Written in the Heart

by Judith Stacy

  “Is he another uncle? A cousin?” She approached his desk. “Your father?”

  He flinched, and Caroline knew she had her answer.

  “He’s your father, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Stephen replied tightly.

  “And Russell Pickette is the farmer who was here to see you that afternoon.”

  Deep, intense anger stirred in Stephen. Caroline saw it in the quick tic of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes.

  She held out the documents. “Your father gave Mr. Pickette a two-hundred-acre parcel of land?”

  “No. That document is a forgery.”

  “You told me Mr. Pickette was no one. When I asked, you said to forget about him, he didn’t matter.” Caroline thrust the documents at Stephen. “But he does matter!”

  Stephen rose to his feet. “That isn’t your concern. Just analyze the damned contract and give me your answer. That’s what you’re here for! Do your job!”

  Breath left Caroline in a horrified rush. She stared up at him, trying to make sense of what he’d just said, what it meant. Then it came to her and she wished she hadn’t figured it out at all.

  “That’s why you hired me,” she said softly. “This document…this was the reason all along.”

  “It’s a forgery! My father would never have agreed to give that land to Pickette. I needed you to prove it. What’s wrong with that?”

  “It’s deceitful! You gave me this job for your own personal gain. You allowed me to believe you thought my work was of some value. You led me on.” Caroline’s chest ached as the full impact of what he’d done hit her. “That’s why you referred me to those other businesses. I’m not stupid, Stephen. I can see that this contract will end up in court. You did all of this so I’d testify your way.”

  “My father didn’t give that land to that stupid, ignorant farmer. He wouldn’t do that.” Stephen pounded his fist on the desk. “I refuse to believe that! And I won’t let that Pickette bastard make a fool out of me!”

  “What has any of this got to do with you?”

  “It has everything to do with me!”

  “Mr. Pickette has lived on that land for twenty years,” Caroline said. “He has a wife. They’ve raised their children there. It’s their home, Stephen.”

  “I don’t give a damn about their home and their children,” Stephen said. “You don’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me!”

  “My father…” Color drained from Stephen’s face. He touched his hand to his chest. “My father—”

  “What, Stephen? What did he do?”

  He backed away. From her, from what he’d started to say.

  “It doesn’t matter about him,” Stephen said. “He’s not your concern.”

  “You can’t tell me, can you?” Caroline said. “You can’t get the words out. You’re so used to hiding behind your desk, your work, and covering up your feelings you can’t even tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m not hiding behind anything,” Stephen told her. “I just want you to tell me that contract is a fraud. That’s all!”

  Caroline drew herself up. “I’m not going to tell you anything. You’ve just been using me. You pretended to appreciate my work, when you were really just building my reputation for your own good. And all your talk about my not feeling responsible for Rudy Acres—that was just so I’d keep working, wasn’t it? It was all a big lie!”

  “Dammit, Caroline—”

  She slapped the documents down on his desk and ran out of the room.

  “Caroline!”

  She heard a crash inside his office. Caroline kept running, out the front door and down the street. She climbed onto the trolley car at the corner as raindrops fell and mingled with her tears.

  “Stephen? Stephen, dear?”

  He didn’t turn away from the window when his aunt came into his office. Fat raindrops spattered against the panes, the flowers, the brick walkways in the rear lawn. Stephen leaned his forehead against the cool glass, staring out.

  “Have you see Caroline?” Delfina asked.

  Stephen turned then, his shoulders hunched, hands thrust deep in his pockets, but didn’t meet his aunt’s eyes.

  “She’s gone,” he said, the words slipping through his lips with some effort.

  Delfina skirted around the pile of ledger books Stephen had heaved to the floor in a fit of anger. “When will she be back?”

  “She’s…she’s not coming back.”

  “What?”

  Stephen dropped into his chair. He was tired. Everything ached—his head, his chest. His heart?

  “But she can’t be gone,” Delfina cried.

  Rubbing his palms over his face, Stephen looked up at her. “She is.”

  “You can’t let her leave, Stephen. You can’t.”

  He rubbed his neck. “It was her choice.”

  “But you must bring her back, Stephen, you must. Who is going to plan the menus and oversee the staff? Who will direct the workmen to finish the sitting room? And what about the Monterey name? Who is going to plan our functions?”

  He dismissed her concern with a brush of his hand. “You’ll just keep at it, Aunt Delfi. You’re doing an excellent job.”

  “Me?” Delfina waved her arms frantically. “I didn’t do those things. Caroline did.”

  He looked up at her. “Caroline did all that?”

  “Of course she did. Who else would have?”

  Stephen mumbled a curse under his breath, directed at himself, and went back to the window. Behind him Aunt Delfi continued to fret, but he didn’t listen. Caroline filled his mind.

  She’d done all those things? She’d taken over his house, helped his aunt, planned the family’s events? And he hadn’t even realized it?

  How easily Caroline Sommerfield had blended into his life. He could see that now, but before he’d wanted nothing more than to get her into his bed. That first night, he’d wanted her on his desk in her wide-brimmed hat and high buttoned shoes.

