The Purloined Papers

by Allison Lane

  “That footman, John Rivers, is working for Squire Hawkins now,” Jinks answered. “He loves his new position and was heard to say that Sir Nigel did him a favor by turning him off.”

  Andrew nodded, but it sounded as though John harbored ill will toward Sir Nigel – if not for letting him go, then for earlier problems. The only question was whether he would jeopardize his current position by seeking revenge. “What about Simms?”

  “No one knows where he is. The consensus is that he left the area, but no one saw him board either the mail or the stage. He may be hiding somewhere.”

  Andrew sighed.

  “Rumor is rife about the others on your list, too, sir,” continued Jinks.

  “How?”

  “Sir Peter has been gaming very heavily lately, and losing consistently. Estimates of his debts run as high as three thousand guineas, though that number comes from Mrs. Telcor. She never passes up an opportunity to complain about him.”

  “Hardly a surprise. She blames him for the loss of her pearls.”

  “Nothing new is known about that incident.” Jinks stored the jacket in the wardrobe and turned his ministrations to Andrew’s dress uniform. “But you were right about Mr. Weedell. His man of business panicked over those rumors that we’d lost Waterloo. Sold everything at a huge loss. Weedell is scrambling to recoup.”

  That explained his determination to turn over as much property as possible, decided Andrew as Jinks held out his pelisse. But it raised other questions. How far would Weedell go to rebuild his fortune? Was he behind the housing square swindle – those shares were dated two weeks after Waterloo. And if so, had Sir Nigel found proof that it was a fraud?

  Still frowning, he headed for the drawing room. Only when he reached the stairs did he remember that he’d meant to ask where Jinks had put his sketchbook. He could have sworn he’d left it on the washstand yesterday, but it had been missing when he’d looked for it last night. He’d wanted to try some new ideas for the old wing.

  * * * *

  Chloe paused in the drawing room doorway, undecided whether to enter or follow Laura back upstairs. Laura had told her to go ahead, but her excuse for returning to her room was flimsy at best. Was the prospect of facing the assembly so terrifying that she’d fled?

  It shouldn’t be. Most of those gathered tonight were family, eager to believe that she had adjusted to her scars and was ready to move on. Manners would prevent the others from noticing Laura’s face.

  Lady Rockhurst spotted Chloe and hurried across the drawing room, the diagonal slash of embroidery that decorated her gown glinting in the light of several dozen candles. “My condolences, Miss Fields,” she murmured. “Losing a father is painful.”

  “Thank you,” said Chloe absently, distracted by the sudden realization of Laura’s problem. With no way to remedy it, she could only warn the family. “Your gown is lovely, my lady. Miss Seabrook will turn positively green when she sees it.”

  Lady Rockhurst’s eyes darkened. “Oh, dear. She always made sure her gowns were more stylish than ours. I hadn’t realized—”

  “She has bought nothing new since leaving London.”

  A glance at the assembly increased Chloe’s fears. Every gown in the room had a very high waistline and a hem that revealed the ankle. Clocked stockings were rife. Lady Grayson wore a square-necked gown in willow green stripes with a pleated flounce. Miss Truitt glowed in pale yellow trimmed in emerald, while her mother seemed imposing in purple and diamonds. Miss Sullivan’s white lace over rose satin would fit into any London drawing room. Laura’s gown was lovely – pink set off by wine ribbons, with a lace apron and delicate flowers around the bodice – but its lower waistline and floor-brushing hem marked it as out-of-date.

  Before she could decide what to do, Lady Grayson joined them. “Welcome, Miss Fields. My condolences on the death of your father. No matter what differences divided you, it must still hurt.”

  Chloe nodded. Needing time to consider solutions to Laura’s latest problem, she turned the subject. “I peeked in the nursery before coming down and cannot believe how much the boys have grown since I saw them last year.”

  That set the proud mothers to bragging shamelessly.

