The Brynthwaite Boys - Season Two - Part Three

by Merry Farmer

  In the end, she turned away from Lady E and toward the footman, rewarding him with a wide smile. “Thank you, Paul,” she said starting toward him.

  If Lady E felt slighted that Flossie would pay attention to a mere servant instead of her, she never found out. She kept her back turned to the woman, and was only aware of her marching toward the front door by the sound of her footsteps clacking against the hardwood.

  “I can carry this out for you, Miss Stowe,” Paul said with a sympathetic half-smile.

  “Thank you.” Flossie gave him an even bigger smile as they headed in the exact opposite direction from Lady E, back through the conservatory and out into the garden once more.

  “It will be nice taking orders from someone that appreciates us, miss,” Paul said as they walked back across the grass to where Lord Gerald lounged.

  Flossie had been in service herself for long enough to know that his comment wasn’t entirely appropriate, but she didn’t mind one bit. “I think Lady E will still try to rule the roost.”

  “But she won’t stand a chance up against someone like you, miss,” Paul said.

  She rewarded him with a wry grin as they reached Lord Gerald’s chair. Lord Gerald had dozed off, which was fine as far as Flossie was concerned. Paul rushed to bring her a chair of her own, which she sank gratefully into. She even took a sip of Lord Gerald’s plum cordial as she waited for him to wake up, but it was too sweet for her.

  It was a lovely, June day, and Flossie would have drifted off in her chair, if not for the increasingly persistent pains in her middle. There didn’t seem to be any doubt that the baby was coming soon, very soon. But labor could last for days, let alone hours. She would simply have to wait it out, like everything else in her life.

  She wasn’t certain how much time had passed when Lord Gerald woke from whatever dreams he’d been having that put a smile on his face. Only, when he blinked his eyes open and focused on Flossie, his brow knit into a frown instead of the customary smile he wore when she was around.

  “You’re not Emily,” he said, trying to push himself to sit straight.

  “I’m Flossie Stowe, my lord. Remember?” Flossie managed to stand herself and move to his chair, doing her best to help him straighten up.

  “Flossie. Yes.” He continued to blink as Flossie arranged pillows behind him. She went so far as to hand him the glass of plum cordial—which she’d put in the shade to keep cool. As soon as he’d taken a long gulp, he frowned up at the activity surrounding the house. “Who are all these people? Why am I out here in all this blasted fresh air?”

  Flossie kept her smile in place as she said, “They’re setting up for the reception, remember? I assume you were brought out here early so that you could enjoy it.”

  “Reception? What reception?” There was something far more peevish and put out about Lord Gerald’s manner than Flossie had ever seen before.

  “For Elizabeth and Jason’s wedding, remember?” she asked.

  “Elizabeth?” Lord Gerald furrowed his brow as he studied Flossie. “My Elizabeth?”

  “Yes.” Flossie’s smile began to give way to the prickling sensation that something was wrong.

  “My daughter Elizabeth?” Lord Gerald asked.

  “Is there any other?”

  Lord Gerald grumbled something indistinct before narrowing his eyes at Flossie. “And who is she marrying?”

  “Mr. Jason Throckmorton, remember?” Flossie answered.

  “Throckmorton, Throckmorton.” Lord Gerald shook his head. “Who are his people?”

  Flossie let out a quick, impatient breath. “Jason Throckmorton. You remember. He grew up here, at the Brynthwaite Municipal Orphanage. So he has no people. He built the hotel in town, The Dragon’s Head.”

  “Dragon’s Head?”

  Flossie began to despair that Lord Gerald’s mind was further gone than she suspected, until, all of a sudden, he sat up straighter than she’d ever seen him manage and made a choking sound.

  “Lord Gerald?” She took the glass of cordial from his hand, tossing it into the grass without a care for its contents, and grabbed his arms. “Lord Gerald, are you well?”

  “Jason Throckmorton from the Brynthwaite Municipal Orphanage,” he continued to choke and sputter.

