Andrews Brothers 01 - The Ruse (18 page)

Luke drew Brigitta aside. “Stay
here until the guests have entered. Jarvis will stay with you and escort you
inside.”

She nodded, and he smiled for her
and walked into the nave. In the aisle he paused and spoke with Jarvis. “Do not
let her out of your sight.”

“Yes, my lord.” Jarvis fairly
skipped to her side.

Luke stopped beside the vicar.
The visitors slowly filtered in and Luke adjusted his coat. This was not the
wedding he had planned for himself. His parents would have been appalled to
find he’d tricked a woman into becoming his wife.

The sound of birds tweeting
echoed in the small glen outside the chapel, like mocking laugher, and Luke
ignored them and drew in long deep breaths in an attempt to control his
frazzled nerves. Jarvis opened the door and Brigitta stepped into the nave.

The baroness, as of yet in name
only, visibly trembled and Jarvis patted her arm and whispered something in her
ear. She shook her head. Then without warning her face paled and Luke stared in
abject horror as his wife-to-be collapsed in the aisle.

Luke paced erratically outside
Brigitta’s door. The time to marry had come and gone. The guests had been
escorted away and the doctor summoned.

The physician attended Brigitta
now whilst he waited outside, supposedly in a patient manner, but the panic
boiling within him put the lie in that phrase.

Finally the door opened and the
doctor stumbled into the hallway. Luke said, “How is she?”

The doctor whipped his head up
and staggered again, as if stunned by the intrusion into his thoughts. “Oh, it
is you, my lord.”

“Yes, I was inquiring as to my
w-wife’s condition.”

“She is fine, my lord.”

“But she fainted.”

“Perhaps she saw how handsome you
are and swooned, or perhaps,” he cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered, “there
is a babe on the way, hmm?”

Luke drew in a swift breath and
widened his eyes. His vision blurred and he grabbed a hallway table. The doctor
laughed and patted his arm. “Do not worry. This is normal with first-time
fathers. Always a bit of discomfort when finding out you will have a little one
dependent upon you.”

Luke fidgeted with his hands.
Urgency in his tone, he said, “You mustn’t spread that around.”

“Of course not. Besides, there is
no evidence to suggest my theory is correct other than the baroness’ odd
behavior at the wedding proceedings. Now I must be off. The wife will be
expecting me for dinner.”

Luke ordered Jarvis to escort the
doctor out. When he was alone, he closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and
rested against the wall. His throat constricted. Was it possible Jarvis hadn’t
really known and that Brigitta had lied about the consummation? Could his
future bride yet be carrying his brother’s child?

He swallowed. What would he do if
he found out Brigitta did carry Chadwick’s babe? Luke’s heart raced as the
answer fell quietly from his lips. “Marry her anyway.”

Few things could change his
feelings for Brigitta. He pushed off the wall and paced. Since the decision was
made that he would marry her regardless, he needed to rectify today’s disaster.

The wedding postponement was an
unforeseen complication. He had hoped to legitimately marry Brigitta in front
of witnesses while Roland was away, but there might not be time to reschedule
the public wedding before the butler returned.

Luke detested the idea of sharing
his union with the entire community, but since his brother had started the
ruse, the transparent wedding was the only way he could see of rectifying his
situation.

Why did Brigitta have to faint?
The rumor that they expected their first child would no doubt cover the village
by nightfall. He groaned.

The door creaked open and Brigitta
peeked around the frame. “Oh,” she said, grabbing her chest, “you startled me.”

“Brigitta, may I come in?”

She moved aside and he entered
her room. “I’m sorry I ruined the wedding,” she said, her head bowed.

He ran an agitated hand through
his hair, fighting his disappointment over their situation. “I’m sorry, as
well.”

A tear spilled onto her cheek and
she rubbed it away. “I have a feeling something important was going to happen
and I ruined it, but I’m not exactly sure how or what.”

“Listen, we don’t need to discuss
that right now. What we need to discuss is something entirely different.”

She fell into a chair and
clutched her hands demurely in her lap. “I’m ready.”

He paced as he said, “You may not
be aware, but the doctor has made a serious accusation as to why you swooned.”

“He has?” she asked, her eyes
widening with anxiety.

Her helpless posture made him
want to hold her and offer comfort, but he refrained, instead gulping and
saying, “Yes.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I don’t know if I should tell
you.”

“You can’t very well open a
conversation in such a manner and not plan on revealing what you meant.”

