“After she broke the vase, I was angry. I admit, I let my temper get the better of me. I stormed out of the library and told her if she continued her naughty behavior, you would never come back.”
Miss Brooking closed her eyes. Rory gripped his crystal glass. “I know. I shouldn’t have said that. You would have said the right thi—”
“No matter.” She cut him off as though she were the head of the household, not him. “Fortunately, it is early in the season,and we have a few hours of light left. I’ll go out and search for her. I have an idea where she might be.”
He set the glass down. “Where?” She turned and started away, and Rory found himself going after her. “Where?” he repeated.
“For the last few days all we have talked about was the picnic at the stream. I think she might go that way—ifshe ran away. Are you sure she’s not in the house?”
“We searched it,” he said, catching up to her and easily matching her stride.
She paused at the staircase. “Did anyone look in the nursery and see if her mother’s handkerchiefs are gone?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about Harriet?”
He felt a shock jolt him as though he’d been struck by lightning. “Harriet?”
“Her doll, my lord. Is her doll in the nursery? She would not run away without her doll.”
Rory shook his head. “I-I don’t know.”
But Miss Brooking was already on her way up the stairs, and he went after her. Of course the child wouldn’t leave her doll. Why hadn’t he thought to look in the nursery? He passed her, opened the door to the nursery, and marched inside. He found a doll and held it up. Relief poured through him. The doll was here.
“That’s Marcella,” she said. “My doll.” She scanned the room quickly. “Harriet isn’t here. Let’s go toward the picnic spot and the trout stream.”
Rory dropped the doll. “It’s a three-mile walk.” Surely a girl couldn’t walk three miles on her own.
“She’s been gone two hours. Hopefully, she went part of the way, realized how foolish her idea was, and is on her way back.”
Rory was doubtful. “I’ll order the rest of the staff to join the search around the house.”
“And send for Admiral.”
“The dog? Yes, of course. We’ll take him with us.” Why hadn’t he thought of the dog? He didn’t usually panic under stress. He was always the calm, brave one.
A few minutes later, he sent the staff out to search and met Miss Brooking on the back lawn with the dog. She looked tired, and he realized she had probably walked all the way to her mother’s and back, and now he was asking her to walk another three miles. A gentleman would have suggested she stay back at the house, but Rory couldn’t be a gentleman right now. He needed her with him. She was thinking clearly, and she knew Frances better than he did.
What he wouldn’t admit was that he was terrified out of his mind they would find Frances injured or drowned, and he needed the nanny to help him keep calm. She had that effect.
“Ready?” she asked, and gestured for him to lead the way. He started off, glancing up at the skies, which were overcast and looked rather unpromising. But it wasn’t raining at the moment. Miss Brooking kept pace with him until about a mile from the house. What had been a wild garden with wild plants and grasses turned into a wooded area that sheltered foxes, deer, rabbits, and innumerable birds. He found the narrow path, but he hadn’t thought before about how untended the path and the woods were. The ground was uneven, and at one point a large tree limb had fallen across it. The dog jumped the limb, and Rory easily climbed over it, but he paused to hold out a hand to assist Miss Brooking. She lifted her skirts then tried to find a place to put her foot and hold on to his hand, but Rory, impatient, finally grasped her about the waist, lifted her, and placed her on the other side.
“Thank you.”
He waved a hand. “Keep up and keep looking for her.”
He was looking to his right and left all the time and trying not to think about the possibility that Frances might have wandered off the path and could be lost anywhere in the wooded area. If that was the case, they wouldn’t find her tonight. She’d be out alone, in the dark and the rain, for it had started drizzling again after the first mile.
Finally, after what felt like days but was probably only three-quarters of an hour, he heard the sound of rushing water, which indicated the trout stream was just ahead. He turned to be certain Miss Brooking was still with him. She was a few feet behind, her face determined, but white with fatigue. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand, pulling her along for the last few yards.
The trees gradually thinned, which meant the rain fell heavier, and he wiped his face to see better. “No sign of her,” he said.
“Give me a moment,” Miss Brooking said.
She stared at the stream and then looked up the bank and back down. At least, that was what he thought she was doing, until he noticed the dog. Admiral had been walking with them along the path, zigzagging here and there to sniff something interesting. He’d return, walk beside them, then gallop off again. But now the dog stood still, ears perked, and head cocked.
Listening.