  And all along she was winding her way into his home, his life, his heart. Even then, when he was panting after her, wondering about those French books with the diagrams she’d mentioned at the park, something else had tugged at him, something that went beyond lust. He hadn’t known what it was.

  Stephen knew now.

  But now was too late. Caroline was gone.

  Stephen awoke with a start. His eyes searched the darkened room. Faint light shone from the hallway. Where was he?

  Outside the wind howled. He sat up, his body aching and sore, and realized he’d fallen asleep at his desk in his office.

  Something was wrong. Stephen shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. The sleep that had eluded him until long into the night held him in a tight grip now, refusing to let go.

  Raindrops beat against the glass panes. The wind screamed around the windows. Screamed like he’d never hear it before.

  Stephen shot to his feet, tipping his chair over. The screaming wasn’t from the wind.

  In the dark he ran out of his office, down the hallway, took the steps two at a time. The screams grew louder. His heart pounded.

  On the second floor, Stephen slid to a stop. Light streamed out of the nursery. Brenna, wearing her nightgown, stood in the hallway, clutching a piece of paper in her hand and screaming.

  He pounded on the door with his fists, rivaling the thunder in the night sky. He kicked the wooden panels, shook the knob until he thought it would come off in his hand.

  “Open the door!” Stephen bellowed. “Open the damned door!”

  The key clicked in the lock. Stephen barreled through.

  “Where is she?” he demanded. “Where’s Caroline?”

  Aunt Eleanor, huddled in her flannel robe, cowered. “Really, Mr. Monterey, I must insist—”

  Stephen darted through the house to the staircase and charged up the steps.

  “Caroline!”

  He screamed her name and went from room to room, forcing the doors open, peer
ing into the darkness. He found her near the end of the hall.

  “Caroline.”

  She roused from under the covers and pushed her hair away from her face.

  “Stephen? What on earth—”

  He caught her hand and pulled her from under the tangle of bedcovers. “You have to come with me. Now, Caroline.”

  No jacket or hat had protected him from the weather. Rain had soaked his shirt, his hair, his face.

  “What’s happened?” she asked.

  “Joey,” he said. “He’s been kidnapped.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rain fell as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Monterey home, the only house on the block with all its lights on at this predawn hour.

  Caroline wore her aunt’s cape over the same gray shirtwaist she’d had on when she’d arrived at Eleanor’s house earlier, wiping away tears; she’d refused to answer her aunt’s questions and had gone straight up to her old room.

  Charles, impeccably dressed even at this hour, took her cape in the vestibule. Several men in suits walked purposefully through the foyer, one jotting down notes.

  “The Pinkerton Agency,” Stephen explained, as he took her hand and led her up the stairs. His clothing was soaked through but he didn’t seem to notice.

  Caroline lifted her skirts, hurrying to keep up with him. “Did you notify the authorities as well?”

  “They’re here. Somewhere.”

  When they reached the nursery more men were there checking things, making notes, murmuring among themselves. Brenna was on the window seat, crying. Richard was beside her.

  Caroline went to her, hugged her, and that brought on a new wave of tears.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Caroline said to Richard.

  He kept an arm securely around Brenna. “Delfina telephoned me. I came right over.”

  “It’s—it’s all my fault.” Brenna sobbed into her hands.

  “No, it’s not,” Richard said softly, stroking her hair.

  “It is!” Brenna insisted. She looked up at Stephen with tears rolling down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry…. I woke up and he was—gone. Just gone…”

  Brenna collapsed into tears again.

  “It’s not your fault,” Richard told her again, more forcefully this time. He looked up at Stephen. “Tell her. Tell her it’s not her fault.”

  Stephen didn’t. Anger, frustration seethed in him.

  “It’s not her fault.” Richard surged to his feet. “Tell her!”

  “It is her fault! It’s my fault! It’s everybody’s fault!” Stephen dragged his hand across his mouth, his anger dissipating. “It’s nobody’s fault.”

  Caroline rose and held Stephen’s arm. “Brenna is hysterical. She needs to lie down. You should send for the doctor. And change your clothes, Stephen, you’re soaked.”

  He nodded and looked relieved at having something to do.

  “I’ll stay with Brenna,” Caroline said.

  “No,” Richard said. “I’ll take care of her.”

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her to her bedroom, which adjoined the nursery. Caroline went with them. She tucked Brenna under the covers.

  “I’ll send the doctor up as soon as he arrives,” she said.

  But Richard didn’t seem to hear. Caroline left him seated at Brenna’s bedside, holding her hand, stroking her hair.

  Caroline went to Delfina’s room, sure the doctor would have to pay a call on her, too. Instead she found Delfina stretched out on the chaise, sipping tea, staring out at the first rays of dawn breaking through the cloud cover.

  “Are you all right?” Caroline pulled over a foot-stool and sat at Delfina’s side.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I am.”

  “I’ve sent for the doctor,” Caroline said. “Brenna has fallen to pieces.”

  “I should have thought of that myself,” Delfina said. She patted Caroline’s hand. “Go to Stephen. He’ll need you.”

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Of course, dear,” Delfina said, and turned back to the window.