  “Yes,” Flossie said uncertainly. She glanced up to the house, grateful to find Paul watching them, and gestured frantically for him to come. She turned back to Lord Gerald and said, “He owns hotels now. He’s a wealthy man, a good man.”

  “He can’t marry Elizabeth,” Lord Gerald insisted.

  Flossie’s face went hot. Her whole body tensed as a wave of deep pain coursed through her. She gritted her teeth through it, then said, “Jason is well-respected in the highest circles of society in London. I can assure you that it is an equal match.”

  “No, no, no, no,” Lord Gerald insisted. Of all things, he moved as though he would attempt to stand, which was absurd. His gouty feet were bandaged, and Flossie didn’t think the man had been capable of standing for years. “We must stop this wedding. We must stop it right away.”

  “My lord.” Paul reached them in time to hold Lord Gerald back in his chair when it looked as though he would fall over the side. Paul glanced to Flossie for instruction.

  Flossie worked hard to stand herself. As she did, a wet sensation spilled down her leg. “Oh, no,” she gasped. She knew in an instant what had happened. “No, no, no, no,” she said, sounding like Lord Gerald. “Not now.”

  “This wedding must be stopped.” Lord Gerald struggled with Paul. “It is impossible. It cannot go on. We must get to the church at once.”

  Every bit of sense and reason told Flossie that Lord Gerald wasn’t in his right mind, that it was ridiculous to even think of going to the church. And every fiber of her being wanted nothing more than to be wherever Jason was. Their baby was coming, whether any of them liked it or not. She didn’t want to bring it into the world at Huntingdon Hall, and she didn’t want to go through what was coming without Jason.

  “Does Lord Gerald have a chair with wheels?” she asked Paul, panting and trying her best to ignore the pain within her that was becoming unignorable.

  “I think so?” Paul said, he turned back to the house and whistled shrilly.

  Within moments, two more footmen came charging down the hill toward them, their faces set with determination in the midst of what they must have seen as a dire emergency.

  “We need to get Lord Gerald to the church as soon as possible,” Flossie said, too close to panic to feel guilty for the slight lie. “We have to get there before the wedding,” she said.

  “I’ll get the cart,” one of the footmen said.

  “I’ll carry Lord Gerald,” the larger one said, bending over to scoop Lord Gerald from his lawn chair.

  “I’m afraid I might need some help too,” Flossie said, hating how small and helpless she sounded. She was Flossie Stowe, dammit. She ran a hotel. She’d tamed the dragon that was Jason Throckmorton. She’d risen up from working-class life, through a nightmare position as a maid, and had a world of wealth at her fingertips. She was not helpless. She was never helpless.

  And yet, when Paul scooped her into his arms and charged up the hillside toward the front of the house with her, she’d never felt so weak in her life.

  Marshall

  “Why are we here?” Marshall asked as he and Alex met in the upstairs hallway of the hospital. Marshall took his pocket watch from his best waistcoat, glanced at it, and went on with, “The wedding is in an hour. I’d be willing to bet that Jason is beside himself right now. We should be at the church.”

  Alex winced, rubbing her back with one hand while she held a clipboard of patient notes in the other. “Just because my lofty cousin is getting married today doesn’t mean we can neglect our patients,” she said, a bit breathlessly.

  Marshall frowned, turning to help Alex down the stairs. “So you’re dragging your heels as a way to punish Lady E?” he asked, taking her clipboard so that she
could grip the railing as they descended. He had deep suspicions that there was another, extremely pressing, incredibly delicate reason she was hesitating and eager to stay at the hospital.

  She seemed to catch the true intent of his question and sent him a flat, sideways look. “I’m fine, Marshall. You shouldn’t be worrying about me, today of all days. There are far bigger things to worry about.”

  Marshall made a scoffing noise. “There is nothing bigger for me to worry about than my wife and baby, particularly if that baby is imminent.”

  “I’m not in labor, Marshall,” Alex insisted. She had the look of a lie in her expression.

  “Are you in pain?” he asked. “Have you been feeling contractions? You were up several times in the night.”

