by Alice Kirks
“She was not in her bedroom, your Grace,” she said. “She was meant to meet me in the schoolroom, and she did not arrive.”
“What have you been doing?” the Duke snapped. “Your role is to protect her! How could you not know where she is?”
“She went to bed last night,” Brenna spoke up, but the Duke turned on her. Alexandra took her hand and she saw the Duke shut his mouth again, turning away to face the wall.
“Send for the coach,” he demanded. “And search the house.”
“Your Grace?” Brenna murmured.
“You heard me!” he said, turning around. “Get the coach! And everyone must search the house, and the gardens! We will find her.”
Alexandra nodded. Keeping a firm hold on Brenna’s hand, she followed her from the room. They walked down to the front door and Brenna hurried out.
“Get the coach!” she shouted to a man who was sweeping the drive. “Tell them at the stables to get them.”
“Yes, Miss,” he nodded.
Alexandra waited in the hallway, and, when Brenna came back, she cleared her throat.
“We need to tell the rest to participate in the search.”
“Yes. You get the rest. I’ll go upstairs and check her bedroom. Maybe there’s something we missed.”
Alexandra nodded and hurried off to the kitchens. She felt sweat on her palms as she tiptoed in through the door. Three pairs of eyes met hers: unfriendly.
“Um…the young mistress has gone missing,” Alexandra said, hating having to say it and imagining their judgement and their delight in her failure. “Please…we are all needed to help in the search.”
None of them said anything at first, but then they all stood. Alexandra let out her breath slowly. Nobody had said anything to her – nothing at all. But at least the room hadn’t exploded into howling derision. She hurried up the stairs, not looking around.
When she reached the top floor, Brenna ran to meet her.
“She’s not in any of the usual places.” Brenna confirmed.
“I’ll check the gallery,” Alexandra said. She hurried up, hearing the other staff reach the second floor behind her. They were fanning out, searching every room. The gallery was empty. A drape was pulled back from one of the windows, letting in sunshine. Alexandra stayed where she was a moment, seeking calm.
She had no choice – if Arabella had disappeared, she would leave. But where could Arabella have gone?
It made no sense.
She heard people in the hallway and hurried down the stairs, rushing towards where Brenna was still standing in the doorway, shaking her head.
“Brenna?” Alexandra asked. “Is there news?”
“Benjie was looking in the garden,” the maid said. “He found this.”
Arabella’s little brooch. Alexandra swallowed. She took it from Brenna, but she didn’t need to look close to recognize the little enameled silver brooch decorated with daffodils. It was definitely hers.
“Where did you find it?” she whispered. Her voice had disappeared, her throat closing up with shock and fear.
“In the lawn by the drive,” the youth said. “Well, just lying by the edge of the gravel drive. I saw it sparkling, and I wondered what it was. So, I took it to Brenna.”
“You did the right thing,” she murmured. Her voice was stiff. This was worse than anything she could imagine.
She hurried down the stairs. Even though she was frightened, she had to tell the Duke. She caught up with him on the stairs.
“Excuse me, your Grace…” she murmured.
“I am taking the coach,” he said. “I am going to find her.”
“Your Grace, you are right…she must have left the property.”
“Did you find something?” he demanded. He was glaring at her, his face nothing like its usual calm kindness. He looked angry and hard. She swallowed, passing him the brooch.
“This, your Grace.”
“What has happened here?” he whispered. Alexandra coughed, though her throat was too tight for words.
“I don’t know,” she said.
He just looked at her, then strode through the big doors, not turning back to say a word to her. “Ready my coach.”
Alexandra stood where she was, her mind moving so slowly she could barely think. She watched as a young man rushed up to the Duke, and exchanged some information, gesturing down the path, his words too soft for Alexandra to hear.
“She must have gone somewhere,” she murmured, seeing Brenna come down to join her. They stood on the step together, and Alexandra felt grateful for the warmth as Brenna took her hand.
“I am sure his Grace will find her,” Brenna murmured. “I am sure.”
Alexandra nodded. She had to hope that. But, then again, she knew already that – whether the Duke found Arabella or not – he would not forgive her.
