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Where is he?
Emmaline paced the length of the North Parlor. At the window, she glanced out but saw no sign of her husband or even Hudson. When she wheeled about, her gaze alighted on Jonathan, who calmly sipped from a teacup, a copy of The Times in his other hand. “Where is Miles? I don’t know how long it takes to gather greenery, but I can assume it shouldn’t have taken hours.”
His rumbling laughter calmed her for a few seconds. “Do not fret, Lady Archewyne. Your husband merely wished to surprise you and Jane with his bounty. And knowing him as I do, he probably became extremely picky regarding the perfect Yule log. He’ll want his friends and family gathered around a large fire.”
She flashed him a tiny, tight smile. “While I do understand that, I am still worried. He has the baby with him, and it grows colder as time goes on.” Emmaline reached the window again. Not even the sight of the much-anticipated snow could lift her spirits. “The snow is worrisome.” Why had she ever wished for such precipitation? What if Miles and Hudson grew lost on their return and couldn’t find the house? “Did they take horses?”
“I rather doubt it. Archewyne likes to do things the old-fashioned way.” The clink of china indicated he’d set his teacup into the saucer on the table. “However...”
“Yes?” She faced him.
“I will mount a search for him if it would ease your mind.”
“It would.” She crossed the room quickly and stood before him with her hands tightly clasped. “As Miles would want me to remind you, I did save your life.”
His guffaw and the amusement dancing in his eyes only brought her peace for a few seconds. “Yes, you did, and I suppose Archewyne will never let me forget it.” The viscount rose smoothly to his feet. Nothing in his movements gave away the fact he possessed a false leg. “If my best friend is missing, it is my duty to find him.”
“I would appreciate that, and in the event he wishes to continue to gambol about, at least bring back my son. Charles is far too young to remain in this cold.” When she would have continued, Willoughby appeared in the doorway.
“Pardon the interruption, my lady. According to the housekeeper, the afternoon’s entertainers are beginning to arrive. If you wish, due to the weather, I can have them set up in one of the ballrooms, or would you rather them continue into the inner courtyard as originally planned?”
Oh, good heavens. How can I think of anything at the moment? At least the flurry of activity would serve as a distraction. “For the time being, put them in the Fiona Room. If the snow stops or the gathering grows too large, we can open the glass doors that connect to the courtyard and utilize that space.”
The Fiona Room was the largest of the two ballrooms and rarely used since she and Miles seldom hosted enormous ton events. It had been named after one of Miles’ ancestors and contained beautiful crystal chandeliers, gilded mirrors and a gorgeous white marble floor and massive marble fireplace.
“Very well, my lady.” As the butler turned to leave, Jonathan hailed him.
“Willoughby, my good man, if you have a minute, I will need my outerwear. The countess is sending me after her wayward husband.”
Nothing in the older man’s expression gave away his thoughts. “At once, Lord Trewellain. The afternoon’s entertainment won’t be as gay without him.”
“Thank you, Jonathan.” Emmaline briefly laid a hand on his arm. “I hope you find him without incident.”
“So do I.” He quit the room and followed Willoughby down the hall.
“Is Papa in trouble?”
Emmaline jumped with a tiny squeal. She whirled around to face Jane, who had a smear of jam on one cheek and a wealth of cake crumbs stuck to her skirts. “Where did you come from, pet?” She frantically went back over the conversation she’d had with Jonathan. How much had the girl heard?
“I was playing with my rabbit behind the settee.” She rested an unblinking gaze on Emmaline. “Remember? You gave me a plate of treats.”
“You’re right. I did.” With Miles missing, she was on edge. “And no, your papa isn’t in trouble. He’s merely late. If he doesn’t come home soon, he will be disappointed to miss all the entertainment.”
Jane stuck out her tongue and tried to lick at the jam. “Will Uncle Jonathan bring him back?”
“No doubt he will. Your uncle is brilliant at finding people.” Ignoring the knots in her stomach, Emmaline urged the girl over to the settee. “Come. Let’s finish our tea. Then we’ll complete our paper chains and hang them about the room as a surprise for your brother.”
“Will we watch the people even if Papa doesn’t come back?” She licked jam from the inside of a sponge cake and then returned the molested pastry to the tray.
“We will, after we decorate. And dress.” After all, if Miles didn’t return in a timely manner, it was Emmaline’s duty to represent the Archewyne family when the villagers arrived for the entertainment and dinner. Her breath caught. What if there was no Yule log to light this evening?
“In our fancy clothes?” Jane hopped off the settee. Her big blue eyes twinkled. “I can play in my new dress?”