“I do plan on revealing it. I
would just like to do so in my own time.”

“Let me assure you, my lord, the
time is now.”

He cleared his throat, glad to see
the argument had brought renewed color to her cheeks.

“I perceive you are laughing at
me. Is that the case? Are you laughing at me?”

“My dear Brigitta, I would never
laugh at you for any other reason than to show my love.”

“That makes no sense,” said Brigitta.

“Perhaps you are right. I should
just reveal the rumor which is likely to spread.”

“I am ready. Go ahead.”

He sighed. “The doctor believes
you are expecting.”

“Expecting?” she questioned, her
brows knitted together. “Expecting what?”

“Brigitta, please do not act
daft.
Expecting
.” He emphasized the last word in hopes he wouldn’t be
asked to explain farther.

“I am not daft nor do I
understand what you are hinting at.”

He rolled his eyes and blurted, “You’re
expecting!”

She covered her mouth but it was of
no use, as her laugher burst forth and spread across the room. The laughter was
so fierce she held her stomach and bent at the waist. He exhaled loudly and
fell into a chair opposite hers. Heat flushed his cheeks and he struggled to
maintain a dignified scowl.

“I do not see the humor in the
situation.”

“If you do not see the humor in
the situation then I feel for you, for this is the funniest situation I do
believe I’ve ever been in. Expecting, indeed.”

She continued to laugh and Luke
could not help but smile at her. “Truthfully, we know it is impossible, but the
people do not.”

She knitted her brow. “How is it
impossible?”

“What?”

“I said, how do we know it is
impossible? Are we not married?”

Luke blinked and clenched his
hands. This was an unforeseen side effect of the draught he’d given her.
Apparently the memory loss effect had reached farther back in time than he had
been led to believe.

“We are married, yes, but there
have been extenuating circumstances which have prevented us from…”

“From what?” she asked, her look
so innocent Luke thought he would groan from embarrassment.

What was he going to do? He
couldn’t explain their circumstances, because the original situation hadn’t
involved him. What if he said something and it dredged up a memory, and then
she realized she wasn’t married to him at all but rather to Chadwick? He needed
to get out of here.

He leaned over and patted her
hands as he stood. “Brigitta, let’s not worry about it for now. I must go and
see that the items in the chapel are put away.”

“Why can we not renew our vows
now?”

“Because our guests have left and
it is after noon.”

“Oh, I see.” She paused and
gnawed on her lip.

He looked away and counted to
ten. He must not notice her unspoken question, he mustn’t. Air rushed past his
lips as he gave in and asked, “Do you wish to ask me something?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, go ahead.”

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,
but why do we do those dreadful tours? Are they absolutely necessary? I would
much rather see you without all those strangers invading our privacy.”

I couldn’t agree more
. “I
assure you they are a necessary evil, but only for one time more.”

“Why is that?”

“Brigitta, I am unable to
explain. You must trust me in the matter.”

“I don’t know if I can. For some
reason, I feel as if that is beyond my nature.”

“What do you mean?” he asked,
crossing his fingers behind his back.

“I believe my natural temperament
would normally force me to quarrel with you, but for some reason I’m finding it
hard to accomplish this time.”

“Good. I do not wish to be quarreled
with.” He stepped to the door. “I will make sure Letta brings you down for
dinner.”

The door closed behind him and he
released a pent-up breath. Things had indeed become more complicated.

****

Something wasn’t right. The baron
had just lied to her. Brigitta had expected him to explain why she couldn’t be with
child. She knew why, but he acted as if he didn’t.

Seeing him standing next to the
vicar in his fancy attire reminded her of some past event.

Vague memories of a rector, the
baron, herself, Roland, and a strange servant came to mind. Where was Roland?
She hadn’t seen him in days.

She paced her bedroom and
pondered what she knew. Bits and pieces of her memory came to her but nothing
about the last few days.

When standing on the stairwell,
her hands clenched upon the banister, she had expected Chadwick, no, the baron,
to berate her. She blinked rapidly. Where had that name come from? She knew no
one by the name of Chadwick; at least if she did, she didn’t remember him.

She would need to change before
dinner. The white dress she’d worn for the tour, and subsequently swooned in,
was now wrinkled.

Brigitta felt the deafening
silence of the room and sent for Letta, who helped her dress in a fresh gown
decorated with tiny embroidered flowers.

Letta escorted her to the dining
hall. Two places were set at the head and one side of the long narrow table.
Directed to sit at the side, she took her seat and thanked the footman who
scooted her chair closer.

