Filed To Story: Alessia Mistaken as Mistress Book PDF Free
“But she stole from us.”
“She said she’d pay it all back, didn’t she?”
“The jewelry wasn’t on the list she intended to pay back,” Nicholas scoffed.
Milos seemed to mull that fact over at length. “She detailed her hospital debt, her clothing, everything down to the last flannel, promising to pay you back, and yet she never mentioned a fortune in gemstones. Don’t you find that odd?”
He did. He blew a smoke ring and watched it dissipate into the humid air. She wasn’t the person he’d first thought. She’d taken care of the Crane family without being asked, without expecting anything, without even letting him know. She’d seen that all of Claire’s clothing had been put to good use.
She hadn’t asked for clothing for herself, in fact Leda had insisted and forced her to accept the dresses and underclothing.
“I find it even more odd that she sold her mother’s bracelet first,” Nicholas said. “It meant a great deal to her, but she sold it before she sold our pieces.”
Milos agreed. “That does seem illogical. You’re sure the old woman didn’t take it?”
“Positive,” Nicholas said. “Besides, the jeweler’s wife described Alessia.”
“How did she describe her?”
Nicholas repeated her recounting.
“Had you ever seen her wear a veil besides the day of the funeral?” Milos asked.
“No.”
They smoked. And thought.
“And the perambulator. Is something like that missing?”
Nicholas shook his head. “She never had one. Of course she could have bought it after selling the bracelet.”
“Seems a bit odd to buy a baby buggy when one is planning to catch a train, don’t you think?”
Nicholas agreed.
They observed each other.
“Perhaps it was a disguise,” Nicholas said first.
“Someone else with your baubles who wanted it to look like Alessia took them.”
“Who?” Nicholas asked, wondering aloud. He sat forward abruptly.
“What is it?”
“Judith!” Nicholas shouted, jumping out of the chair and gesturing with the cigar. “Why that-“
“The actress? When would she have had the opportunity to steal them?”
“That day she waited here at the house for Alessia. One of the servants probably brought her tea, and after that she had time to go upstairs before they checked on her again.”
“This means you don’t think Alessia took it.”
“This means I don’t want to believe Alessia took it.”
“Now what are you going to do?”
“I’m still going to find her. And William. For Mother.”
Milos gave him a skeptical glance. “Of course,” he said knowingly. “For your mother.”
“Did I get any messages while I was out?” Hot and cranky, Nicholas waited for a reply.
The desk clerk at the Hotel Gold gave Nicholas a patient once-over. “No, sir.”
“If a telegram comes for me, I don’t care what time it is, come wake me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nicholas crossed the elegant lobby and climbed the curved stairs without noting any of the hotel’s ornate appointments.
All day he’d walked the streets of Fort Wayne, looking for a woman with a baby, too impatient to wait in his room, and eager to find a lead to Alessia’s whereabouts.
His Pinkerton contact had traced her this far, and promised that if she hadn’t gone on west, they would locate her within a day or two.
Letting himself into his room, he removed his jacket and tie and opened both windows wide. He glanced around. The bed had already been turned down, and fresh towels were stacked near the bowl and pitcher set.
He removed his clothing and washed with the tepid water in the basin, immediately feeling cooler and his temperament somewhat improved.
From his leather satchel, he withdrew a few pap?rs, the letter from Alessia among them. He unfolded it as though it were a love letter, and read again the words he’d already become familiar with.
She might have left her father a letter when she left him, too. She might have written him since she’d been gone. Nicholas envisioned the man throwing her letters away unopened. He was a cold, unfeeling man who probably had no trouble sleeping at night even though he’d tossed his daughter out into a dangerous world.
The image of Alessia, her lovely hair and lush body, never left his mind. He could picture her now, as clearly as though she were there with him. Any man would be drawn to her. And obviously at least one man had been.
How would she protect herself? How would she take care of William on her own? The thought of something happening to either of them was enough to tie his stomach in knots. He hadn’t eaten a meal without thinking of her, without wondering if she’d eaten that day.
He hadn’t lain down to rest without wondering where she slept at night.
She would be forced to do anything she could to survive. And if he knew little else about Alessia, he knew she was a survivor.
He refolded the letter and laid it on the bedside table. Turning down the brass-based parlor lamp until the flame went out, he lay down and stared into the blackness.
Where was she tonight? What thoughts crept through her head and kept her from sleep? Regrets. Shame. Fear.
She had intended to tell him, her letter said. It had been a misunderstanding, and she’d meant to straighten it out. Why hadn’t she?
He’d gone to the hospital after making arrangements for his brother’s body and their trunks. He’d first seen her sleeping in the hospital, so small and alone, with fading bruises on skin as pale and delicate as the petals of a white rose.
She’d had a bandage on her head, and her leg in a cast, and he’d known then that he would take her home and protect her from further harm.
And when he’d come back the next time, she’d been anticipating his arrival. Perhaps she’d been prepared to tell him then. She’d been sitting in the wheelchair he’d purchased for her, one hand holding a hat on her blond mane, the other struggling to secure it with a pin.
Had he given her the opportunity to tell him?
Her eyes, as wide and as blue as the Ohio summer sky, had followed him as he approached and beheld the tiny squirming infant he’d believed to be his brother’s.
And then what had he said to her? He’d told her his mother was waiting for them. He’d assured her that she had a place to live, and reported that he’d paid the hospital and doctor.