Andrews Brothers 02 - The Rescue Page 11

  “But, my lord, I don’t understand—”

  “Then it is fortunate for you that you are not required to understand.”

  “Humph.”

  Andrew ignored Kingsley’s bristled feathers. “Now can you help me or will I have to step into a detestable gambling establishment and let one of those less than desirable characters assist in my plight?”

  “Heaven forbid, my lord.” Kingsley twitched his lips in a half smile.

  Pleased, Andrew said, “Good. We can start now.”

  “Now, my lord? But it is the middle of the night.”

  “Yes, it is, and since beauty sleep will do neither of us any good, we might as well get started on my education.”

  Kingsley rolled his eyes, while saying, “Allow me to retrieve my other slipper and wake a footman to light the fire in the drawing room. I guess we will retire there for our lesson.”

  Satisfied, Andrew fairly skipped along the hallway. The situation appeared to be improving.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The situation was not improving. Farrah rapidly penned another missive to her cousin in the south. Posted, she hid it on the table in the foyer with the others. One of Flannigan’s many footmen would take it to Rochdale shortly.

  Farrah hid in the doorway of the library and waited. Bennington called softly, and a footman that Farrah had yet to meet rushed forward and procured the stack of letters. No words were spoken as the young man hurried out into the cold afternoon.

  With the letter sent requesting Brigitta’s assistance there was little more Farrah could do but wait. The house was filled to capacity with those seeking to own it. Andrew Ravenlowe was determined to settle the matter in a game of risk. And she was stuck in the middle not sure whether to run and hide or wait out the decision.

  Devlin’s initial fancy toward her seemed to have cooled. He steered clear and only spoke to her at meals and formal gatherings where the solicitor was present. It was as if he wished to have no cause for impropriety while his claim was investigated.

  All of this would have been well and good if her father hadn’t signed over the rights to their own family’s estate. What had he been thinking? Why, he must be losing his mind in his old age to— A door slammed off the hallway. Farrah jumped and drew backward into the darkness of the library. One of the Hagan boys stalked past, and Farrah snuck from hiding and raced upstairs to her room.

  Hand against the door, Farrah gently pushed inward. The rusty hinges squeaked, and she cringed. The opening wide enough, she slid inside and laid her head against the wooden panels. When she lifted her eyes, she stared into the face of Lucretia.

  The eerie maid’s statuesque form hovered before the fireplace. Light radiated around her like a full body halo. She wore the peach wedding gown. Her hands folded neatly against the shimmering fabric. Eyes wide, she glared at Farrah, fisted her hands, and flew toward her in a rage.

  Farrah sidestepped and Lucretia bounced into the wall, and fell backward onto her bum. She convulsed, her tongue lolled to one side, and a slither of drool escaped her mouth.

  Farrah eyed the door. Lucretia was between her and escape. What was she going to do?

  ****

  Devlin covered his mouth. His belly shook with unrestrained laughter as he peeked through the Judas hole into Farrah’s room.

  Farrah’s blondish red hair stuck out around her head as if she was scared out of her wits. She trembled and gasped as the crazed woman ran toward her.

  The entire scene was too good to be true. Who would have thought the rule would even work? Rule number five of the swindler’s manual: After you’ve introduced confusion, introduce the spirit of confusion.

  He’d sort of confused the spirits. It had to count that he’d made Lucretia believe she was a spirit.

  Devlin dropped from the stool and closed the hinged door. He needed to be ready to spring into action and be the hero Farrah sought.

  In the hallway he listened for footsteps of footmen or sentries and was pleased to find he heard none. Happy to be alone outside Farrah’s suite, he leaned against the wall, crossed his legs at the ankles, and waited for the chaos to ensue.

  If he closed his eyes he could visualize the scene from earlier. He’d walked into Lucretia’s room and found Trace hovering over her like a child. He had sent the footman on an imaginary errand and approached Lucretia. The maid had scooted up in the bed, her skin drawn and taunt. She had no hope of securing the land for her and her illegitimate son, but he wouldn’t be the one to tell her that.

