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Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What do you mean, you think something has happened to him?” Francis demanded.
A creak on the stairs made both of them jump. Lydia quickly hid herself behind her uncle, terrified that Joseph had returned. Her heart was pounding so forcefully that she was sure that everyone in the hall could hear it. A small wave of relief washed over her as a footman appeared through the darkness.
“Is everything all right, sir, my lady?” he asked, holding his candle high to study them.
“Have you seen His Grace?” Francis asked. “Or his cousin?”
“Neither since before the wedding ceremony,” the footman admitted.
“Fetch your butler at once,” Francis commanded. The footman nodded, heading back down the stairs without rushing. Urgently, Francis called after him, saying, “Make it quick!”
Obediently, the footman raced down the stairs, the sound of his shoes hitting the marble floor echoing in the quiet night.
“You should go back to your room,” Francis told Lydia, trying to usher her back from where she came.
“I cannot be alone!” she protested. “Uncle, what if he finds me again? Who knows where he has gone? Perhaps he is already back in my room, lying in wait for me.”
“Come now, I’ll go with you to make sure you are alone,” he assured her. “We’ll search the entire room.”
Francis tried to guide her again, but she planted her feet, tugging at his arm in return.
“Uncle, we must find Michael, make sure he’s all right,” she told him sternly. “He could be in grave danger!”
“If he has been harmed in any way, then that is truly not something you should witness,” Francis said, trying to pull her. “Otherwise, you should not be wandering about the hall at this early hour alone.”
“I will not go until we find him!”
Steps behind them made them both turn again. Martha had roused, wrapping a robe around her shift, her long, gray hair braided, falling over her shoulder.
“Lydia, what is going on?” she asked, concern imprinted on her face.
“The duke is missing, and his cousin has tried to force himself on your daughter,” Francis told her succinctly.
Martha gasped, pressing a hand over her mouth. The commotion must have woken others in the house too, as Trinity came from her room, dressed similarly to their mother. Lydia tried to explain the situation in more detail, but the footman returned, the butler in tow behind him.
“Edward has told me,” the butler said, saving everyone another explanation. “Shall I suggest we thoroughly search the household for both men?”
“At once!” Lydia shouted.
“Yes,” Francis agreed.
“Perhaps some tea, downstairs,” Martha suggested to the butler. “For the girls, especially Lydia, to calm her nerves.”
“At once, my lady,” the butler agreed, quickly relaying instructions to the footman.
“Let us go downstairs,” Martha suggested, placing a hand on Lydia’s arm.
Lydia wrapped her arms around herself, feeling suddenly chilled. Her heart was still racing from fear. She nodded slowly, “Yes, of course.”
Martha took her arm, guiding her like a sick child down the stairs. Over her shoulder, she called to Trinity, saying, “Bring your sisters at once.”
Francis followed the butler, discussing how to send staff through the house to do a thorough search. Lydia tried to listen, asked to participate, but they separated on the stairs while her mother continued to guide her towards the front sitting room.
“Mother, I want to search the cellar,” she said suddenly. “That’s where Michael said he was going.”
Francis must have overheard her, as he stopped and turned back. “I do not think that is a good idea, if something has happened to him.”
