Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue (9 page)

“Why, why?” she cried.

Andrew arched a brow and skirted around the mad display in search of his mother. The house inhabitants had clearly lost their collective minds. It seemed a prudent time to leave or at least escape to his suite of rooms for the remainder of the evening.

A frail hand squeezed his forearm. In hopes of seeing Farrah, he plastered a smile on lips and had to hide his disappointment at seeing his mother.

“Andrew, we must hasten to the marriage hall. The butler has an announcement and with all this caterwauling it doesn’t sound good.”

The tittering, half-drunk, hysterical crowd was led by an agitated butler, his arms flailing. Once in the ballroom, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, a grievous natural phenomenon has occurred this evening.” The man drew in an unsteady breath and continued. “My lord, Clovis Flannigan, Second Earl of Norhaven, has passed from this world into the next.”

A communal gasp filled the air.

“I know his death comes as a shock and Lord Norhaven will be greatly missed. So if you need to take a moment to reflect we understand. At this time we offer our hospitality to you. Feel free to stay until the funeral proceedings are concluded.”

Visitors rushed the butler and Andrew drew his mother aside. “I wish to return home to Ravenwood.”

“Of course, my darling. I will have Kingsley pack our bags posthaste and we shall flee this house of the corpse tonight.”

Andrew couldn’t have been happier to leave the house of deceit and lies. The sooner the better.

Garrett squeezed Farrah’s shoulder. Trace McNaught, the Flannigan’s first footman paced beside Bennington, the Flannigan’s aged butler. The physician had been secreted away with the deceased for a great length of time. If he determined Clovis’ death lay at fault with Farrah, then her life would be in danger.

Devlin Forster huddled in the corner. The livery he had sported the day they met had been exchanged and he presented himself to those in the room as the First Earl of Greywold. Currently, a frown tugged at his brow and he cradled a glass of sherry. He cast covert glances her way and she widened her eyes and boldly returned his stare.

The audacity of the man! How could he stand there and act as if he hadn’t lied to the lot of them? Why everyone in the room surveyed the newly announced Earl, no doubt reviewing their conversations over and over in their head to assuage their fears that they hadn’t condemned themselves with their speech.

Farrah worried her lip. Their own dialogue upon the hill could well place her in dire straits. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut in unknown company?

The internal berating stopped as the door opened. Those in attendance snapped their heels together, and came to attention.

The solemn faced physician wiped his hands on a towel. “It seems Clovis died of natural causes.” Everyone glanced at her. She released a breath and lowered her chin. The physician added, “At least I find no evidence to the contrary.”

Trace stumbled forward, his eyelid twitching. “Are you sure?”

Unusual emotions flitted across the young footman’s face. Why was he so concerned with what happened to Lord Norhaven? Did he fear for his position in the household or was there something more? The boy did kind of resemble…

“Yes. It seems the excitement was too much for him, and I fear his heart simply gave out.”

All eyes shifted to her and heat flushed her face.

Devlin settled his glass on a low table, leaned against the wall, and crossed his legs at the ankles. “Was there evidence of consummation?”

Farrah groaned.

Garrett trembling with unrestrained anger stepped forward. “Pardon, my lord, but I fail to understand why that is your concern.”

“Because I have a piece of paper here giving me rights to all Norhaven property.”

Lucretia entered the clustered hallway. As the last word was spoken, she swooned. Glasses filled with sherry toppled to the floor. Red liquid mingled with the glass fragments creating the semblance of a bloody mess.

“You lie!” said Trace, his hands fisted at his sides.

Devlin rose from his relaxed position and produced a wrinkled piece of folded paper from the breast pocket of his coat.

Trace grasped the fluttering sheet. His eyes widened and he stared at Lucretia still lying on the floor with the butler fanning her. A moan rent the elderly maid’s lips. Violently, she rose and ran from the room.

Bennington, with bowed knees and shaky hands, stood erect. “What does it say, Trace?”

Trace lowered the paper. “It is the Flannigan deed. There is an extra note at the bottom that says Devlin Forester, Earl of Greywold, owns all Flannigan property, if there is no legitimate heir to claim it.”