  “Lucretia, I hear you’re unwell.”

  She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Allow me to reassure you that when I become lord over this estate I will allow you and your son to remain here as my hired servants.”

  Her eyes narrowed further and Devlin’s heart soared at the feeling of power that surged through his breast.

  “I understand you were close to Clovis.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “I’ve brought you something.”

  She shifted beneath the crisp sheets, and Devlin drew the peach wedding gown from behind his back. She gasped, lunged from the bed, and tugged the material free from his grasp.

  “Feel free to wear it. I know you’ve always wanted to.”

  She had pulled it tightly to her chest and curled into a ball on the bed. While she was distracted, he had dumped the white powder into a glass on her bedside table. Gently, like a kind soul, he had offered it to her. “Lucretia, you should drink this.”

  She had downed the contents in one gulp, and he had replaced the glass and skipped from the room. After the exchange it was just a matter of waiting. The powder was said to cause insanity, and it seemed to have worked.

  Noises echoed from the room behind him. Portraits rattled on the hallway walls as objects crashed against them from the other side. If he didn’t interfere soon then Garrett might appear.

  Cracking the door, he dared to stick his head in the opening and quickly pulled it back as a vase flew through the air and struck the wall behind him.

  “Leave me be!” yelled Farrah as she hoisted another object and flung it toward the creeping Lucretia.

  In an uncommon act of bravery, he flung the door aside. He ducked as Lucretia’s fist flew toward his face. Then he pinned her arms to her sides as she struggled against him, kicking his shins, and head butting him in the chin. He held tight. Spent, she hung her head and went limp like a ragdoll. The draught had worn off.

  He carried her toward Farrah’s bed, but she blocked his path. Her chest heaved, her hair falling forward and caressing her waist, her green eyes burning with passion. As soon as he got rid of the old crow, he was going to take Farrah in his arms and— “Get her out of here.”

  Devlin blinked, shocked by the vehemence in her voice.

  “I said get her out of my room!” He didn’t move. She clenched her skirts, stalked to the door, and shouted, “Garrett!”

  The sound of a sword swiping against striding legs swathed in trousers echoed along the hallway. “Lady Farrah, you called.”

  “Yes.” She faced him and pointed a shaky finger. “Take Lord Greywold and Lucretia out of my room this instant. I don’t want to ever see her in my room again.”

  Garrett motioned him forward, and with the lifeless body of the elderly maid in his arms, he staggered. In the hallway the door slammed behind him. The weight of the unconscious maid brought a scowl to his face.

  The rescue had not gone as he’d planned.

  ****

  Andrew rubbed the aching spot between his brows. The game of Brag was confusing. “So you say we are to decide on our initial stake and then how little and how much we are willing to bet to stay in the game?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Also the players can decide to look at their three cards or they can play blind and bet without looking.”

  “Yes, my lord, and may I recommend you don’t play blind.”

  Andrew muttere
d, “Not a problem.” He already felt like he was playing blind. The red and black colors on the cards blurred, and he rubbed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He lifted one corner and studied his three cards. He couldn’t remember what constituted a prial, a flush, or a running flush. His head pained, and he slapped his hands against the table, shoved the chair back, and stood. “This is hopeless. Is there no other game?”

  “My lord, Brag is the easiest to play and the easiest one to win. Besides I’ve heard it is Lord Greywold’s game of choice.”

  Andrew sighed and stalked to the window. A heavy mist hovered over the ground. The hazy thickness blocked the trees surrounding the estate. He shoved his hands in his pockets and returned to the table. “Very well, Kingsley. Show me again.”

  The next couple of hours Andrew tried to place the details of the game firmly in his mind. Once the game was understood then he would need to find money to bet. The coin would have to be significant for Forster to place Flannigan holdings on the table.