Soon thereafter other footmen
arrived and arranged piping hot dishes in silver bowls on the table. Brigitta
questioned what they’d brought and they showed her the basted chicken, broiled
potatoes, and a dish of asparagus, carrots, and sprouts.

The door opened and the baron
walked into the room. He had changed as well. Now he wore a red coat without
tails, a white shirt and cravat, and a fresh pair of trousers draped over a
gleaming pair of black half-boots.

Her heart raced. Confused by the
rush of feelings, she lowered her head and tried to hide her reaction.

Settled in his seat, he flashed
her a smile. “I trust you’ve had a quiet afternoon.”

“Too quiet,” she whispered.

“What?”

“I said too quiet.”

“Oh.” He dipped his head and hid
his expression, settling his napkin over his lap.

“Would it be okay if after dinner
I didn’t immediately rush back to my suite? For some reason the entire manor
seems unknown to me. I find myself wanting to explore every nook and cranny.”

“I’ll be glad to take you on a
tour.”

“Thank you.”

They ate in silence. Occasionally
the baron would stare at her from under his long brown lashes and she fought
the urge to ask if he knew anyone named Chadwick. She frowned in consternation
and studied her pewter plate. She gazed beyond the food. Blurry visions of a
familiar face floated before her and she blinked rapidly.

“Is something wrong with your
food?”

“No.”

“You’re frowning at it as if it
has offended your senses.”

“Who is Chadwick?” He choked on
his wine and she rose and slapped his back. “Are you all right?”

“Will you excuse me?” he asked.

Brigitta frowned but moved aside
so he could quit the table. Resentment at being kept in the dark had her
gripping the back of the chair until her knuckles whitened. Moments passed. She
sighed, retook her seat, and finished her dinner alone.

****

The Elis house sported a queue of
carriages a mile long outside their drive and Chadwick frowned as he
dismounted. He had assumed the meeting arranged between him and Zilla was to be
a private affair, obviously incorrectly so.

He handed his horse off to a
groom. The flowers he’d brought had wilted during the ride. So much for
impressing Zilla.

Chadwick straightened his
shoulders, approached the door, lifted the knocker, and let it drop. A liveried
footman escorted him inside the ballroom, where a line waited in front of
Zedekiah and Zilla. Men of all ages and varying status levels bowed to the
father and daughter. Zilla curtseyed and they backed away.

Sweat beaded his brow and ran
around his cravat. So far he had avoided direct contact with Lord Zedekiah Elis
for fear of being recognized. When the line had advanced and he reached the
couple, he bowed and stayed low, hoping Lord Elis didn’t think him insecure or
crass, as he offered Zilla the lifeless flowers.

“Oh, thank you. I assume the
arrangement was once beautiful.”

He rose but kept his gaze
averted. “It was.” He paused. He looked under his lashes at Zilla, avoiding
Lord Elis. “And what of our walk, Zilla? Are we still to have our private
jaunt?”

Zilla smiled. Excitement danced
in her eyes, and she licked her lips. The little pixie would be perfect on the
stage. Why, the look of misleading innocence was the most impressive he’d had
the pleasure of witnessing.

She twittered the oriental fan
over her youthful, flushed face. “Why, your lordship, your uncommon boldness flatters
me. Father told all these young gentlemen they could walk with me, but you are
the only one with the audacity to ask for your turn.” She tiptoed and whispered
in her father’s ear.

Zedekiah roved his gaze over
Chadwick, lingering on his attire, and Chadwick forced himself not to cock his
brow and express his assuredness. He’d acquired a tailor upon arrival in
London. Decked in the latest fashion, he wore a black suit with a white shirt,
cravat, and waistcoat. His light-colored breeches and black Hessian boots, with
frontal tassels, completed the ensemble. It was the finest suit the fraudulent
Baron of Stockport could buy.

“You may take my daughter first.”
Lord Elis’ voice dripped with condescension.

Chadwick ignored Lord Elis’ tone,
bowed, and joined the group of single men. They looked at him as if they
desired a duel. He grabbed a passing glass and touched the sour wine to his
lips, hiding his smile of satisfaction. Thoughts of tastier concoctions raced
through his mind. Sherry, directly imported from Spain; port brought from
Portugal; or even a slosh of Scottish whiskey, all infinitely better than the
swill Lord Elis passed off to his guests. When he became lord at Elis Wold, the
refreshment quality would improve tenfold.