Garrett bristled. “Impossible! The Burrows were promised Flannigan lands with this marriage.”

Garrett and others circled around Trace while Devlin skulked toward her.

“How did you manage it?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gown had finally dried. The coat pricked her skin and she wondered where the owner had disappeared to. She would need to explain what had happened, but later.

Devlin poured himself another drink from the sideboard. The red liquid sloshed in the glass, the moonlight filtered through the windows and struck the red color. “Your husband was easily persuaded when inebriated.” He sipped at the drink, studying her over the rim.

She fisted her hands at her sides. “So you drank him into a stupor and convinced him to give away his land? Is that the gist of it?”

“No. I got him drunk and he gambled away his land and all his
possessions.
” Devlin cocked a brow and her heart skipped a beat.

Surely Devlin didn’t try to imply that she belonged to him as well. The idea was preposterous. Even if she’d agreed to marry Clovis because she trusted her father in the matter, she knew there was no way that her being was attached to the property as Devlin now insinuated.

Garrett guffawed. “I don’t care what you say! He promised his lands to—”

Others interrupted. The voices escalated behind her and Farrah imagined the words would soon turn to blows. Devlin squeezed her shoulder and she went to move away, but he increased the pressure until she stopped.

“The contract is binding, my lady. As soon as everyone accepts that I’m their new master, the better off they will be.”

Farrah would never accept Devlin or anyone else as her master. As of a few hours hence, she was simply the widow of a ruined man. Now she would make her own way even if she had to die to accomplish it.

****

The wedding debacle occurred over two weeks ago and still Andrew couldn’t erase Farrah from his mind. Her fair skin reminded him of a delicate flower, as smooth as silk. Her dark red hair trickled like a waterfall when it cascaded through his fingers, teasing his senses.

He threw the white pebble across the still pond. Ripples wafted over the smooth surface. Pain racked his head and he closed his eyes and massaged his temples. When he opened them, his vision blurred and he imagined he saw a different pond. No, not a pond. It was too big, a lake perhaps. It sat beside a house nestled in a grand wood. He blinked and tried to clear the image. A crow cawed. On the opposite side of the pond a flock of birds lifted to the air in one swoop. Just like that the memory disappeared.

Andrew kicked the pebbles at his feet. What was the point? So he remembered a lake. He’d probably visited dozens of lakes in his lifetime.

He picked up another pebble and stared at its surface. There was nothing overly interesting about the pebble. Bored, he let it slip from his fingers. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled along the path. Both sides were surrounded by ivy. The green waxy leaves punctuated with blooming foxglove reminded him of the wedding. Sighing, he lifted his chin. The sun glared, and Andrew shielded his eyes as he approached the house.

A plume of dust settled as a carriage rattled to a halt outside Ravenwood’s front door. A familiar footman glared and Andrew glared back as he passed by and entered the house.

Inside, he handed his coat to Kingsley and inquired, “Does Mother have a guest?”

“Yes, your lordship.”

“Who?” He tried to peek over the butler’s shoulder, but the parlor door was closed.

“It is the current Countess of Norhaven, however, she insists she is still Lady Farrah. It is all terribly confusing.”

“I see. And why is she here?”

“I don’t know, my lord.”

“Is there a way for me to spy on my mother and Lady Farrah?”

“Your lordship!”

Andrew scratched at his forehead to hide his laughter. “Don’t act so shocked, Kingsley. Now how can I go about it?”

The butler led him into the library. Bookcases filled with colorful tomes lined the walls. A lady’s writing desk set beneath the one window. Kingsley led him to a space between two bookcases and removed a section of wall, all with his finger placed over his lips. Andrew’s heart raced like a naughty child as he stepped upon a footstool and placed his ear to the Judas hole. Distinct voices drifted to him.

“Thank you for seeing me, Lady Ravenwood.”

“I’m happy to assist, Lady Norhaven.”

“Please call me Lady Farrah.”

“I fail to see the point, but if you insist. Now carry on.”

“Of course.” The sound of skirts ruffling was followed by a breathy sigh. “I fear I may be in dire straits.”

“How so?”

