The Purloined Papers

by Allison Lane

  The invitation to Seabrook had ignited a war with herself. Leaving Moorside removed her control of the lighting and angles that could hide or reveal her scars. She also despised any gathering in which she was not the center of attention.

  Yet she was bored. She had demanded her own establishment, expecting freedom to be a grand adventure. It wasn’t. So she passed the long days looking for scapegoats.

  “Lord Seabrook will send his carriage on Wednesday,” Chloe said when Laura’s tirade began to wane. She hadn’t yet fallen into the hysteria that would tire her. “His footmen will see that we come. We have no choice. He owns this cottage, so can turn you off at any time. Your income isn’t large enough to afford another.”

  “How dare you pry into my finances?” snapped Laura.

  “Since you expect me to pay the bills, I know to the last farthing how much you have and where it comes from,” Chloe reminded her. “The only way to escape Lord Seabrook’s authority is to save enough to buy your own house. That would require rigid economy.”

  She succeeded in provoking a new outburst, but the knocker again interrupted.

  “Don’t answer it,” snapped Laura.

  “That would be unpardonably rude.” Chloe stalked to the hall and opened the door. “Andrew! I mean, C-Captain Seabrook,” she stammered as eleven years whirled away in an instant. She was fifteen again, standing in the orchard as her closest friend dismounted beside her.

  She stifled the painful memory.

  She’d known he was home, of course. William’s monthly letter always contained family news. So Chloe knew that Andrew had been wounded at Waterloo and was recovering at Seabrook. She hadn’t expected him to call, though. He’d not sent her a word – not even a friendly greeting – on either of his previous trips home to recuperate.

  It was no surprise. When he’d arrived in the orchard that day, she’d been so upset over his imminent departure that she’d tried to seduce him into staying. It had been a despicable act every bit as dishonorable as Laura at her worst. Thus she’d destroyed the most important bond in her life. In the eleven years since, she’d heard from him exactly once – a brief letter of condolence after Kevin died. And for seven long years she had feared that Kevin had learned about the day in the orchard, blamed Andrew, and tried to avenge her. Was his blood on her hands?

  Only now could she admit that her excitement over William’s invitation arose from the chance to see Andrew again. Even knowing that he hated her, she had longed for a glimpse of him.

  Forcing her attention back to the man on the doorstep, she gestured him inside. He didn’t look ill, or even injured. Nor did he look much like the boy she’d loved. It was a wonder she’d recognized him.

  Maturity had broadened his shoulders and deepened his chest. It had also added at least five inches, putting him over six feet. Soldiering had weathered his face and lightened his hair to a golden brown, making his green eyes seem even clearer. Fine lines clustered around their corners. But beyond the physical changes, war had hardened him, banishing the laughing boy who had raced across the hills and wrestled on the moors.

  Some things remained the same, though. His nearness still stole her breath. Her heart tumbled into a gallop, making her head spin.

  “Chloe.” He grasped her hand between his own. “More beautiful than ever.”

  “Hardly.” She forced control over her voice and body. He might ignore her dishonor long enough to call on his sister, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten. So she must banish any lingering dreams. Never again would she leave herself vulnerable. “You are recovered, it seems. Have you come to bid farewell to Laura?”

  He shook his head. “I came to see you.” His eyes darkened. “I’ve bad news, Chloe. Your father died last night.”

  The blood drained from her head. When she reached for the doorjamb, he pulled her against his side. She hardly noticed as she fought free of the shock. “How?”

  “He fell down the stairs. It was very quick.”

  A quick death was more than he deserved. Anger rushed in, stiffening her knees so she could stand without support. “So he’s gone. It’s just as well.”

  He gasped.

