“Nonsense, child. Let one of the footmen, for it looks about to rain.”
But Lenora was already striding for the door. “There’s no need for that. I’ll be only a few minutes; the clouds look like they’ll hold out for a good hour or more.”
Before Lady Tesh could argue—and before Lenora’s traitorous eyes could seek out Peter again—she was out the door and heading toward the front hall and freedom.
***
When he saw the bright flash of lightning and heard the low rumble of thunder, Peter realized Lenora had not yet returned.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. He had been fully aware of her absence from the moment she had left with the dog. The storm only drove the fact home more fully.
“Lenora and Freya should have been back by now.”
Lady Tesh’s words, so closely echoing his own thoughts, snagged Peter’s attention. She peered at the fresh drops of rain on the window, her brows drawn in a pucker of worry.
Mrs. Kitteridge wore a similar expression. “I hope she hasn’t had an accident or gotten lost.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Tesh responded heartily. “Lenora knows this land almost as well as you do. No, she should be walking through the door any minute now with Freya in tow.” Even so, the older woman didn’t command Mrs. Kitteridge to continue her reading, instead keeping her gaze fixed to the window and the steadily increasing rain.
Mrs. Kitteridge’s knuckles were white as she gripped the calfskin volume to her chest. “Lenora would have turned back immediately at the first hint of rain. No, something is wrong.”
Without thinking twice, Peter stood. “I’ll search for her.”
Lady Tesh and her granddaughter looked at him as if he’d sprouted angel wings.
“Oh, Peter, will you?” the viscountess asked.
“Of course. And Quincy will help as well.”
Quincy, who had begun the solitary pursuit of tossing playing cards into a large vase once Peter had lost interest in their game, started. He lost his grip on the remaining cards and they scattered across the floor. “What will I do?”
“You’re accompanying me out of doors.”
His friend looked to the window, his mouth falling open. “But it’sraining.”
Peter just kept his eyes from rolling. “Then I apologize in advance for the damage to your outfit. But Miss Hartley hasn’t returned.”
To Quincy’s credit, he quickly redeemed himself, jumping to his feet and striding for the door. “Then let’s be off. If she’s out in this, there’s not a moment to lose.”
They made for the front door, donning their outer garments and retrieving umbrellas. Even as prepared as Peter was for the rain, the wind caught him completely off guard. It tore through his clothing, making his use of the umbrella impossible. His mind filled with images of Lenora, huddled wet and cold, maybe hurt.
Panic reared, nearly choking him.
Just then Freya came tearing up the steps. She bounded through the still open front door and stood on the pristine floor, looking as bedraggled and offended as any creature could.
As the butler scooped the shivering canine in his arms, Peter spun back around. Surely Lenora could not be far behind. She would never leave the dog’s side, loved the old lady too much to let anything happen to her pet.
Yet the seconds ticked by, and his hopeful scan of the horizon became a desperate search for even the smallest sign of her.
“Where did the damned dog come from?” Quincy asked.
“I don’t know.” Peter turned to his friend. “Make for the north and inland,” he ordered. Desperation had turned his voice sharp and jagged, fear chilling it to ice. “I’ll head south, along the shore.”
Quincy didn’t hesitate, nodding and starting off at a run.
Peter took off in the opposite direction. By now the skies had opened up completely, the torrent pummeling him, the wind turning the heavy drops to pebbles that stung his skin. Within seconds, his hair was hanging limp in his eyes, his coat was sodden.
Yet how much worse off was Lenora? With her flimsy dress and those tiny little slippers on her feet, she wouldn’t stand a chance against the storm. He hurried his steps, sloughing the water from his eyes before cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out for her. But the wind carried his voice back to him, mocking him for thinking he could defeat it.