“Yes, you may.” She smiled. Life was for living, even amidst chaos. It was also best to keep Jane occupied in the event something unsavory occurred. “No doubt your papa will adore seeing you and me bedecked in our best when we welcome him home.”
There was absolutely nothing to worry about, of course. Her husband was merely out on an errand. He probably was carried away, doing something mysterious with Hudson and would waltz through the door any moment. Once he found out about her fears, he’d laugh them off and cajole her into a smile.
Yet... Please hurry, Jonathan.
More than an hour had passed since the viscount left. The sun had set. Emmaline and Jane had made their chains with strips of silver and gold paper. They’d even gone upstairs and dressed with care.
And Miles hadn’t made an appearance.
Now, she and Jane were back in the North Parlor. She hung the paper chains over the doorway and throughout the room, and Jane scurried about, singing snatches of songs and generally talking to herself about what she’d see tonight and what would happen tomorrow.
Standing on a wooden chair one of the footmen had brought in, Emmaline finished with the last brass tack. The red satin of her skirts flowed over the edge of the chair and rustled every time she moved. As she glanced back at Jane, the long tails of a red bow shot through with gold thread fluttered where it rested at the bottom of the deep, ivory vee of her open back and caught the corner of her eye. Miles adored her gowns cut that way, and it was the first time she’d worn one since before Charles was born. “It’s done, pet. What do you think?” The young footman stood nervously by, his arms outstretched in the event she topple from the chair, his expression one of terror. She’d declined his assistance, wishing to distract herself. “Do you think Papa will like it?” She heard the catch in her own voice and sincerely hoped Jane did not. It was imperative she remain calm—for the girl’s sake.
“It looks lovely, Mama.” Jane gazed upward at the other chains already festooning the room. She threw her arms wide and twirled in a circle that made her ivory skirts flare about her legs. The bright red, velvet sash about her waist provided a slice of holiday cheer. “When will Papa come? May we go downstairs now?”
“I suppose we should.” They couldn’t delay any longer. “No doubt Willoughby is frazzled.” From all reports, villagers had been arriving for the last hour. The numbers of guests would swell until late into the night. Emmaline forced a swallow into her tight throat. Miles had been away too long to assume he’d become distracted on a mission for greenery. She addressed the young footman and held out a hand. “Please help me down.”
“Of course, my lady.” He clutched her hand in his gloved one and put another at her waist. “Forgive the familiarity. There is no other way.”
She said nothing, and the moment her slippers hit the floor, the footman whisked away the chair. Emmaline smoothed a hand along the front of her gown. There was nothing else to serve as a distraction. Where was her husband?
The sound of rushed footsteps in the corridor brought her attention to the doorway. Seconds later, Jonathan swept into the room, Charles clutched in his arms. A jaunty green, woolen muffler was wrapped around the baby—Miles’ scarf. His chubby cheeks were brilliant pink, and he was more subdued than she’d ever seen him. Miles was not with them.
“Oh, dear heavens.” Emmaline’s knees wobbled. She closed the distance and gently accepted the baby from the viscount. “What happened? Where are Miles and Hudson?” As she removed the scarf, she pressed kisses to the baby’s face. “He’s so cold.” Her stomach clenched. “Please don’t tell me the baby was abandoned.”
Jonathan removed his top hot and then shoved a hand through his hair, leaving it in blond furrows. Snowflakes fell from his clothing. “I apologize for the delay. I spent copious time searching the property. The snow made slow going of it, for footprints were covered.” His voice was winded. He took a few deep breaths and once he’d gotten control of himself, the viscount escorted her to a settee. “Finally, I came upon what appeared to be the scene of a struggle.”
“The snow didn’t obscure that evidence?” She cuddled Charles to her as Jane crept close and slid onto the settee beside her.
“No, but Hudson’s body indicated there had been an attack.” Jonathan paced, his frame tensed for flight. “He was just coming to when I found him, laid out on the ground. The baby was shielded from the weather by the valet’s form. It was the baby’s cries that alerted me to their location.” He replaced his hat and rubbed a hand along his jaw. His eyes roiled with annoyance and anger. “I doubt Hudson could have been unconscious for more than two hours. Two and a half at the most.” The viscount shifted his glance to the baby. “Is there any harm to the boy?”
“It doesn’t appear so, though I do need to warm him.” She forced a swallow into her dry throat. “Please ring for Willoughby. I need...” Her voice broke. “I’m not sure what I need at this point beyond Miles home safe.”
Jane patted her leg. “Don’t cry, Mama.” There was a decided plea in her little voice.
“I’m trying, pet.” As with everything concerning her family, the more she attempted to stifle the tears, the more they welled in her eyes. When the first drop fell to her cheek, Jonathan cursed.