  Would his mother concede to the plan? He wouldn’t blame her if she said no.

  Kingsley clapped, bent his arm, and swiped the play chips off the table and into his hands. “I won! I can’t believe it, I won.”

  Andrew narrowed his eyes and scrunched his lips. “I believe you are missing the goal, Kingsley. You are supposed to be teaching me how to win.”

  Kingsley replaced the chips and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, hmm, there is that minor detail.” He flipped his coattails back and settled in the seat once more. “My lord, I’ve noticed you tend to lose when you are distracted. You must keep your entire mind on the game.”

  “Easier said than done, Kingsley.”

  Kingsley dealt another round. He held his cards like a professional. “Another part of the game is being confident.”

  “Confident?”

  “Yes. You must believe you will win. Now let’s try it again, and this time stay focused. Remember there are only so many cards and combinations.”

  Andrew closed his eyes. He could see the entire deck spread before him. He opened his eyes, ready to play. He lost the first hand. Anger welled inside him and his mind began to wander, but Kingsley shook his finger and Andrew reclaimed his focus.

  Hand after hand, he paid attention to the cards he held and what had already been played until he recognized a pattern and gained the ability to anticipate Kingsley’s next hand.

  “I think you’ve got it, my lord. Now there are other things to discuss. The pattern you’ve recognized.” Andrew cocked a brow at the statement. “Yes, my lord, I realize you’ve deciphered the pattern of what might come next, but this will be much harder with additional players. I will rouse some of the staff this afternoon, and we will try again. The key is to lose the first couple of rounds, while betting low, so you can see what cards have been played then you will be able to make an educated guess about what cards are still in play. When you are sure you have a winning hand then you will bet everything and win back Lady Farrah’s homeland.”

  Andrew patted Kingsley on the back. “Old chap, I think you’ve given me the hope I’ve been searching for.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Farrah paced the bedroom and cursed the ground, the fireplace, the weather, her father, and everything else she could think off. How dare that crazed maid enter her room and accost her?

  Broken shards and splinters of vases, silken mutilated flower petals, and wooden chunks from frames, littered the room. The madwoman had forced her to smash or throw every item of value just to protect herself.

  Farrah dropped into a seat, struck her legs before her, and laid the back of her hand against her damp forehead. She had to get out of this mess. Maybe the letter she’d sent Angus would reach him on the shore, but what if it didn’t? Andrew and her father both had ideas, but all of those were happening without her. She was like a ship cast into choppy water with no lifeboat and no hope of rescue.

  She made her way to the window. A cool breeze filtered through the draperies and she allowed it to strike her heated cheeks. The hill with the tombstones still mocked her. Besides the pacing sentries in the hideous courtyard, it was her only view.

  Farrah turned from the window and reentered the room. There had to be something she could do to distract herself. After Lord Greywold deposited Lucretia he would no doubt return to receive his pat on the back for his act of bravery. She would not put it past the lord to have created the incident himself so he could swoop in and rescue her. She shook her head. How could he manage such a feat? The idea was preposterous. Right? Just because she didn’t like Devlin didn’t mean he had the power to accomplish such exploits.

  The closet door swayed in the breeze. Farrah eased across the room and approached it slowly. She wouldn’t put it past Trace to jump from the confines and scare her once more.

  With trembling fingers, she touched the door. No one appeared to be inside and she forced herself to relax.

  Farrah shuffled through the hanging gowns. Dresses of heavy brown wool butted against gowns of silk. She grabbed her pelisse and drew it on over her short spencer. She modeled in the mirror, enjoying the way the dark blue pelisse complemented the pale pink gown. With her fiery red hair she mimicked a court jester. She sighed and arranged her hair atop her head. Without a maid she would be regulated to caring for her own needs. It could be worse. The barmy Lucretia could still be helping her. The thought made her shiver.