  “I’ll not pretend we were close. He never forgave my failure to attach a fortune or my refusal to lie about our circumstances. When I tried to earn enough to escape his roof, he locked me in my room and forbade all callers. The only reason he let me accept this post was that Moorside is isolated, so he could pretend I was visiting relatives. But if anyone but William had offered, he would have refused this, too.” She clamped her jaw shut to choke off the bitterness. Her father had made her life hell with his false façades and accusations, though living with him made it easier to understand Laura. They had much in common, starting with their stubborn refusal to accept facts.

  Andrew still knew her too well, for understanding blossomed in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course. It is a shock – even estrangement cannot change that he was my father. But I’ve not heard from him since Mother’s funeral, so his passing will make no difference.”

  Not quite true, she realized as a weight slid from her shoulders. Seeing her in service had dented his pride. If he’d discovered her plans to buy a cottage, his ranting would have burned her ears to ashes. And he might have stopped her. Now that unpleasantness was averted. She was free to live on her own terms.

  Andrew produced a note from Peter. “The funeral is tomorrow morning. I can drive you to Fields House. I’ll wait here while you pack.”

  She opened her mouth to refuse.

  “Absolutely not!” screamed Laura, bursting into the hall. “You already took this month’s half day. You cannot leave again. I won’t have it.”

  “Laura!” Andrew’s tone struck Laura dumb. The army had turned him formidable. “How can you be so insensitive? Sir Nigel lies dead. William claims you were inconsolable after our father died.”

  “That was different. We were very close. Besides, servants have no feelings.”

  Despite two years of service, Chloe felt the blow. Maybe attending the funeral was a good idea after all. A full day without Laura would be sheer bliss, even if it meant pretending grief.

  Andrew dragged Laura into the sitting room. “Pack,” he ordered over his shoulder. “I will settle matters with my sister.” The door slammed behind him.

  Chloe hurried upstairs, grateful for a few moments alone – packing would not take long. She would wear her one black gown, dyed for her mother’s funeral last year. Aside from that, she needed only her night things.

  Silence stretched until she reached her bedroom. Only then did Andrew address Laura. Accustomed to the thick walls of Seabrook, he obviously didn’t realize that his voice reached every corner of the cottage. Ignoring it was impossible.

  “I know this is a shock, and you have never enjoyed upheaval, but that doesn’t mean you can speak without thought. Have you forgotten that Chloe’s breeding is every bit as good as yours? Better, really. Mother was a baronet’s daughter who married a baron. But Lady Fields’s father was a viscount. By rights it should be you looking after her.”

  “Nonsense. She hasn’t a penny to her name. But that isn’t the point. I cannot do without her. Who will oversee that wretched cook and fetch my threads from the village? And if I’m to go to Seabrook, she must mend my best gown.”

  “Feeling peevish, I see. You’d best set that aside before the house party. William is in no mood for confrontation. In the meantime, I am sure you can manage without Miss Fields.”

  “You understand nothing!” Laura’s voice grew shrill. “Who will dress me and arrange my hair? Who will bring my morning chocolate and make up my bed? Mrs. Monroe is worthless outside the kitchen. And she delights in parading people through my drawing room so they can admire the freak.”

  “It is only for one day,” Andrew said soothingly. “You will manage just fine.”

  “You are hateful!” she cried, bursting into tears.

  “Contro
l yourself. This is not a Cheltenham tragedy, and I am not one of your beaux. Tears do not move me. Now enough of this. Miss Fields will attend Sir Nigel’s funeral. You will learn how to fend for yourself. It’s a useful skill, for fate often throws out unexpected challenges. You will also review your manners. William won’t tolerate megrims, so pull yourself together and remember that you are a lady. I will ignore today’s tantrum, but if it happens again, I must report it to William.”

  Laura fell silent.

  Chloe closed her bandbox.

  Andrew had grown masterful, though she should not be surprised. An officer who couldn’t command would not have survived eleven years of war.

  Perhaps Laura needed a firmer hand. Chloe had used a combination of placation and argument to control her, but that had increased Laura’s arrogance. And the lack of social concourse meant that Laura had no incentive to maintain her manners. They had grown quite lax.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  Chloe exhaled in relief as Andrew’s curricle pulled away from Moorside. Laura had thrown another fit as they left. Even Andrew had been unable to quiet her.