“Damnation, what a coil.” He strode across the parlor and busied himself with building the fire into a renewed, cheerful blaze. “Lady Archewyne, bring the baby closer and be sure to keep him there until he returns to a normal color. Ring for Willoughby and request a lukewarm broth for the lad.” With a determined set to his face, he marched to the door. “I’ll return shortly with Hudson.”
“Thank you.” Emmaline wiped at the moisture on her cheek as she stood with the baby in her arms.
“He is already gone, Mama. He cannot hear you,” Jane said with such matter-of-factness that Emmaline laughed.
“Of course.”
By the time Jonathan returned, Charles’ color was back to a healthy pink. He’d drunk the broth she’d asked for. All the excitement must have worn him out, for he slept like an angel against her chest.
“Sit in front of the fire, man. It’ll do you good,” he encouraged Hudson, who stumbled more than walked across the room, his lips blue. The viscount more or less pushed the valet onto the settee Emmaline stood up from.
“Is he all right?” She gently pressed the man back down when he attempted to rise.
“No doubt he’s suffering from exposure. He also has quite a sizeable lump on the back of his head, which was the cause of his unconsciousness.” Jonathan yanked the gloves from his fingers and then beat them against his thigh. “I should have gone with them.”
“This isn’t your fault, Jonathan,” Emmaline said in a low voice. “In fact, had you been with them, this might have been you.”
A preemptive knock sounded on the doorframe, and then Miss Wickham came into the room. “I apologize for the interruption.” She swept her bright gaze from Emmaline to Hudson to Jonathan and back again. “I wished to take Jane down to the festivities as you requested, my lady.”
Jane raced across the floor. Her expression boded no good will. “I cannot go with you at this moment, for I need to find my sword instead.” She glared at the governess. “My papa is in need of rescue.” The girl tugged on Emmaline’s skirt. “I have practiced for this, Mama.” Before anyone could stop her, Jane dashed from the room.
Emmaline let her go. Her mind wasn’t up to the task of arguing with a five-year-old. But she smiled nonetheless. She readjusted the baby in her arms. “I apologize, Miss Wickham. We are in a bit of turmoil just now.”
Confusion lined the younger woman’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She bounced her blue-gray gaze between Emmaline and the viscount.
“The only thing you need to remember while working in this household, Miss Wickham, is that this sort of thing happens to the Hawkins family with alarming regularity,” Jonathan said by way of explanation. He narrowed his eyes. “It is nothing to concern yourself with, though perhaps you should go after the child.”
Miss Wickham propped her hands upon her hips. She stared the viscount down. “From what I’ve been aware since taking this post, I do not answer to you, Lord Trewellain.”
“Then it is a good thing you are not in my employ, for if you were, I would expect your utmost cooperation with no argument.” He stood to his full height. “I cannot abide anything less than obedience from women.”
Emmaline’s eyes widened as she stared at the both of them. When she opened her mouth to speak, Miss Wickham talked over her.
“Then you will certainly be disappointed in the future. Times are changing, my lord, and women are slowly realizing they are worth more than what arrogant, posturing men allow them.” She took a step closer to the viscount. “Obedience, as you so cavalierly require, is a multi-faceted thing, and given if respect has been proffered beforehand.”
“In order for respect to be given, one has to realize their role in certain situations and then come forward and take the consequences instead of cowering in the country.” One of Jonathan’s hands curled into a fist. His eyes held the glint of interest even if they flashed like glass.
Dear heavens. Surely that wasn’t a spark between them? Regardless, now was not the time. Emmaline cleared her throat. She addressed the governess. “Please take the baby upstairs to Mrs. Flagler. After that, escort Lady Jane. Both of you should enjoy the festivities. Once things are cleared up here, I will join you. I refuse to have another family member put into danger, so keep Lady Jane occupied. Under no circumstances should she go haring off after her father. No matter how strenuously she might protest.”
“Yes, Lady Archewyne.” She accepted the baby, and he roused enough to look about with drowsy eyes.
“Also, while it is encouraging to see fierce independence and backbone in a woman these days, I would caution you to hold your tongue when you are around guests in my home.” She raised an eyebrow. What would the governess do now?
Miss Wickham bowed her head and gave a slight nod. “Forgive me. I temporarily forgot my station.” With a brief curtsey, the young woman fled the room with red cheeks, whether from her contretemps with Jonathan or the dressing down, Emmaline couldn’t say.
“My God.” The viscount whipped off his hat and threw it onto the settee at Hudson’s feet. His gloves followed. “The woman is a horror.” He shoved his hands through his hair. “I detest being made to feel useless, and this situation is beyond trying. I should be out there searching for Archewyne instead of arguing with a well-endowed governess who doesn’t know her place.”