I must leave.
She tiptoed up the stairs, knowing that she could not stay, and knowing that she also could not leave – the danger was too great.
She went upstairs but didn’t go at once to her bedroom. She went to Arabella’s room. There must be some sort of clue about where she had gone. She looked around the room, noticing how things had been placed carelessly on the dressing-table, shoes thrown onto the rug and another pair under the desk.
It seems so unlike her.
Alexandra leaned against the door, trying to think. She recalled how distressed Arabella had been, how she had cried on the terrace the evening of the party. She had recovered, but her eyes had still been filled with tears and she had retired to bed, not wanting to talk.
“She didn’t…”
Alexandra’s heart almost stopped. Suddenly, she knew where Arabella was. She’d run away!
“Of all people, I should have thought of it!”
Running down the stairs, heedless of the danger of the polished marble tiles, she ran into the hallway. She stopped, as the Duke came through the door. With him was Arabella.
“My Lady!” She called, feeling her heart lift. She was safe! She’d been found, and they could talk, and she could look after her, and…
“Get upstairs,” the Duke said, looking at Alexandra. “I need to speak to you.”
Alexandra felt warmth drain from her face, nodded, and turned to walk up the stairs.
Chapter 12
Matthew went up the stairs. He felt utterly empty inside. He had trusted and look how his trust was repaid!
“Brother…” Arabella whispered.
“Go to your room,” he hissed.
Arabella turned away and went, though Matthew heard how she was crying as she walked into the bedroom and shut the door. He walked past. He was beyond the feeling of pain and sorrow, beyond the ability to feel and try to make amends. He felt utterly incapable of thought.
How could she? She could have ruined herself!
He walked up the hallway towards the drawing-room, unable to forget how dangerous what his sister had done, actually was. He had found her at the neighboring estate, hiding in the coach. She had, she told him, been preparing to stow away with Frank.
He shut his eyes a moment, one hand making a fist. She risked her reputation, her safety…how could he have saved her, if she’d been discovered, or, worse, actually succeeded in getting off the property with Frank?
“What was she thinking of? She would have been out of all acceptable society.”
He went over to the window and looked out, feeling his jaw clench with frustration. He couldn’t entirely blame her – after all, she might have been thoughtless, but she was only sixteen! She wasn’t fully able to comprehend the full consequences of her actions. She’d been blinded by her feelings and had taken the risk. He couldn’t entirely blame her – he’d been sixteen once.
“I do know who I blame.”
Alexandra.
Before she arrived, Arabella had not been like this. Impulsive, risk-taking. He could have trusted her not to do something like this. Alexandra had come and filled her head with poetry
and freedom. It was her fault!
He heard footsteps in the doorway of the schoolroom and turned around.
“You are dismissed,” he said.
He could barely look at her. He looked at the wallpaper, not able to look her in the eye and tell her that he was throwing her out of the house. He felt his heart ache.
It is the only thing I can do. I have been blinded, too. I fell for her and it made me unable to see her corruptive influence.
“How long do I have to find new accommodation?” she asked.
Matthew felt his brow lift. She had some audacity! How dare she when he was doing her a favor even by telling her directly?
“You are dismissed from tomorrow morning,” he said.
As he said it, he felt the words tear at his insides. He couldn’t bear dismissing her. She was looking at him with complete shock, and he looked away, unable to face the blank disbelief.
Alexandra turned around and walked out of the room.
Matthew stood where he was.
He felt empty.
Now that she had left – now that he had done it – he felt as if all his anger had drained from him. He sat down, knowing that he had been fueling himself with rage, fanning it and nourishing it, until this moment. Now, he was just exhausted.
“What did I do?” he whispered.
He wished he could go and call Alexandra back. He hated what he had done. He reminded himself, he did it for Arabella’s safety, however. Alexandra was clearly a bad influence. She had been feeding his sister’s fragile imagination on poetry and romance. She had caused this.
He tried to make himself feel angry again, but somehow, he couldn’t quite manage to stir the rage he’d felt earlier.