  Caroline found Stephen in his office. He’d changed out of his wet clothes and now wore navy trousers held up by suspenders, and a plain white shirt opened at the collar. He paced behind his desk.

  A deep anxiety hung in the room, in the whole house. It permeated everything and everyone in it.

  “I telephoned the doctor,” Stephen said. “He’s on his way.”

  Caroline went to the liquor cabinet in the corner of the office and took out a glass and a bottle of bourbon.

  Stephen shook his head. “I don’t drink, usually.”

  “This isn’t for you,” Caroline said. “It’s for me.”

  She poured herself a shot. Stephen walked over and got another glass.

  “What the hell…” He held it out to her.

  Caroline filled his glass and they both tossed them back. Heat scorched her chest and tears sprang to her eyes.

  “That’s better,” she wheezed, and set her glass aside. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  “I’d fallen asleep here at my desk,” Stephen said. “I woke to Brenna’s screaming. She’d gotten up to check on Joey and he was gone.”

  “You called the police? And the Pinkerton people?”

  Stephen started pacing. “They found some mud and wet footprints in the kitchen. That’s probably how the kidnappers got into the house.”

  “What about in the hallway and on the steps?”

  “No, just in the kitchen. The detective theorized they hadn’t counted on the rain, so they took off their shoes after they entered the house.”

  “Considerate of them,” Caroline mumbled. “How did they know where the nursery was?”

  Stephen shrugged. “It wouldn’t be hard to figure out if they’d watched the house for a while.”

  “Any idea who’s behind this?”

  “Lots of ideas, unfortunately.” Stephen touched his neck. “I went over all of this with the detectives. A business rival. Or a guest at my birthday party who had access to the house.”

  Caroline gasped. “The workmen. Oh, Stephen, I had those workmen in here for the sitting room. They were all over the house.”

  “Then there’s always the servants. The detectives asked about a disgruntled employee.”

  “Rudy Acres…”

  “Possibly,” Stephen said. “There’s the issue with Girard in Johannesburg. I’d begun interviewing for his position. Girard has friends here. They might have gotten word somehow.”

  Caroline slumped into the chair in front of Stephen’s desk. “So many possibilities.”

  “When I find the villain responsible for this…” Stephen slammed his fist into his palm.

  She went around his desk and touched his arm. He was tight with anger. “Yes, I know. But right now we have to think, Stephen.”

  With some effort, he calmed. “The detectives are interviewing the staff.”

  “What did the note say?” Caroline asked. “There was a ransom note, wasn’t there?”

  “It just said I’d be contacted later and that Joey was safe.”

  “Let me see it,” Caroline said.

  Stephen waved away her remark and turned to gaze out the window. “That’s all it said. No more details.”

  “Don’t you want me to look at the handwriting? Isn’t that why you brought me here?”

  He whirled around, staring at her blankly. “No…I hadn’t even thought…”

  Stephen took a step closer. “I didn’t bring you here tonight because I wanted a graphologist,” he said softly. “I just wanted you, Caroline.”

  She thought her legs would give out. Caroline braced her arm against the desk to hold herself up. She wanted to run to him, throw herself in his arms, but didn’t have the opportunity.

  Stephen turned back to the window. The last of the rain misted against the panes as the clouds on the distant horizon broke up. He was silent for a long while.

  “You wer
e right,” he said, and the words sounded as if they hurt. “I hired you just for that one document, the land contract between my father and Pickette. I needed you to be a credible witness, so I got other businessmen to use your services. It was business, just business. But somehow it turned…personal.”

  Caroline’s arms ached with the need to hold him. But he kept himself just far enough away that she couldn’t touch him.

  He looked back at her. “I’m sorry. And I meant what I said about Rudy Acres. You did the right thing and have nothing to feel bad about. You’re very good at your work. I’m…very sorry.”

  Turning back to the window, Stephen stared out again. All Caroline could do was stand near him and see the tight lines of his profile as he spoke, while her heart ached for him.

  “My father—” Stephen cleared his throat and tried again. “My father inherited the same amount of money as did his brothers. You can see what my uncle Colin did with his inheritance. The other brothers did equally well. All except for my father.

  “He was no businessman. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Only he didn’t know he wasn’t a businessman. He lost every cent—slowly, stupidly—with one bad deal after another. Ridiculous, idiotic schemes that no one with a grain of sense would look twice at. And, in the process, he became the laughingstock of the Monterey family and the business community.”

  Stephen turned to her then. “The joke of the business world was my father. I was his son, raised in his shadow. Do you know what that was like? How humiliating it was? Being laughed at, made fun of by people who matter? Always just a little on the outside, never quite as good as everyone else?”

  “It must have been difficult for you,” Caroline said quietly, and she could see by his face that it had been.

  “I couldn’t afford to make a mistake. I’d be compared to my father—laughed at, just as he was. My uncle had taken me in, showed some faith in me. I couldn’t let him down. I couldn’t be anything less than…”

  “Perfect.”

  Stephen turned away sharply. “I have a business deal—a very large deal—in the works right now for that property Pickette has been farming. His twenty-year lease is up this month. Then, from out of nowhere, he showed up on my doorstep waving that contract, claiming my father had made that agreement with him.”