For the second time that evening, Emmaline gawked at the viscount. “I think she does know her place. And I also think you deliberately goaded her into flying into the boughs.” Why, she couldn’t fathom. Was there a history between them? The fact he’d noted anything about Miss Wickham was hopeful. Perhaps he was coming out of his self-imposed bitterness from the death of Lavinia if the young woman could so affect him. It would bear watching in the future.
As much as she cared for the viscount, right now, she had other more important matters on her mind.
She knelt on the floor and tapped Hudson’s cheek until his eyes fluttered open and he focused on her, his light blue gaze disoriented. “Do you require immediate medical assistance?”
“No.” He shook his head and then groaned. “I shall be all right.” When he attempted to sit up, Emmaline gently pressed him back into a reclining position against a round pillow, regardless of the trace of blood he left there. The valet cast a glance around. “Where is Lord Archewyne?”
“I had hoped you could tell me, Hudson.” She explained how he’d come to be there. “What happened?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed over his cravat when he swallowed. Jonathan, with stiff, aggravated movements, brought over a cup of tea. The amber liquid in the cup was no doubt stone cold by now.
“I was attacked from behind.” He nodded his thanks to the viscount as he took the cup. “One moment the earl and I were discussing Miss Wickham. And then there was intense pain here.” He touched the back of his head with his free hand. “The next thing I recall was seeing Lord Trewellain looming over me with the baby.”
Jonathan snorted. “I was not looming. In fact, I was hovering, deciding my next course of action.”
“I apologize.” Hudson took a large swallow of tea. A tiny smile split his lips. “Cold tea. Not bad, but I wouldn’t make it a habit.”
Relief flowed through her. If he could joke, things were not as dire as she feared. “I shall order you a fresh pot.” She rose on shaky legs.
“I need to search for Lord Archewyne.” This time Hudson was successful in sitting up. He deposited his teacup on a side table. “He is my responsibility.”
“Actually, he was mine long before you came into his life, Hudson,” the viscount inserted gently as he resumed pacing. “You are in no shape to go off into the weather.”
They are both wrong. He is my responsibility and I am his.
“Every second we delay puts the earl into greater danger,” Hudson warned in protest.
The words grew muffled and muddled in her mind. Where is he? Does he live even now? As the two men softly yet politely argued, Emmaline crossed the room with determined steps. As she passed a rose-inlaid table, she collected a pair of elbow-length white silk gloves, pulling them on as she went. I cannot stay here and do nothing while my husband is out there in peril. She fingered the hilt of her ever-present dagger on her right thigh, hidden by the folds of her skirt. Life couldn’t be tolerated without Miles. She’d survived being parted from him twice; she wasn’t strong enough for a third time.
Tamping the hysterical tears that threatened, she quickly and quietly made her way out of the parlor, through the corridors and down to the main hall on the ground level. When Willoughby couldn’t be found, she persuaded a passing footman to fetch her cloak and rabbit-fur muff. Once the garments were brought, she whisked them on and ran through the halls until she gained an access door that led to the back gardens.
She left the cheerful light and the distant echoes of mirth and gaiety of her own home. No matter what it took, she would find her husband.
Emmaline’s bravado gave out somewhere near the duck pond between Archewyne Hall and the Hawkins family graveyard. There was no sign of her husband, and with the growing darkness and steady precipitation, she didn’t know which direction to turn. Her toes grew cold, for beaded satin slippers weren’t the best choice when tramping through an inch or two of freshly fallen snow.
“Miles, where are you?” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, further chilling her. She dropped to her knees without care to her Christmas finery. Emmaline lifted her face to the heavens. The cold kiss of snowflakes stung her skin. “Please God, help me find him before it’s too late.” When there was, of course, no answer from the velvety midnight sky, she screamed in frustration. Her stomach twisted with knots. Then she bowed her head, sobbing in earnest.
This cannot be happening.
A few minutes later, a gaggle of geese waddled up the hill toward her position. They tramped around her, honking as if their lives depended upon it. When she did nothing but look at them, they fast-walked away in the direction of a wooded area. As a unit, the five of them glanced back at her. The leader gave a loud, authoritative honk and they set out again, pausing after a few steps only to stare at her once more.
“Of course!” Laughing, Emmaline struggled to her feet. She shook the snow from her skirts. “You know where he is, don’t you? You always know where he is.” With a sense of renewed hope and hilarity, she grabbed her skirts in one hand, lifting them as she ran after the fowl. “Lead on.” It wasn’t sheep and she wasn’t a shepherd on this lonely Christmas Eve night, but the animals and what they represented renewed her faith.
I’m coming, Miles.