He went to the drawing-room and reached for the Gazette, which Mr. Denning had bought out of the breakfast-room and put on the chaise-lounge. But he couldn’t focus on the printed lines before him. He kept on recalling Alexandra – her beauty and grace – and he couldn’t quite believe what he’d done.
“I will not change my mind.”
Other thoughts – of Arabella, being found in a coach with a strange man – fueled his anger and kept him from going to find Alexandra. He could not afford to let someone stay here and influence his sister! She needed an older chaperone, one who would fill her head with good sense, not poetry and romance.
“Your Grace?” the butler said, coming in.
“Yes?” Matthew frowned. “Is my sister asking for me?”
“No, your Grace. Her maid asked if you could send for a sleeping-medicine? Your sister is distressed.”
“The cook has a tisane,” the Duke said, tiredly. What more could he do? Arabella was not ill; she would recover the better for a mild medicine. “If you will tell her to make up a measure of it for Arabella?”
“I will go down at once, your Grace.”
Matthew waited for him to leave. He was just about to go out, just to find something to do before he went completely mad, when he heard footsteps in the hallway.
“Your Grace?” It was his sister’s maid, Brenna. He frowned.
“Yes?” he felt his heart thud. Was his sister actually sick? Why would Brenna come to him?
“Your Grace, I wished to speak to you about Lady Arabella. She’s a young lass who will do whatever comes into her mind. You will…”
“Don’t try to dislodge the blame,” Matthew cut in. “I blame the two people who were responsible for her safety. You, and, to a greater extent, the chaperone. I will not dismiss you, but you have received a warning.”
“And the chaperone?”
Matthew felt his brow rise for the second time. “She is dismissed.”
Matthew let out a sigh of relief when the woman just stared at him, wide-eyed. He’d half expected that she would argue with him! He had come to expect insubordination from his staff and that, he thought, was also because of Alexandra. She had to leave.
He went up to his study.
After working on the accounts for an hour – his accountant had added them up and he wanted to check the tallies personally – he felt his sorrow catch up with him. He shut his eyes. He had been too harsh on his sister.
“Arabella?” he called, tapping on her door.
No answer.
He tapped again. “Arabella? Are you in there?”
“She’s resting, your Grace,” Brenna said, answering the door. Matthew frowned.
“I wished to talk with her. Will you tell me when she is awake?”
“Your Grace, she would prefer not to speak with you.”
Matthew stared. He had no idea what to say. He had always been close to his sister. For her to refuse to speak with him was utterly new.
“Well! I…” He started to speak, then stopped. What could he say? If Arabella didn’t wish to speak with him, and even Brenna was regarding him angrily, he had no way of defending himself.
He turned around and walked away.
“When she wakes, tell her I wished to see her,” he mumbled.
Then he went upstairs to his office.
After finishing with a letter that he had to send to his solicitor’s in London, he went riding. He could not sit a second longer in that house!
“I need the fresh air.”
He vaulted up onto the saddle and, squeezing with his knees, he encouraged his horse to a gallop, and they shot off across the field. He clung to the reins, feeling the wind hiss past and the slash of small twigs against his face and the way the hoofs slammed into the ground as they raced.
“Damn everything,” he hissed.
He knew that he wasn’t angry. He was sad. He couldn’t bear the thought of having lost Alexandra.
“I was a fool.”
He swore under his breath. He had trusted Alexandra – he had failed to see past her beauty and wisdom and the way he ached for her. He had allowed this to happen.
He let his horse slow. Was he angry with himself?
He dismissed the thought. It was her! She was the one who had persuaded him to be more lenient.
He had made the only choice he could make.
He let his horse walk for a while, then leaned forward and set off again at a canter. They would head off for the hills, he decided, and stay out all day until dinnertime. He couldn’t bear to be in the house anymore; couldn’t bear the knowledge that Alexandra was upstairs, waiting for him to change his mind.
He was not going to change anything.
He had made his choice.
He turned to ride back to the house, unable to quite suppress the feeling of shame and sadness that he felt as he went slowly up into the house. He was not going to think about Alexandra, or the fact that she was no longer part of their household.
