The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two Read online

  The Brynthwaite Boys

  Season Two - Part Two

  Merry Farmer

  THE BRYNTHWAITE BOYS

  SEASON TWO

  VOLUME TWO

  Copyright ©2018 by Merry Farmer

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer where it was purchased and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)

  Episode Five – A World Without You

  Episode Six – A Narrow Escape

  Episode Seven – A Return to (Somewhat) Normal

  Episode Eight – A Deadly Encounter

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Episode Five - A World Without You

  Untitled

  Episode Six - A Narrow Escape

  Untitled

  Episode Seven - A Return to (Somewhat) Normal

  Untitled

  Episode Eight - A Deadly Encounter

  Untitled

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Episode Five - A World Without You

  Flossie

  “Dearest Flossie,” Jason’s letter—the fifth one within a week—began. “London is abysmal. The weather is frigid and damp, the air is so thick with smoke that it’s nearly impossible to breathe, and the company I constantly find myself in is rotten at best. Lady E insists on dragging me to every fashionable soirée or popular theatrical event, regardless of how I feel about being out in company. She insists on parading me in front of her friends as though I am a tiger on a leash and she is gloating about my capture and caging. I am required to be charming and romantic at all times, which I have accomplished with some success. But E doesn’t see that I am fraying around the edges.

  “Things are growing worse by the moment. Every reason I fled from London to begin with is thrown in my face with shocking regularity. Former friends—if they can even be called that—are well aware of my presence in town. The invitations to their orgies and routs are incessant, even though I have rejected every one. I have rejected them, my heart, rest assured. The hedonistic pleasures those sorts of entertainments offer cannot hold a candle to the joy of holding you in my arms, of knowing you are growing round with my child. I hold those images in my mind when temptation rears its ugly head, and I reread your letters when I think I won’t be able to hold out against the madness descending on me. (Please, please keep writing. Every day.)

  “I supposed I should say something about Marshall. He refuses to partake of any of the social niceties of London. His sole focus continues to be on meeting with St. George, Lord Merion, and any solicitor he can schedule an appointment with to offer him legal advice on winning back the girls. I’m not convinced he truly needs my or Lady E’s help, he’s so determined. The hearing is in two days, so soon we will have an outcome. Hopefully a happy one.

  “In the meantime, I continue to hang by a thread. Marshall can laugh at me all he wants, but I’m convinced that existing with a nearly permanent cockstand due to the stress and pressure of this damnable affliction of mine is ruinous to my health. I wish to God that I was home with you, safe in your arms, closeted away with you somewhere, and buried balls-deep inside of you. Thoughts of you are the only thing keeping me sane, if I can truly be said to have maintained my sanity in this hell-hole. I am miserable without you. That is all.

  “I would write more, but the Gorgon herself is pounding at my door, demanding I escort her to what will most likely turn out to be some ridiculous musical event or tea party full of powdered women who smell of artificial flowers, and who simper at me as though I am rogering E silly every night. Ha! How little they know, and how cleverly E has kept her true nature a secret. I only wish I could do the same.

  “Keep me in your thoughts, my love. You are constantly in mine. I hold your heart in my hand at all times and will never let it go. Your Jason.”

  Flossie sighed as she set the letter on her desk. Jason’s letters had grown more and more upsetting in the three weeks that he’d been gone. But most disturbingly of all, his handwriting had deteriorated to the point where it was difficult for her to make out half of what he’d written. That was a sharper sign than any words that he was in dire straits. She chewed on her lip, debating yet again whether she should abandon her duties at the hotel, leave Daniel in charge, and fly off to London to rescue the man she loved with her whole heart.

  A knock at the door jerked her out of her thoughts.

  “Yes?” Flossie called.

  “Miss Stowe,” Daniel said, sticking his head into the office. “Dr. Dyson is here for the tea party.”

  “Yes, thank you, Daniel.”

  Flossie let out a frustrated breath and stood. She rested one hand on Jason’s letter for a moment and fingered the ruby heart pendant he’d given her before departing with the others. The box of gifts he’d left with her for Christmas had contained more jewels and valuable trinkets than she ever could have worn, but the simple ruby heart was by far her favorite.

  She edged her way around the desk, heading out of the office and into the lobby where Alexandra stood near the front desk, wringing her gloved hands. Jason wasn’t the only one who needed help—although he needed it far more than anyone else Flossie had ever known. Alex was attempting to do the impossible under extremely trying circumstances. Since the two of them had discovered they were expecting on the same day and would likely give birth at around the same time, Flossie had felt a kinship with the former noblewoman that she never would have dreamed of. Alex needed her, so Flossie would step up.

  “Don’t worry,” she said right off the bat, striding to Alex and giving her a quick, sisterly hug. “Everything is prepared for this tea party. If your guests aren’t dazzled into donating buckets of money to the hospital by the exquisiteness of the tea itself, I’m certain your speech will open their pockets in no time.”

