Secondhand Bride by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

Now, I miss him for you, too.”
    Chloe was on the edge of her seat, her hands clasping the arms of the fancy chair. Her eyes had gone so wide that they burned, and she could barely breathe. “Please,” she whispered. “Tell me.”
    Becky sat up a little straighter, set her shoulders resolutely. “There’s no easy way to say something like this— John Lewis wasn’t your uncle, Chloe. He was your father.”
    “No,” Chloe said, at once stricken and wildly hopeful. “He was my father’s brother—he said—my mother told me—”
    Becky simply waited.
    Memories spun in Chloe’s head, unwinding like a watch spring taken from its casing. John Lewis is a bad influence, she heard her mother say. He puts wild ideas in your head. Then her stepfather’s voice joined in, cool and disapproving, like always. I know you’re fond of him, Chloe, but it’s better if you don’t see him again.
    “Why didn’t they tell me?” Chloe demanded, still reeling. “Why didn’t he?”
    Becky leaned to take Chloe’s hand and squeeze it once. “I can’t speak for your mother. I know John kept it to himself because he thought you’d be ashamed of him.”
    “Ashamed? He was such a good man—”
    “He was,” Becky agreed, with quiet conviction. “But he made some mistakes when he was younger.”
    “What kind of mistakes?”
    Becky hesitated, then got past whatever had held her back for those few seconds. “John was in prison,” she said. “He was involved in a robbery.”
    Chloe thought she would be violently ill from the shock of it. Her gentle, unassuming uncle— father —committing a robbery, going to jail? Impossible. She put a hand over her mouth.
    Becky rose, went to a cabinet on the other side of the room, and poured water from a carafe. She brought the glass to Chloe, who drank it in three swallows and longed for something stronger, even though she was a firm advocate of temperance.
    “I could have used a father,” she said weakly, when she’d set the empty glass aside. Her eyes burned, and her stomach roiled.
    Becky remained beside Chloe’s chair, a hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “John thought highly of your stepfather,” she said gently. “He said Mr. Wakefield took good care of you and of your mother. That was more important to him than anything else—knowing that you were all right.”
    Chloe realized her face was wet, but she made no move to wipe away the tears. “They must have sent him away,” she fretted. “I’ll never, ever forgive them.”
    “Shhh,” Becky said. “You don’t mean that. It couldn’t have been easy for your mother, seeing John. And your stepfather, well, he was probably just trying to keep his family together.”
    “Yes, I do mean it!” Chloe argued, a flush stinging its way up her neck to blaze in her cheeks. “I was so lonely. Mother and Mr. Wakefield were always traveling, or giving grand parties, or going to them. But John was there, whenever he was with me—he made me laugh, and when he looked at me, I felt as if he was really seeing me. When I said something, he paid attention, instead of just waiting for me to be quiet—”
    Becky had gotten snagged upstream in the conversation. “You call your stepfather ‘Mr. Wakefield’?” she asked, pulling her chair around from behind the desk so she could sit beside Chloe. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it over.
    Chloe dried her face. “Yes,” she said. “So does Mother.”
    “Amazing,” said Becky, shaking her head.
    Chloe shot to her feet, too agitated to sit, and began to pace. “Someone should have told me!” she raged. “Dear God, how I hate being lied to!”
    “People lie for all sorts of reasons, Chloe. In this case, it was to protect you.”
    “I didn’t want to be protected—I wanted a father!”
    “I’m sorry.”
    Chloe stopped. “For telling me the truth?”
    “No,” Becky answered, with a sigh. “I’m convinced it was the right thing to do. John would have