, was giving up.

Garrett replied, “But my lord, Devlin is surely a swindler. Why would Clovis sign away—”

“Because he was a gambler!” Her father’s voice rose until it felt as if the rafters shook.

Farrah cringed and sank farther into the couch cushions.

Her father’s tone lowered. He sat opposite her, and cradled her dainty hands in his massive ones. “Perhaps I’m a gambling fool as well. I knew the risks. I knew Clovis’ wives had died in childbirth, but I allowed my faith in Farrah to overrule my common sense.”

She didn’t know whether to beam with pride or bristle with anger.

“I can’t discount the possibility that Clovis risked his land in a game of Brag. And if he did the courts will decide who has a more legitimate claim, Clovis’ bride of a few moments or the document signed right before his death.”

The comment left Farrah reeling. What was she going to do? Her family could lose its land.

Her father’s hands fell away and she pushed off the sofa and approached the window. The sun dipped behind a hill and the land darkened. Moonlight glistened on the rock tombstones and highlighted the fresh mound of dirt marking her husband’s grave. No doubt he spun within the confines. It served him right for his cockiness. But whether he deserved his loss was irrelevant. The matter that concerned her most was her own family land.

She could live without the Burrows fortune, but what of her father? He was an old man. He couldn’t be forced to live destitute and in a hovel for the rest of his days. She had to do something.