  Alex let out a nervous laugh and squeezed Flossie’s hand as though she were a life-preserver in a storm. “From your lips straight to God’s ears,” she said.

  Flossie nodded for Alex to walk with her into the hotel’s ballroom, where a team of maids was nearly finished setting up for the tea. Before they could take two steps into the room, Willy jumped away from where he was studiously folding napkins at a side table, his tongue sticking out from between his lips as he worked.

  “Miss Flossie, Miss Flossie! Look what I did,” he said, presenting Flossie with a carefully folded napkin.

  Flossie’s heart leapt in her chest at Willy’s cheerful smile and round cheeks. “That’s lovely, Willy,” she said, ruffling his hair to encourage him.

  “It’s the first one I did right,” Willy announced, his chest puffed out with pride. “Can I keep it in my room to remind me how to do it?”

  Flossie laughed. “All right. As long as you make sure to set all the others on the tables where they belong.”

  “I will,” he promised, eyes bright. “I’ll just go put this in my room now.” He rushed off into the lobby, slipping slightly on the marble floor as he did.

  “His room?” Alex asked as she and Flossie continued o
n.

  Flossie sent Alex a lop-sided grin. “It’s a bit of a story, but Willy is living at the hotel these days.”

  “Truly?” Alex blinked in surprise. “Not at the forge with Matty and Lawrence?”

  Flossie shook her head. “Lawrence asked if Willy could stay here, since Hoag is still on the loose and might very well come after Matty and her siblings.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and went on. “Matty and the girls are hiding out in the forest with Mother Grace, and Lawrence has gone to Grasmere to see if he can discover more about Hoag’s whereabouts from Rev. Albright.”

  Alex hummed, looking grave. “Mother Grace,” she said, then frowned. “There’s something about that woman that sends a chill down my back.”

  “Oh?” Flossie paused in surprised. “I rather like her.”

  “Marshall doesn’t,” Alex confessed. “But I think there’s more to it than he’s letting on.”

  “There’s always more to things than what men are willing to admit to.” Flossie’s grin returned as they approached the cluster of tables for the party. “And Willy has been remarkably well-behaved since moving into the hotel a fortnight ago. He has his own room in the staff wing—which he’s done a remarkable job of keeping tidy for a boy who is not even ten—and Dora and the rest of the maids keep a careful watch on him.”

  “Yes, we do, Miss Stowe,” Dora seconded, glancing up from her work at the tea tables. “Willy is a sweetheart.”

  Flossie sent Dora a wary look but stopped herself from telling her old friend, yet again, to leave off with the formality and simply call her Flossie.

  “This looks beautiful,” Alex said, trying to smile as she surveyed the maids’ work. Each table contained a pile of tea cakes and sandwiches, which Alex eyed with a slight tinge of green to her face. She pressed a hand to her stomach and swallowed.

  “Thank you, girls,” Flossie said to her staff. “I see some of our guests are already arriving, so you know what to do.” As soon as the maids rushed to take their places by the door and at the sides of the room, Flossie stepped closer to Alex and whispered, “Are you still sick in the mornings?”

  “I’m sick all the time,” Alex whispered back. “I thought the nausea would go away after three months, but it’s as bad as ever.”

  Flossie hummed in sympathy. Her experience with pregnancy sickness had been brief and mild, but Alex had suffered horribly since discovering she was having a baby. Some women had trouble throughout, but it seemed unjust that someone who had as much to contend with as Alex did would feel constantly sick on top of it. Or perhaps the added stress of the seismic shift her life had taken was more to blame than the baby.

  “Lady Waltham, how good of you to join us,” Flossie said, breaking away from Alex to greet the eccentric noblewoman as she swept into the ballroom.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Lady Waltham replied, her eyes bright as she surveyed the flowery, winter-themed decorations. She wore one of the oddest outfits Flossie had ever seen—a medieval-style dress trimmed with fur and thick boots, as though she were an adventurer on her way to the South Pole. But then, from all the stories Flossie had been told, Lady Elaine Waltham had always been eccentric, and her husband, Lord Basil Waltham, indulged her to a degree that was both delightful and shocking. “I’m ready to loosen my purse-strings to support the hospital, Dr. Dyson,” she went on, then blinked. “Or is it Dr. Pycroft now?”

  Alex walked to Flossie’s side and greeted Lady Waltham with a wobbly smile. “It’s still Dr. Dyson,” she said.

  “Oh, how very modern,” Lady Waltham beamed. “I approve.”

  “It’s mostly for convenience, my lady,” Alex explained. “Having two Dr. Pycrofts running about would confuse everyone.”

  “But it is delightfully progressive all the same,” Lady Waltham went on. “Everything about you is progressive—becoming a doctor, practicing at a hospital, marrying out of your station, continuing to work while expecting. I thoroughly approve.”