  Perhaps it was time to resign. Her savings wouldn’t buy a cottage, but escaping Laura might be worth putting herself at the mercy of a landlord. And there was always her emergency fu—

  The curricle bounced across a rut, brushing Andrew’s leg against her own. Heat speared her from head to toe. Eleven years had not banished that childish infatuation.

  Her fault, of course, she admitted, suppressing her reaction through force of will. She’d escaped into fantasies of Andrew whenever life became a burden – the day her father had lost her already-inadequate dowry, her unsuccessful attempt to escape Fields House, the abuse she endured from Laura….

  Reliving childhood escapades and imagining what life might have been like if he’d stayed in Devonshire had kept her rational.

  Don’t, she admonished herself. This is no time for fantasy.

  And he was no fantasy knight. Already she saw differences between the real and imaginary Andrews that proved she knew little of the man he had become.

  His looks still demanded attention, and he exuded a blatant masculinity she’d never encountered before, even from him. But war and hardship had encased him in armor. His once expressive face had frozen into a harsh mask. His eyes had gone flat and haunted, offering only an occasional glimpse of a soul tormented by ghosts, pain, and horror. The teasing twinkle she’d loved so much was gone.

  His eyes had formerly revealed his every thought, though she’d sometimes missed the message. Like the day he’d informed her, quite solemnly, that Kevin had found a new playmate and no longer welcomed their company. In truth, Kevin had acquired a tutor who kept him in the schoolroom instead of letting him run wild from dawn to dusk. Andrew’s teasing had been prescient, though. Kevin had fallen in love with books, becoming so enamored of study that the tutor had to force him outside. In the end, it had been Chloe and Andrew who kept his life balanced.

  She stifled the reminder of her dead brother. This was no time to visit old griefs. The purpose of this journey was to relax for a few hours.

  The lane finally curved, blocking Laura’s fury. It had been burning into her back since Andrew had set the team in motion. But she would face that problem tomorrow. For now she must prepare for her family.

  Which meant only Peter. An immediate funeral guaranteed that no other relatives could attend. They would probably have refused anyway. The uncles and cousins had avoided Sir Nigel for years, condemning him for his profligacy and his stubborn refusal to hire a competent man of business. In response, he’d refused to acknowledge their existence, even barring Uncle Leo from the estate.

  Poor Papa, she thought, swallowing tears. He had never accepted responsibility for his losses. So when the family descended with their criticism and advice, he had dug in his heels and clung to his ways. If they had left him alone, he might have learned from his mistakes – and the family fortune might have survived.

  The uncles had also tried to groom Peter for a life of fiscal responsibility. But Peter shared their father’s determination to build his own fortune, though his methods were no more effective. While Sir Nigel gambled on investments, Peter had just gambled. What had started as an attempt to supplement an inadequate allowance had quickly become an obsession.

  Better men than Peter had lost fortunes at the tables, but Peter’s temper worsened with each new loss, making him argumentative. The year before Chloe had left Fields House, the two men had fought often over money – which was another reason she’d welcomed this post.

  Nothing fazed Peter. Not debt. Not threats. Not even a beating he’d taken after reneging on a payment to a moneylender. No matter how badly he lost, he still believed that he would win the next time – and win big. Then he could escape their father’s heavy hand.

  Well, he had managed that last. But she knew as sure as the sun rose in the east that he would squander his entire inheritance within the year. She did not want to be nearby when he found his back against the wall.

  “Are you all right?” asked Andrew, covering her hand with his own.

  “Fine.” She blushed as his heat burned through her gloves. “Father’s death was unexpected, for he was neither old nor sick. But years of antagonism destroyed any family feeling.”

  “My condolences anyway. He was your father, and I recall your family as close. I still remember the picnics he arranged for all of us.”