  Chloe listened with half an ear while debating whether to fetch Laura or let her remain upstairs. Missing dinner would make appearing tomorrow even more difficult, but it might give Chloe a chance to remake one of Laura’s gowns. Raising the waistline would also raise the hem, and removing the aprons that had been so popular two years earlier was simple. Before she could decide, Lady Rockhurst’s daughter Sarah joined them, accompanied by her governess. Ladies Rockhurst and Grayson moved on.

  Sarah glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one else stood nearby. “How do you tolerate Aunt Laura?” she murmured. “I heard her shouting at you upstairs. Her demands must make you furious.”

  “Manners, Sarah,” warned Miss Griswold.

  “She’s right, Sarah. But it was an honest question, and one I don’t mind answering.” Though not in detail. Laura had been unhappy because cosmetics and dangling ringlets did not completely hide her scars. Heavy veils were impossible indoors. “Miss Seabrook remains self-conscious, so a gathering like this intimidates her. People who feel insecure often lash out. The trick is to never take her megrims personally.”

  “And to remember that it is not your fault that Laura is missing a brick or two,” added Andrew, joining them.

  Chloe’s heart quickened. He was amazingly handsome in full dress uniform. Medals gleamed against a green tunic – a reminder that he’d often been cited for bravery. His green pelisse stretched across broad shoulders, a scarlet sash traced his trim waist, and the green pantaloons sculpted powerful thighs, though the injured one remained thinner. His eyes seemed calmer tonight – or perhaps that was a trick of the light, for the reflections from his uniform darkened their color.

  Sarah almost stifled her giggle.

  “That was not funny, Sarah,” murmured Miss Griswold.

  “I know, Grissy. But it sounded funny the way he said it.”

  “Said what?” asked Laura.

  Chloe tensed. She hadn’t seen Laura arrive. Worse, Laura’s tone revealed pique, not trepidation. She was up to something.

  “That the rain in Spain fell only during battles. I don’t think we fought a single engagement dry,” said Andrew lightly. “Aren’t you going to greet Sarah and Miss Griswold?”

  “A child and a servant? William demeans himself by allowing such creatures in the drawing room.” Her dismissal included Chloe.

  “An odd assertion from someone who took charge of the household at Sarah’s age,” drawled Andrew. But fury turned his eyes to green ice.

  Laura turned to Chloe. “Fetch my fan, Fields. It is far too warm in here.”

  “There is no time,” said Andrew.

  “She must make the time. Her job is to see me coiffed and accoutered. If she’d done it properly, I would have my fan.”

  Chloe wanted to protest – Laura had refused to carry a fan this evening – but she knew Laura was waiting to pounce. Before she could nod and leave the room, Lady Rockhurst returned.

  “Heavens, Laura,” she said with a laugh. “Since when do you carry a fan to dinner? You’ve always complained that it interferes with eating. Come along and meet the Sullivans.”

  “Later. I must deal with a small domestic matter first.”

  “Enough, Laura.” Andrew’s voice could cut glass, though it didn’t carry beyond their group. “Miss Fields is a companion, not a maid. If you need the fan, fetch it yourself, but I would advise against it. Fitch is announcing dinner. Miss Fields?” He extended his arm to escort her.

  Laura glared at him.

  Chloe wanted to flee, but she accepted his arm. Protesting his interference would only make matters worse. But she would have to treat him to some plain speaking.

  Laura didn’t want to be here, and when Laura was unhappy, someone always paid. To spare the other guests, Chloe was
willing to be the target. But Andrew had foiled the attempt to humiliate her – the address more suited to a maid, the public disclosure of her supposed inadequacies, the plan to make her miss dinner. Thus he had given Laura a new grievance.

  Laura was collecting grievances and would exact retribution for every one.

  The next five days stretched interminably ahead. It was easy to tell Sarah to ignore Laura’s megrims, but she couldn’t. It was her job to keep Laura from embarrassing William.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  Dinner had been a disaster, admitted Chloe as she slipped into the empty music room. William had made a huge mistake by inviting Laura. Even Chloe hadn’t realized how much worse it would be than last year. Not only did Laura believe that William had banished her so he could install Martha in her place, but she apparently thought Andrew was enforcing the plot.

