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What? And she hadn’t noticed? She dashed to the window and peered out.
Sure enough, he stood at the carriage, securing the luggage strapped to the back.
What would he say when he learned she had been so careless as to lose his niece?
“Miss?”
“Thank you, Mr. Siddons. I shall go downstairs and speak with him.” Dread coiled in her stomach as she hastened down the stairs. Clutching the note in her hand, she moved into the front hall, past the huddled servants and her mother and the general, just as the knocker sounded.
Mr. Siddons hurried to open it, and she straightened, affixing a smile and praying for calm as the butler’s greeting was met with the captain’s.
“I came to see if Miss Mannering is—”
“Oh, sir!”
His gaze lifted to her, and he smiled.
Her heart gave an answering throb, her gladness at seeing him fading with the knowledge that he soon would not be as happy when she told him the news. She bit her lip.
“Miss Stapleton? Is something the matter?”
She glanced behind her, saw the servants staring, although her mother and the general had disappeared. She drew in a frantic breath, glanced back, met his frown.
“You are most upset. Come, let us talk in the drawing room.”
She nodded, emotion cramping her throat, forbidding words. Oh, how wonderful to have him here, to have someone she could rely on, to feel the weight of these burdens need not rest only on her shoulders.
He drew her inside and firmly shut the door.
She crumpled, only to be clasped against his chest a second later, her agitated breathing easing a mite as his heart thumped reassuringly in her ear.
He smoothed a hand down her hair, the act rippling sensation down her spine and tempting her to increase this shocking embrace by nestling yet closer.
She shuddered in a breath and eased back. “I’m so sorry. It’s just …”
He looked deep into her eyes. “My dear Miss Stapleton, whatever is the matter?”
She shook her head, agitation making it impossible to speak.
“Come.” He led her to a settee and encouraged her to sit down, then sat beside her, eyes serious as she struggled to find words. His hands clasped hers gently. “Please tell me what troubles you so.”
“It … it is Becky. I cannot find her and fear that she has run away.”
His brows rose.
“She has—” She gulped. “Oh, read this.” She pulled the note from her apron’s pocket and handed it to him.
He read it, the crease in his forehead becoming more pronounced. “Where would she go?”
“I do not know. I can hardly believe it. But she has repeatedly said she did not wish to leave with you today.”
“But how could she have gone away? Are you sure she has not left for a short time to clear her head?”
“Mr. Siddons said he heard a carriage earlier this morning.”
His brows rose. “You think she has had help?”
“What if … what if she has run away with … with—” She barely dared speak it. Saying it aloud gave the sense it would be true.
