The Purloined Papers (16 page)

Red mist clouded her eyes as she recalled Andrew’s lies.
Show a pleasant face
, indeed. Why was he trying to humiliate her? 

Oh, she’d tried, running a gauntlet of servants and family on her way upstairs. But her smiles hadn’t deflected their sly insults. And pleasant greetings did not prevent their glee at her predicament.

“Welcome home, Miss Laura,” Fitch had said – but his eyes had slid past her ugly face, and he’d taken obscene delight in directing her to this hovel.

“Lovely gown. That one was always my favorite,” Catherine had purred after inquiring about her journey. But Laura had heard the sarcasm that derided the outdated dress and drew attention to her own stylish creation.

“Hello, Aunt Laura,” Sarah had chirped as Laura had turned toward her room. “You look pretty today.”  Laura had nearly slapped her. That lazy governess had let her escape from the nursery again. And knowing that even Sarah felt obligated to draw attention from her scars made her furious.

They had insulted her intelligence in other ways, too. Every one of them had smirked because a scheming mushroom would soon take her place as mistress of Seabrook Manor.

It had to stop.

Mrs. Truitt’s ties to great houses meant nothing. Her ancestress had severed all connection to the polite world the day she had wed a nobody. And Mr. Truitt’s eyes were firmly fixed above his station. Welcoming the offspring of such a pair was unthinkable. Since William was lost to propriety, it was up to her to drive Martha away.

She had nearly succeeded in bringing William to his senses last year, but he was stubborn as well as stupid. Expecting him to do his duty would not work, so she must take matters into her own hands – though it would be easier to make Martha cry off if her own credit wasn’t suffering unjust persecution.

Hatred churned in her breast as she reviewed her many enemies. Mary had stolen her beau. Grayson had hired Turner to destroy her face – if only she commanded his wealth, she could return the favor. Rockhurst had spread poisonous tales about her. William had banished her to Moorside. Andrew treated her like a recalcitrant child despite having no authority over her. Chloe considered herself superior to her employer.

They had driven off her beaux, turned society against her, then locked her away in the most boring prison possible. It was time they paid. Only then would she be free to pursue the life she deserved. Never again would anyone dictate her behavior.

* * * *

“Did you learn anything new while I was out?” asked Andrew as Jinks brushed the dust from his riding jacket.

“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.

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.