  “Things change.” She sighed. They had started changing even before Andrew had bought his commission, though she had said nothing lest she cast a pall over their summers. Now she felt an overwhelming urge to share. “You rarely saw Father after you started school. Even Kevin did not recognize the truth for several years. His nose was always in a book.”

  “What happened?”

  “After Grandfather died, Father set out to prove that he was a cannier investor. But he wasn’t. At first Mother was able to soothe him when he lost, but her influence soon waned. By the time Kevin started at Oxford, Father’s temper was so chancy that we avoided him.”

  His hand squeezed hers, offering comfort.

  “Then the steward absconded with several years of estate profits, Kevin died, and everything fell apart. Mother took to her bed, Father’s schemes grew wilder, and Peter started gaming heavily. I went into service, which exposed his empty coffers to the world. We spoke only once after that – a biting exchange over Mother’s coffin.” She shrugged, already berating herself for revealing so much. He couldn’t care about any of it. His life had moved to a larger arena, making the events of this corner of Devonshire insignificant.

  She had to remember that he was no longer an honorary brother. She could not even count him a friend.

  Had Kevin heard about that day in the orchard? They’d been in the open where anyone might have seen. Had he challenged Andrew? Had Andrew killed him?

  * * * *

  Andrew drove in silence for several minutes. Chloe would already regret confiding in him, though it was clear that she’d needed to talk. But he was no longer her playmate. It was amazing that she’d spoken to him at all after his cruelty.

  He was still reeling from the reaction that had slammed through his gut the moment she’d opened the door. Awareness. Desire. Need. His heart had jerked from relaxed to racing in an instant, knocking him so far off balance that he’d overreacted to Laura’s pique.

  Why did he never feel this kick for other women? Not that he’d remained celibate, especially after a battle, when he would try anything that might shove the horror aside. But even the headiest experiences paled beside the rush of excitement Chloe could raise. And always had.

  She was a lifelong friend, he reminded himself. And part of his reaction was due to the changes since he’d last seen her. The curves that had blossomed at age fifteen had matured into a woman’s softness. Time had turned her coltish awkwardness to grace. Her sable hair gleamed in the sunlight, and her mossy eyes seemed
almost mystic today. She was more sober than he remembered, but that was hardly a surprise: Her father lay dead.

  Both the Fields and Seabrook households had been odd, though he’d not realized how odd until he started school. Lady Fields had decided to run the nursery herself, so Chloe had had no governess and Kevin no tutor until his tenth year. But Lady Fields had demanded only sporadic study, often leaving her children to their own devices.

  The Seabrook household hadn’t been much better. After Lady Seabrook’s death when Andrew was nine, his oldest sister Catherine had taken charge of the household. But money was tight, and the tutor lazy. So William and Andrew often slipped away to meet Kevin and Chloe. They’d formed bonds even closer than blood ties.

  Not that they always stayed together. Stodgy William and bookish Kevin often pursued sedate activities, leaving Andrew and Chloe to climb trees, track animals, and ride neck-or-nothing across the hills. Even as a child, she’d been independent, intelligent, and just as curious about the world as he. Which had led to that disastrous last meeting.

  How she must hate him for that cruel parting – as shown by the cold Captain Seabrook she had uttered the moment her shock had faded at Moorside.

  Pain sliced his chest. There was no doubt his attraction remained, stronger than ever. But this time he would keep it well buried. Never again would he tread where he could not stay. Tomorrow he would be gone, back to the kill-or-be-killed reality of battle.

  Could she ever forgive him? Granted, she had willingly climbed into a curricle beside him, then shared her family problems. But that meant nothing. He’d seen the refusal hovering on her lips. Only fierce will had held it back – without his escort, she would miss her father’s funeral. And sharing was a habit. Neither denoted friendship. He had no right to her regard anyway. Not after he’d killed Kev—

  He cut off the thought. Nothing could change the past. Instead, he must look to the present. Recalling Kevin revived other memories – like his dying plea: Take care of Chloe.