Page 141 of A Duchess for his Family

“Wake the household,” Benedict ordered. “Every servant. I want lanterns and horses brought round immediately.”

The footman stared at him.

“Now!”

The man ran. Benedict descended the stairs two at a time. His heart struck violently against his ribs, but his mind had become terribly clear.

Marjorie was out there, alone, somewhere upon a dark road after hours of rain. She would have avoided the main entrance. She might have gone through the kitchens or one of the servants’ passages. From there, she could have crossed the western lawn toward the road, toward Keswick, toward Sophia.

Servants began appearing in the entrance hall, bewildered and only half dressed. Mrs. Bell came hurrying from the east passage, carrying a candle.

“What has happened, Your Grace?”

“Marjorie is missing.”

Shock moved through the hall. One of the maids gasped. Mrs. Bell went pale but recovered at once.

“Search the gardens, the outbuildings and every path toward the western boundary,” Benedict ordered. “Send riders along the Keswick road. Two men are to follow the stream. No one searches alone.”

He pointed toward one of the footmen.

“Go to the gatehouse. Find out whether anyone saw her.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He had promised his brother he would keep the girls safe. He had stood beside their beds night after night, checking the curtains and the fires that were already checked, as though vigilance might keep the world from taking them. Tonight, he was too late.

Then, a kitchen maid hurried into the hall. “Your Grace!”

Benedict turned sharply.

“The side door was open,” she revealed breathlessly. “Only a little. I thought one of the footmen had failed to close it.”

Benedict seized the first lantern brought to him and strode toward the open door. Outside, the estate had already erupted into movement. Stable boys ran across the yard. Men called to one another through the darkness. Lanterns scattered across the lawn like sparks.

A groom brought Benedict’s horse. He mounted before the man could secure the final buckle.

“The Keswick road,” he ordered. “Spread along both sides. Search every ditch and every break in the hedges.”

He drove the heels into the horse’s flanks. The road beyond Rivermere was black beneath the trees. Recent rain gleamed in the ruts. Low branches struck at Benedict’s shoulders as he rode, and mud flew beneath the horse’s hooves.

“Marjorie!” he shouted, but only the trees answered.

With every passing second, the silence became more terrible. Benedict pictured her walking stubbornly through the dark, with her cloak clutched around her and her small boots sinking into the mud. Marjorie believed courage meant refusing to admit fear. She might be lost and still continue forward simply because turning back would feel like surrender… exactly as her father would have done.

The thought struck too deeply. Benedict urged the horse faster, and then, somewhere ahead, a child screamed. Benedict’s blood turned cold as he dragged the horse toward the sound. Through the trees, he saw carriage lamps and several figures running toward the swollen stream. He threw himself from the saddle before the horse had fully stopped. The lantern fell from his hand and rolled across the wet ground.

“Marjorie!”

“Uncle Benedict!”

She was standing on the bank, drenched and sobbing, but alive. Relief struck him so violently that his knees nearly gave way. He could see nothing but her face, but then Marjorie turned toward the water.

“Sophia!” she shouted.

Benedict followed her gaze. Sophia was wrapped up in the current, struggling to stay afloat. Everything in him turned frozen and dark.

Without thinking, Benedict began running.