  Farrah cracked the door and peeked through the chink. No one stalked the halls. Straightening her spine, she stepped out. Heavy footfalls echoed, and she quickened her pace. Her heart fluttered wildly against her chest as she found an alcove and hid. A footman passed, and Farrah sneaked back into the hallway behind him.

  At the end of the hall she reached the servants’ staircase. Timidly, she placed her slippered foot to the edge of the stairs, cringing when they groaned under her slight weight.

  The staircase ended in the basement which was across from the staff’s dining hall. Only the cook and scullery maid occupied the room and Farrah scurried past.

  Outside the afternoon sun warmed her face. A chill wind flirted with her thin gown and she drew her pelisse tighter around her shivering frame.

  Sentries regularly patrolled the meager surroundings. Farrah moved to the shadows created by a thorny hedgerow. When the sentry passed she plunged from the bush, held her skirts, and raced on tiptoe to the stables.

  As she approached, a side door opened and two stable hands exited. Farrah counted to twenty before braving the exposed yard. The stable’s heavy door creaked as she widened the opening and slipped inside. Dismay filled her as she was engulfed by darkness. The lantern had been doused. Light filtered through slits in the plank walls. Eyes adjusting, she stumbled in the dark and bumped into the wall sending tools rattling to the dusty floor.

  Holding her breath, she waited for someone to rush in and catch her. When no one came, she released her breath and continued.

  In the last stall, she found her midnight-coated horse. Again, he pawed and scraped the ground. Farrah lit a lantern and studied the animal. She stroked the unique white marking on its nose. The horse nuzzled her palm.

  “How have you been? Times have been rough. I apologize for not visiting you sooner.”

  With the lantern secure on a level spot, she hoisted the saddle off a stall wall. She whispered, “Aren’t you a handsome boy? Do you want to go for another ride? I know you want to escape as much as I.” The horse calmed. Once she had the saddle in place and tightened, Farrah extinguished the lantern and led the horse by the reins to the door.

  Here her courage faltered. How could she drag the horse out in broad daylight, into the open yard, and escape without being seen? If she was discovered, Garrett, her father, and even Devlin would try to stop her. The desire to ride and seek distraction seemed like a hopeless dream.

  She bit the inside of her cheek and waited for divine intervention. As if tired of waiting, the horse moved restlessly, giving her a nudge
that sent her reeling backward into another stall. Without warning, the horse within let out a piercing wail. Farrah covered her ears as the other equines joined in. Hinges groaned as several animals bucked and kicked the walls as if untamed.

  Epiphany struck. She needed a distraction, so what if she created one?

  Quickly she secured her own mount to a post. Next she opened all the stall doors. The horses lined up before the stable doors and pawed the ground anxiously. She released the latch and pushed. As soon as light struck the ground the lead stallion burst out. The others followed.

  Farrah rushed to grab the reins of her own mount and settled herself astride the beast. She lay low hoping her dark pelisse blended with the horse’s shiny black coat and that she wouldn’t be noticed.

  Sentries shouted. Stable hands and footmen appeared and chased after the roaming horses while Farrah eased away and took to the driveway. The stinging wind struck her face but she didn’t slow until the house faded from sight.

  The sun’s rays were blocked by tall white pines lining the long drive. Flurries floated and landed on the green needles. She shivered as the flakes covered her hair and melted, sending icy water running underneath the collar of her pelisse and wetting her gown.

  The plan to leave the estate for a brief time may have been a mistake. Ignoring her concerns, she increased the horse’s walk to a canter. Not far and she would be in the town of Rochdale. There she would need to decide whether to sneak past or stop and warm by a fireside.

  ****

  Kingsley left the gaming table and Andrew grew weary. Since his release from imprisonment, his health had slowly improved. The daily shoveling of hay had helped him regain his strength. Tired from the morning’s game and sleepless nights, he chose to take a nap.

  The pulled drapes blocked the light. He stretched out on the bed and wrapped in a cover. His eyelids grew heavy and the flames in the fireplace flickered…

  “What do you think?”

  “Sir, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”