  “I’m in no more pain than usual,” she said as they crossed slowly to the office. Alex headed for a chair, but seemed to change her mind about sitting and walked restlessly around the room, her hands on her back.

  “Has your water broken?” Marshall pressed on.

  “No,” Alex snapped, her face twisting in pain.

  “You’re having a contraction right now,” he said.

  “No, I’m not,” she snapped. “Stop pestering me. I’ll be fine if I sit for a spell.”

  “Then sit,” Marshall said.

  Alex sent him a withering look, then marched as best she could to the desk chair and lowered herself heavily into it. “There. Are you satisfied?”

  “Not at all.” He walked to her. “I should examine you to see if your cervix is dilated.”

  “No, you should not,” Alex said, nearly shouting. “You should go to the church to be by Jason’s side. As you said, he’s likely beside himself at the moment. He needs you more than I do.”

  Marshall laughed humorlessly. “Jason needs a swift kick up the backside.” Alex did have a point, though. He let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. At last, he let his shoulders drop and said, “All right. I’ll go. But I want you to send someone to fetch me immediately if your labor intensifies.”

  “I am not in labor, Marshall,” Alex told him through gritted teeth.

  “You’re a terrible liar, Alexandra.” He started for the door, a swirl of emotions sending his pulse soaring. He would be a father again by the end of the day, he was certain. It was damnably inconvenient that Jason had problems that needed his attention at that exact moment as well. He turned back to Alex with a frown when he reached the door. “I don’t want you to even think about coming to the wedding,” he said. “Stay here. Change out of that ridiculous finery. And prepare one of the examination rooms for your delivery, if you must do something.”

  “I’m not in labor,” she called after him as he shot out into the hall.

  “That’s what you think,” he called back over his shoulder.

  The light, buzzing excitement he felt at the prospect of Alex giving birth dampened as soon as he stepped out of the hospital and strode across town to the church. He didn’t know why it rankled him to see that Lady E was right when it came to her wedding being the event of the season. Plenty of people were out on the streets, and all of them seemed to be dressed in finery and heading toward the church. Most people knew he was one of Jason’s closest friends, and they tipped their hats and called out greetings and congratulations to him. He returned the greetings as best he could, but his mind was already elsewhere.

  Guests and curiosity-seekers were already at the church when Marshall arrived even though they still had—he checked his pocket watch—forty minutes until the ceremony was set to start. He strode up the aisle, trying not to sneeze at the flowery scent of the air as he did. There were more flowers packing the church than he’d ever seen before. They adorned the chancel and crowded the aisle. There were so many, in fact, that whatever beauty the roses and lilies possessed was crowded out by the sheer abundance. Typical Lady E.

  Marshall expected Jason to be pacing at the front of the church, but he had to search for a few minutes to find his friend. Jason had sequestered himself in the sacristy, where Marshall found him bowed over a table, clutching its sides with white knuckles, looking as though he might be sick.

  “We’ve come to this, then?” Marshall asked in a voice he could almost describe as cheery as he marched into the room.

  Jason straightened abruptly and lunged toward him. “Marshall. Thank God you’re here.” He caught Marshall in what quickly turned into a bear hug. Just as quickly, he thrust Marshall out to arm’s length and said, “I don’t know what to do.”

  Marshall was stunned by the ferocity of Jason’s hug and took a few seconds to regather his wits enough to say, “Are you thinking of backing out of the wedding?”

  Jason’s eyes went wide. “Oh, God. The wedding. I’d forgotten about it entirely.”

  Marshall’s jaw dropped. Had Jason fallen over the edge at last?

  Before he could ask, Jason launched into restless pacing. “Johnson’s offer seems too good to be true,” he said as though in the middle of a train of thought. He shoved a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that would likely drive Lady E mad if he stepped out to marry her looking that way. “A million dollars is an insane amount of money. I would never have to work again with that kind of blunt in the bank.”

  The conversation seemed ridiculous, considering what day it was and what was supposed to take place in—he pulled out his pocket watch again—thirty-two minutes.

