A happy sigh slipped from him when she opened the small leather volume and started the story of Rumpelstiltskin, one of his favorites. Soon they were singing the song he danced his triumph to when he thought the queen had not learned his name. Several minutes later, Nicolas was collected by his new nursemaid, Miss Amelia Williams, the niece of the local vicar.
“Mamma, will you please inform Uncle Simon I must see him? We could have luncheon together.”
A pang went through her heart. How Nicolas craved his uncle’s presence. She knew she would soon have to remarry, even if only to provide her son with a more stable role model and the influence of a gentleman. Her brother’s visits were too erratic. “I will have him spend the night, even if I have to chain him in a room.”
Nicolas chortled, then slipped his hand into Miss Williams’s and left with her. Georgiana strolled across the lawn, smiling when she saw that Mr. Brantley, her son’s tutor, was taking their lessons outdoors today. She arrived at the house, and after inquiring about Simon’s location, headed toward the rose parlor. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the door handle firmly, straightened her shoulders, and walked purposefully into the room. Simon was lounging by the windows overlooking the eastern lawns of the estate, a cup of tea in his hand.
She closed the door gently, and he spun and scanned Georgiana, no doubt looking for signs of her being debauched.
“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
“You said Nicolas misses me.”
“Hmm, and is that your only reason? I recall you saw him a couple weeks past.”
Amusement lit in Simon’s eyes. “I confess to also being interfering. Mr. Tremayne seemed very taken with you.”
“The ball was three days ago, Simon. Must we really have this conversation?”
“I was very shocked to see you gliding about the room with the man. I could not imagine you behaving in a manner that is not proper.”
Her entire life she had been so decorous and ladylike. Her sense of duty and obligation to her family had never wavered. She’d molded herself into a wife Hardcastle and her family were proud of. Her son, once grown, would be proud of her legacy and reputation. She had never done anything to besmirch their family’s reputation. Except she did not believe discreetly reaching for a slice of happiness for herself was betraying her family. “It was only a few days ago you suggested I take a lover.”
A flush ran along his cheekbone. “I meant a gentleman. Surely you did not believe I meant a man who had once been a dockside worker.”
“If that is true, then Mr. Tremayne is a man to be admired, not looked down upon. I do not believe it’s anyone’s business who I…I…” Blast it. She could not speak of a lover so lightly to her brother. “I only danced with Mr. Tremayne and had a rousing conversation. He makes me feel different…more, I cannot find the word to express the feelings.”
“Duty and honor come before such maudlin emotions,” Simon snapped. “Everything you do has the potential to affect this family, particularly Eleanor’s chances of securing a good match and our standing in society.”
“I see, and how badly did my dance with Mr. Tremayne’s affect your, Mother’s, and Elle’s reputation?”
His expression turned surprisingly wry. “I remained in town to see if there were any rumors after the fact.”
“And I am certain there were none.”
“You wouldn’t be the first lady to be attracted to those of the lower class, but kindly remember the consequences,” her brother said flatly.
Georgiana knew he referred to a few scandals of the last season, where the affected ladies had been thoroughly shamed by society. The Countess Lauriston had been hurt by society’s mockery of her affair with Mr. Robert Johnson, a businessman who owned a string of butcher shops in England. A skimmington had been publicly staged—a woman dressed as the countess, a lowly dressed man who represented Mr. Johnson, with several pigs trailing behind them down Barker Street. Though it had been executed by people of the lower class, all knew it had been done at the manipulation of the aristocracy.
“You worry for naught, I have had no further dealings with Mr. Tremayne. Now, will you spend the night? I think Nicolas wishes to impress you with his newly acquired acrobatic skills.”
Simon sighed, clearly reluctant to cease his line of discourse. He raked his fingers through his hair, mussing the dark strands. The bluest of eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’d planned to visit for a couple days. I am taking a jaunt into the village.”
She paused in the act of pouring a cup of tea. “To visit Sir Robert Penwittle, perhaps, and his daughter?”
Her brother scowled, and she grinned. “I, too, can be interfering. Did you think it escaped my notice you find some silly excuse to ensure your path crosses with Sir Robert’s daughter whenever you visit?”
He gave her a black scowl before polishing off the rest of his tea in a long swallow.
“The squire and I have business. That is all there is to it. I’ll be back in time for luncheon.” He prowled over and brushed a kiss against her cheek then departed.
Georgiana wasted no time hurrying to the library. She was considering a hefty investment into steam canals, and she needed to review the information her banker had sent and see to her mountain of correspondence.
A couple hours later, a knock sounded on the door of the library. She replaced the packet of invitations she was wading through. “Yes?”