  The drawing room confrontation had signaled Laura’s determination to find fault with everything, but even Chloe hadn’t expected her outburst at dinner. Lady Rockhurst, as the oldest Seabrook sister, was acting as hostess. Martha Truitt occupied the seat of honor to William’s right. Laura sat midway down the table, with Chloe across from her, too far away to influence her, yet near enough to sense her stretching control.

  To Laura, the position was an insult. And it didn’t help that she received the same deference from her dinner partners as Chloe did from hers. Laura had gone on the attack during the first course.

  “We are so relieved that Miss Truitt accepted William’s hand,” she’d responded to Mr. Sullivan. “We’d given up finding someone blind enough to overlook the brutality he tries to hide. Most girls run in the other direction the moment they become acquainted.” She’d laughed gaily while Mr. Sullivan reddened and Chloe gritted her teeth.

  That had been only the beginning. By the second course, she had insinuated – under the guise of sparkling flirtation – that Lady Grayson had played her husband false since wedding him, that Andrew had sold battle plans to the French, and that Lord Rockhurst owned two London brothels.

  Then she revived her old stories against Miss Truitt, adding details unsuited for mixed company or a formal dinner. With each new statement, her voice grew louder until it dominated the room. Miss Truitt blanched. William turned purple, making him look as vicious as Laura had suggested.

  The breach of propriety was so blatant that no one knew what to do. As the guests sat in stunned silence, Chloe barely restrained Lord Grayson from leaping for Laura’s throat. She was wracking her brain for a way to whisk Laura away when Andrew spoke up from three seats to her left.

  “Save the lies for a more appropriate time, Laura,” he drawled. “Perhaps you should consider writing gothic novels. You obviously have the imagination for it.”

  “I— I—” she stammered, but Andrew’s glare stopped her cold.

  “You are a guest in this house, not its master,” he said frigidly. “Don’t forget your place again.”

  With the spell broken, everyone resumed dining. Mr. Sullivan cut Laura before beginning an animated conversation with Lady Grayson. On Laura’s other side, Mr. Wyath developed a keen interest in his beef, removing her last audience.

  Laura remained silent for the remainder of the meal, but Chloe knew her well. People were not reacting to her revelations the way she had expected. Most had cut her instead of shunning her victims. Not only would their disapproval support her claim that society was conspiring against her, but she was primed to explode, and Chloe would make an excellent target.

  Chloe refused to take more abuse in public, so she slipped away when the ladies moved to the drawing room for charades. It wasn’t difficult. She followed the older guests, who were headed for a sitting room to play cards. Lady Rockhurst was staying at Laura’s elbow, her expression promising punishment if Laura caused new trouble.

  So Chloe had ducked into the music room. She needed to practice. After two years as Laura’s companion, she found that her fingers were rusty – bad news if she hoped to teach. It was the largest drawback of Moorside – even worse than Laura herself. Laura had no interest in music, so the cottage lacked an instrument.

  Buying a pianoforte would be Chloe’s first act after resigning.

  There was so much she needed to do immediately, she admitted as her fingers moved into Mozart’s Sonata in C. Find a companion. Find a cook – Sally had never cooked in her life. Let people know that she was accepting students. And brace for Peter’s censure. His pride was as strong as their father’s. He would be furious to find her at Rose Cottage. And despite his having no legal control over her, his antagonism could drive away potential students.

  Setting up her own establishment had already become more complicated than she’d expected. She had planned this step for six years, yet she hadn’t considered the details. Now a new problem occurred to her several times a day. But she would manage.

  She repeated the first movement of the Mozart, her fingers moving with more confidence this time. The music lightened her heart. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d missed it.

  Living near Exeter meant that her neighbors would know her as an honorable lady forced to make her own way because of poverty. That would make it easier to attract students. And if some of those students initially came out of pity, she could bear it. They would stay because of her talent.