  Flossie watched as Alex’s face went bright pink and a desperate look came into her eyes. “Thank you so much, Lady Waltham,” she answered on Alex’s behalf. “Won’t you sample some of Cook’s newest creations?”

  She steered Lady Waltham to one of the tables and pointed out a few of the treats that were waiting before skipping back to Alex as more ladies—the highest society Brynthwaite had—arrived.

  “I didn’t know my condition was common knowledge,” Alex said in a tight whisper as Flossie attempted to move her toward the head table.

  “Neither did I,” Flossie confessed. “But it was bound to happen eventually.”

  Alex responded to Flossie’s casual acceptance of the situation with a painful look. “What will people say?” she hissed. “Lady Waltham might be happy to have a pregnant, female doctor heading up the hospital, but do you think the rest of these ladies will be so cavalier?”

  Alex and Flossie both turned to study the swiftly-increasing crowd of ladies—everyone from Mrs. Crimpley and Miss Garrett to Lady Ramsey. Flossie drew in a steadying breath. She had dealt with the high and mighty enough in her life to know how to manage them, but Alex was clearly intimidated.

  “It will be fine,” Flossie assured her, grabbing Alex’s arm and turning her so that she was forced to meet her eyes. “You know all these people. You’ve known them for a long time. They have more need of you and your medical services than you have of them. There is nothing and no one here who can claim to hold any unusual sway over you.”

  “Right,” Alex said, breathing in sharply through her nose and resting a hand on her stomach. “I will be the one in control of this event. I am the one who will be speaking with authority. I’ve done this before and I will do it again.”

  “Exactly.” Flossie brightened into a smile.

  She and Alex turned back to the ballroom’s entrance, just in time to see Lady Arabella Fretwell—she might have lost her noble rank by marrying a mere mister, but courtesy dictated she continue to be addressed as Lady Arabella rather than Mrs. Fretwell—step timidly into the room.

  “Oh God,” Alex said, turning away and grabbing hold of Flossie’s arm. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Flossie reached for Alex’s hand and squeezed it. In the short time that their friendship had blossomed, Alex had confessed all about her indiscretions with George Fretwell and her feelings about the blackguard’s recent marriage to Lady Arabella. “You are not going to be sick,” Flossie told Alex, sounding as though she were giving an order more than reassuring her friend. “She’s just another woman with money. Look, she seems even more frightened than you are.”

  In fact, under her veneer of beauty and refinement, Lady Arabella looked terrified. Her porcelain skin seemed paler than it should, with a pink flush highlighting how delicate she appeared. Her steps were uncertain and she clung to her reticule as though it were a lifeboat. There was something else about the woman that gave Flossie pause as well. She didn’t have the joyous glow that a newlywed bride should.

  “You greet your guests over there,” Flossie said, pointing Alex toward the tables that were already filled with older ladies, “and I’ll say hello to Lady Arabella.”

  “Right,” Alex said with a nod. She squared her shoulders and marched into battle, though Flossie noted she was still green around the gills.

  There was no time to worry, though. Flossie put on a smile and crossed the room to greet Lady Arabella with, “Lady Arabella, how kind of you to join us this afternoon.”

  Lady Arabella returned the warm greeting with a cautious smile. “Good afternoon, Miss—er—Stowe.” Like half of the rest of the town, Lady Arabella didn’t seem to know how to address Flossie. Everyone knew her and Jason’s business, but no one had a clue how to approach it. “It was kind of you to invite me.”

  In fact, Flossie hadn’t invited her. She doubted Alex had either. If she knew anything about anything, Flossie suspected Lady Arabella had been issued a false invitation and sent as a spy. That didn’t st
op Flossie from feeling on an instinctual level that Lady Arabella needed to feel accepted by a friendly face, if only for an afternoon.

  “Congratulations on your recent nuptials,” Flossie said, gesturing for her to follow across the room to the table that would be farthest away from where Alex would sit.

  For a moment, Lady Arabella seemed to flush deeper, and a trapped look flashed in her eyes. It was gone before she answered, “Thank you. George and I are very happy.”

  Instantly, Flossie doubted her. A happy bride did not look as though she might break into tears at the mention of her marriage. But there were other things to worry about besides Lady Arabella’s unhappiness.

  “He’s barely middle class,” Flossie overheard one of the fine guests whisper at the table next to where she sat Lady Arabella. “And an orphan to boot.”

  Flossie arched a brow and listened, though she pretended she wasn’t.

  “And her a lady,” the woman went on.

  “A former lady,” her friend said with a sniff. “Any woman who would debase herself by marrying down isn’t deserving of the title.”

  The ladies at the table—if they could be called that—snickered.

  “Of course, we can all guess why she married him,” the first woman said.

  She was met by hums of agreement from the others.

  “Pay close attention to when she delivers,” another woman said. “I would be willing to wager the child will be ‘premature’ by a month at least.”

  Knowing laughter echoed around the table.

  “That’s what comes of allowing men and women to work in close quarters,” the first woman said.