The door opened. “Pardon me, Your Grace,” Miss Williams said, hovering in the doorway of the library.
“Yes?”
“It’s His Grace…I have not been able to locate him for the last thirty minutes or so.”
With a frown, Georgiana glanced at the pocket watch placed across her desk. It was almost time for luncheon. She had broken her fast with her son earlier, and then they had spent an hour together as their wont, strolling across the lawns of the estate with their dogs. Then he had been delivered to the schoolroom for his lessons.
“Perhaps he is hiding in the pantry again,” she said with a smile, pushing from the desk. Quickly organizing the sheaf of papers into a tidy pile, she pushed the financial reports into the folder. She needed to have a stern talk with her son about tormenting his tutors and nursemaid. Nicolas would oftentimes slip from the schoolroom as quick and silent as a wraith and elude his lessons for hours. He enjoyed playing outdoors, climbing, and running more than the schoolroom. Only at her calls would he reveal his hiding place, all the while chortling as if they played a grand game.
Exactly an hour later, according to the timepiece, her son was still nowhere to be found. She strolled through the echoing empty entrance hall at an unhurried pace, her mind pulled in several frightful directions.
“Please abandon all duties and help me find my son. Nicolas has never remained hidden for so long before, and I am concerned,” Georgiana said to the dozens of servants gathered in the prodigious hallway. “We need to search every room, the lawns and gazebos, the conservatory, and all the gardens.”
A series of agreements filled the air, and then the footmen, maids, and even the butler dispersed. She felt slightly better knowing more than one hundred servants were searching for him.
She turned to the nursemaid who hovered with perceptible uneasiness.
“Please inform me again, where was the last place you saw my son?”
“The little duke was feeling a bit restless during his lessons, so I took him for a stroll. We were in the eastern gardens, and I rested only for a minute on the stone bench. When I called for him, there was no answer. I started searching, believing he was playing a game of hide-and-seek,” Williams said, her voice wobbling and her eyes filling with tears. “It’s been a little over two hours, Your Grace.”
A cold foreboding permeated her entire body, and Georgiana was suddenly consumed with a sense of overwhelming urgency. She hurried to the library and scribbled a note to her brother. Then she took it to a footman and ordered for her letter to be delivered with all hast
e.
She donned her bonnet and slipped her feet into more comfortable walking shoes, calling for Calliope and Barnaby, and started to search for her son. If he were truly hiding still, he would not be able to resist the yelps and howls of his dogs.
As she was about to exit the manor, Gibbs hurried toward her, panting from his frantic pace. “Your Grace, Rogers, the head gardener, reported he had seen an unfamiliar man lurking near the gazebo by the lake. Rogers had simply thought him a new hire and had not queried his presence at Meadowbrook Park.”
Georgiana knew a sudden, bone-chilling fear. “Summon the magistrates at once, and I must speak with Rogers.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” he said and scurried away.
Quelling the shiver of apprehension that scythed through her heart, she ran down the steps, the massive dogs at her heels, a protective comfort. Another hour rushed by, and Georgiana stood by the lake, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. The wind gusted, tangling her skirt around her legs, and she placed a hand atop her bonnet to keep it in place. The sense of anxious dread grew stronger. Something dreadful had happened to her son.
Chapter Seven
The ticking of the clock seemed inordinately loud. Georgiana fiddled with her teacup. Several hours after her son had gone missing, her brother had managed to fetch the magistrate. Simon had used their influence, and several Bow Street runners had arrived with him to Meadowbrook Park, although they had no obligation to assist anyone in need outside of the greater London area.
Somehow, she had taken a bath and dressed in an icy-blue gown and had allowed her lady’s maid to arrange her hair in a loose chignon, with a few tendrils escaping to brush against her cheek and neck. There was no doubt she appeared calm and serene to the magistrate, so very different from the creature who had roamed the lawns and hidden crevices of the vast estate, screaming her son’s name.
She fought the suffocating dread of utter hopelessness. Oh, Nicolas, my darling. I’ll find you… Somehow, I’ll find you.
A throat cleared, and she lifted her eyes from her tea.
“Your Grace,” Sir Edward Blaine, the magistrate began. “Is it possible your son…ran away?”
She blinked. “He is a child of six years.”
He flushed. “These are standard questions, Your Grace.”
“My son…my son has not run away. He is not hiding on the estate. Even as we speak, almost all the servants are out searching for him, here and in the nearby villages. He is not in the house. He…he…he must have been taken,” she said, gripping her teacup so tightly it was a miracle it did not shatter.
Compassion warmed his eyes. “Let me assure you, Your Grace, dozens of volunteers from the village are working with the servants to locate him.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “Do you have any enemies?”