  “Jason,” he said in a half-scolding tone. “You know it would drive you more insane than you already are not to have work.”

  Jason shot him a look from the far end of the room as he turned to pace back in Marshall’s direction. “Exactly,” he said. “But with that much money, I could start a whole new business. I could rise to the challenge of building something all over again. I could open a watch factory.” He nodded to Marshall’s pocket watch, which he still hadn’t replaced in his waistcoat pocket. “I could invest in cotton fields in Egypt. I could move to South Africa and help Andrew and Aggie Noble with their schools. I could start an Amazonian River cruise line. The world could be my oyster.”

  “Is that what you really want?” Marshall frowned, his gut clenching at the thought of Jason abandoning him as well as Lawrence.

  Jason sighed, coming to a stop at the table and leaning over it once more. “No,” he said. “Not really. All I want is to stay here and be a father to Flossie’s children.”

  Marshall arched an eyebrow. So he was thinking of another baby after the one he had on the way? Knowing Jason, he was thinking about a dozen more babies. The statement that all he wanted was to be a father to Flossie’s children was the only true thing Jason had said in weeks.

  “It sounds like you should take Mr. Johnson’s offer, then,” he said.

  “But can I really give it all up?” Jason asked, straightening. “Can I really just hand over everything I spent so long building? And if I did, would all the sacrifices I made be worth it?”

  Marshall knew him well enough to guess by the blush that suddenly painted Jason’s face that the sacrifices he was talking about were of the carnal nature. Marshall wasn’t so ignorant as to have any illusions about the way Jason slept his way into good fortune.

  “Do you have to decide this now?” Marshall asked. “You have—” He glanced at his watch. “—twenty-nine minutes until you are to be married.”

  “Dammit,” Jason hissed. “The wedding. Why am I doing this again?” he asked, marching past Marshall, out of the sacristy, and into the main part of the church.

  Marshall clenched his jaw and raced after him. “We’ve all been asking the same question for months now.”

  The church was easily half-full as they strode across the front, to the right side of the aisle where Jason was supposed to stand as his bride swept regally down the aisle. Jason didn’t stop to stand, though. He continued to pace back and forth, growing more agitated by the moment.

  “It could change everything,” he muttered as he passed to and fro in front of Marshall, who
had to dodge out of the way every time Jason came near. “I would keep The Dragon’s Head, of course, but I could also build a house. I could design the house.” He stopped short, his face lighting up. “I could design houses. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

  “The wedding?” Marshall reminded him.

  Jason blinked and jerked around to stare at the church full of people. “Damn.” He whipped back to Marshall. “What possessed me to agree to this unholy alliance?”

  Marshall was close to throwing up his hands. “It must have been your madness.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any way out of it now?” he asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

  Marshall huffed out a breath and was about to lecture Jason on making promises he didn’t want to keep when none other than Colin Armstrong bounced up to join them.

  “Salutations on your joyous day,” he greeted Jason with a ridiculous smile. “And what a lovely day for it. The sun is shining, the air is balmy.” He drew in a long breath through his nose. “And this church smells absolutely divine.” He paused, then burst into laughter. “Divine. A church.” He laughed more.

  “Armstrong,” Jason returned the greeting at last with far less enthusiasm. Then again, compared to Colin Armstrong, a basket of puppies had less enthusiasm.

  “It’s almost time,” Armstrong went on, thumping Jason on the arm. “You’ll be a married man soon.” He let out a maudlin sigh. “Ah, to be a married man. But I fear my turn will never come. Not when the cords of tragedy bind my true love to another.”

  He glanced to the back of the church. Marshall and Jason looked as well. Marshall was surprised to see Lady Arabella cautiously making her way up the aisle. Of all people, Reggie, the porter from Jason’s hotel, escorted her. Although there was a degree of logic in having the former pugilist close by Arabella’s side. Marshall had no doubt that George would come after Arabella at some point, so who better than to act as the woman’s guard?