‘It’s Mrs Hardwicke, my lord,’ the butler said, cautiously approaching the desk.
‘Whatever has she done now? Rearranged my chambers? Instituted mandatory singing of carols whilst cleaning? Out with it.’ He grinned, realising that he wouldn’t mind any of those things at all.
‘I am concerned, my lord,’ he said, in such a genuine tone Liam felt his stomach somersault. ‘She hasn’t returned yet, and...’
Liam followed Thomas’s gaze and turned to the window. Outside, nothing was visible save for the swirling white waves of the snowstorm they had been promised for days.
‘Returned? Do you mean to say that Mrs Hardwicke has gone out into this tempest?’
‘Mrs Hardwicke expressed some concern for Mrs Ffoulkes... I did tell her she would be seen to, but Mrs Hardwicke was most insistent—’
‘That dratted woman, what on earth was she thinking?’ Liam exclaimed, jumping to his feet and making for the door, Thomas on his heels. ‘How long has she been gone?’
‘Three hours, my lord. She left this morning, before the storm arrived, and promised she would return before it descended...’
‘Yes, well, she was most evidently wrong.’ Liam strode out of the study, and threw open the coat cupboard in the hall. ‘Knowing our stubborn housekeeper, she won’t have stayed put at Mrs Ffoulkes’s, oh, no, she’ll have attempted to make it back.’
With a groan of frustration, Liam grabbed his greatcoat, fur coat, scarf and beaver hat, and made his way down the servants’ stairs.
‘Ensure there is a hot bath waiting by the kitchen hearth. Towels, blankets and the warmest of Mrs Hardwicke’s nightclothes you can find.’
Wrapping himself up as he made his way through the servants’ quarters, Liam ignored the worried looks of the staff, and focused instead on silently cursing Rebecca with every breath. Anger helped to keep his own concern in check, and his mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
‘Here, my lord, some hot potatoes for your pockets,’ Mrs Murray said, handing them to Liam as she burst out of the kitchens and fell in step with him. ‘Do bring her back, my lord, and mind yourself.’
Liam slipped the potatoes into his pockets and slid into a pair of the pattens that lay by the door, before wrenching on his thick, fur-lined leather gloves. The Columbian winters had seen to it, at least, that he was attired to face what awaited.
‘Do not let anyone else leave the house, Thomas,’ he instructed. ‘No matter what.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
With a nod, Liam pulled his scarf over his face, threw up his hood, and without any further ado opened the door and stepped out into the blast of wind and snow that greeted him.
He watched as Thomas leaned against the door with all his weight to close it again, and braced himself before turning back to face the storm.
When I find you, my little Miss Merrickson, the storm shall be the least of your concerns...
The scarf wrapped around his face had frozen, clumped with ice and snow. His feet were soaked and numb, as was the rest of him. Still, he marched on through the growing drifts, clutching his coats tightly, his eyes scanning the white, blurry wasteland before him as best they could.
The wind howled and whistled around him, warning him to turn back while the heavens unleashed their fury on the world, but Liam marched on, the crunch of his steps a whisper compared to the bluster around him. He had to find her. He would freeze to death himself before he left her to the elements. She was lucky he knew this land well enough to make his way in this hell storm. Lucky that the moon still had some light to offer, and that the snow reflected what little it did.
Foolish, careless, reckless woman!
For the hundredth time since he’d set out, he wondered what precisely the woman had been thinking. Did she not know how quickly storms descended here? And now herehewas, forced to trudge out after her since she seemed terminally incapable of staying put and doing as she was told. Incapable of doing the sensible thing. He should let her freeze to death out in his own park. That would serve her right. Perhaps then she might understand, might listen.
Even as he thought it, he cursed himself loudly, his warm breath spreading through the scarf and warming his nose for a brief moment.
No. Please, God, let me find her. Let me save her, as I could not save the others...
If she died...he would not be able to bear it. Not another soul on his conscience. And most certainly nothers. She might be the most infuriating, contrary, wilfully disobedient wretch of a woman he had ever encountered, and yet... If she left him, if she was taken from him, Liam knew his life would never be the same.
He felt his heart twist in agony at the thought and shouted to the heavens. No. He would find her. He had to. All would be well.
‘Miss Merrickson!’ he screamed out into the whirling void, stopping his progress only to listen for something, anything, that might help him. ‘Rebecca!’
There... A faint...something.
Liam forged onwards, eastwards, in the direction of what he hoped with every fibre of his being was her voice.