  The upper classes would react differently, of course. In their world – her former world – ladies did not live alone. Breaking those rules would make her a pariah. Never again could she attend a gathering such as this. Her social status would fall below that of a governess – on a par with shopkeepers.

  Peter will do more than rant, warned a voice in her head.

  Her fingers stumbled. Once she’d regained the flow of notes, she considered her brother.

  She had assumed that abandoning her class to live alone and teach would end his interest. But that might not be true. He might drive away students so she wouldn’t humiliate him. Or he might sell her into marriage without disclosing her situation – her breeding remained. And she would have little recourse. Her guardian, Mr. Barry, was straitlaced. If one of Peter’s friends compromised her, Mr. Barry would demand marriage.

  Perhaps she should move away. She would lose the advantage of knowing her potential students, but severing all ties to Devonshire would prevent Peter from using her. It was such an obvious solution that she cursed herself for not seeing it sooner. It would have saved Andrew the bother of visiting the house agent.

  Regret that she would never see Andrew again made her fingers stumble. His voice echoed: How can you live with her?

  Only now did she admit that working for Laura meant that she heard news about Andrew.

  Pathetic.

  The dreams hadn’t died. Instead they lurked in her heart, sabotaging any chance of happiness. She was no better than Laura, unwilling to accept that childish fantasies could never be real.

  Andrew had spoken the truth even before that day in the orchard, though she had not listened. She’d been so sure that she could convince him to wed her. But a boy of sixteen had no interest in marriage, no matter what his feelings. His duty had lain with the army. Her duty lay at home. Thus they’d had no future together. She should have set aside her infatuation and found a real suitor.

  His morning description of the army’s hardships convinced her that she could not have endured such a life. While she was prepared to live in a cottage, she could not tolerate mud, dirt, and discomfort. Andrew rarely stayed in one spot for long. He owned few possessions. His life contained no music, no beauty, and very little pleasure.

  And it never would. His next post might offer worse conditions.

  So she had to forget the air dreams of childhood. They had already cost her any chance of marriage. It was time to concentrate on the future – which would be easier away from Devonshire. If she remained, she would hear news of him, keeping the dream alive even if he were gone for another eleven years. It was better to sever all connectio
ns.

  Moving would make it harder to attract students, so she must conserve money. The easiest way would be to forgo a companion – possible if she were a widow. And changing her name would prevent Peter from finding her. If anyone asked about her husband, she could describe Kevin’s death.

  Her fingers sped into the sonata’s third movement as her mind raced. Retaining her background as the daughter of a baronet would enhance her position as a teacher. Sally could be an old family retainer pressed into duty as a companion and maid of all work. They could find someone to cook and help with the cleaning.

  Excitement swelled along with the coda.

  * * * *

  “What the devil happened to Laura?” demanded William, dragging Andrew into the library after dinner. They had endured half an hour of tension before releasing the gentlemen to join the ladies.

  “What do you mean?”

  William ran his fingers through his hair in a gesture he hadn’t used in years. “I can’t believe that outburst at dinner. She’s always been gracious, except … well … there was that unpleasantness in London two years ago, but devil it, what happened tonight? I thought she’d mellowed.”

  Andrew had been bracing for this discussion from the moment he’d realized that William knew nothing of substance about Laura. “When did you last see her?”

  “A year ago. She spent a very pleasant week here … well … there was a bit of a tiff with Martha, but it was all a misunderstanding. They settled their differences easily enough.”

  Andrew clenched his fists to keep from pounding his brother. “Don’t you pay attention to anything but estate matters?” he demanded. “That tiff, as you call it, occurred because Laura told everyone in Exeter that Martha had had a flaming affair with Jasper Rankin before he left for the Caribbean. Martha was nearly drummed out of town. Only the fact that Mrs. Telcor recognized Laura’s tactics – she knew that Laura had concocted a similar story to destroy a rival in London – saved Martha from ostracism.”

  “What?”

  “Ostracism. Pay attention. If I had realized how oblivious you were to what happens around you, I would have argued against inviting her. Instead I believed you, which meant I didn’t realize the full danger until I’d dragged her here.”