Like being married for twenty minutes before your husband perished wasn’t enough of a complication, now the young mistress had more?

“First, may I say how much I respect your opinion? You were always a friend to my mother and my family.”

“I was happy to be so.”

“Yes, well that is why I’ve come. As I said, I am in dire straits. Lord Norhaven’s will was read and it left the entire estate to his current wife and or living children.”

“Sounds normal.”

“It would be, if not for Devlin Forster, Earl of Greywold.”

“Who?”

“The tale is long, my lady, but in essence Devlin Forster, formerly known as Flannigan’s third footman, revealed his true identity. It seems Lord Norhaven hired him for altruistic reasons. But none of that matters. The main concern for us all is that Devlin, or Lord Greywold claims Clovis lost everything in a game of three card Brag right after the wedding ceremony.”

Andrew frowned. What was Lady Farrah talking about?

Rowena replied, “That does present a problem, but I don’t understand how I can help.”

Skirts swished. Perhaps Farrah stood and paced the room as she spoke. “I need advice about whether to accept or spurn Devlin Forester’s advances.”

Andrew drew in a swift breath. The voices silenced momentarily and he worried he had been found out until they began again.

“What do you mean?”

Andrew closed his eyes. He could imagine Farrah biting her lush lips as she pondered her words. When she spoke, he could barely hear her over his racing heart.

“Devlin Forster has made no secret that he finds me attractive. In the two weeks since Clovis’ passing, he has made various comments and advances to indicate such. I avoid him as much as possible, but the house is small and Lord Greywold is very creative.”

“I see. And do you want to accept his affections?”

“No, I do not, but to do so would make my situation easier.”

“Then why even ask me?”

“Because although I don’t want to accept his advances, I may find he is my only choice. Father wanted the Flannigan land. If I fail to give it to him…” The words trailed off and Andrew imagined she shrugged, before adding, “Unless you know of another who might satisfy my father’s desire for property.”

Andrew’s heart beat rapidly as he jumped from the stool and rushed to the door of his mother’s private parlor. He knocked, hoping the sound reflected calm assuredness and not forcefulness.

“Come in,” answered Rowena.

He cracked the door. Rowena and Farrah sat side-by-side on the low sofa. Farrah wore a bright maroon gown, not the garb of a mourning widow as he’d expected. Her reddish golden hair fell in soft waves around her creamy shoulders and he felt his throat tighten.

“Andrew? Do come in and speak with Lady Farrah.”

The opening widened and he stepped inside. Farrah flashed him a smile and he stood like a frozen statue. She cocked a brow, expressing humor at his plight, making him more determined to display confidence.

Ignoring her beauty, he strolled to Rowena and planted a kiss on her forehead. She patted his cheek and he sat opposite them.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” He addressed Farrah. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Rowena answered. “Farrah is seeking a suitor.”

Farrah’s face mimicked a pomegranate.

“Indeed.” Andrew found he enjoyed her embarrassment.

“Yes, but it can’t be just any suitor. Her father expects an increase in his lands but Clovis’ last act as lord dashed his hopes. Now the young lady has two options. One, take Lord Greywold as her suitor, or two, find another who is equally as suitable.” Rowena’s burst of information had Farrah studying her lap.

Andrew found he liked her being off guard, and asked, “And has the young lady made a decision?”

Farrah lifted her chin. A frown of annoyance covered her features and he delighted in his ability to rile her. It served her right for the torment she’d brought on him. Why he could hardly sleep without seeing her visage and remembering her dishonesty in allowing him to believe her free.

“Nay, she has not made up her mind,” replied Rowena.

“Perhaps I can offer a suggestion,” he said.

“You? What possible suggestion could you supply?” asked Rowena, shifting in an uncomfortable manner.

Andrew ignored his mother, leaned forward conspiratorially, and spoke directly to Farrah. “If you wish to be your own agent instead of accepting your father’s terms, why not find an accomplice? Someone who is willing to assist in an act of pure duplicity.”

She widened her eyes in surprise, but her expression quickly transformed. In an acerbic tone, she asked, “And who would be willing to do such a thing?”

He leaned back in the plush chair and crossed his legs. “Why, I would.”