“Hmm?” Owen said, whipping his gaze away from where it had been firmly fixed on the window, looking at the snow. It was beginning to fall again, falling thickly on the high glass. Within minutes, these little windows would be covered.
“How long has she been gone?”
“Two hours.”
“Ah …” Tommie paused with the dough.
“So you agree? It is too long; something must be wrong.” Owen pushed away from the window and walked towards his friend.
“I do not think I have ever seen you so animated, quiet man,” Tommie said, betraying a small smile.
“Not the time, Tommie.”
“Agreed,” Tommie said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I will admit, two hours is a long time to be gone in this weather. If you’re concerned, then there is something you can do. Go and find her.”
“She said she wanted to be alone. She gave me an order.”
“The duke would have hardly approved of you playing cards with his wife, but you were happy to ignore that,” Tommie pointed out, making Owen fidget on his feet. “Did you see which way she went?”
“Towards the woods,” Owen said tiredly, moving back to the glass to look out again, in the faint hope that the duchess would appear, walking back towards the house, but the path remained firmly empty, the only sign of life being the tiny foot holes where rabbits had hopped past.
“I wager that stream in the woods is frozen over today.”
“Stream …” Owen repeated the word in thought. The year before, when it was frozen over, Owen had crossed it and could remember all too vividly the way it had cracked beneath his boots. He had only just reached the other side in time. “I’m going after her.”
The decision came with such finality that the sound of slapping dough stopped, and Tommie looked up.
“Make sure no one sees you leave,” Tommie hissed in a whisper. Owen halted his movements and reached for the frock coat placed over the back of the kitchen door. He was planning to follow her path out of the front door, but from there, many maids, including Jessie, may see him from the window.
He tightened the coat around his neck and torso and slipped on some gloves before reaching for the kitchen door. “Good luck!” Tommie cried as he stepped out.
“Not a word, Tommie,” Owen called back, to which Tommie muttered something about not being a fool before the door closed sharply.
The wind was bitter and much colder than Owen had anticipated as he hurried across the path and out into the kitchen garden. In the spring, it would be full of new bulbs and fresh lettuce leaves, but not today. It was all hidden under white ice, a little like a freshly made bed with plain white sheets.
Owen steered himself towards the woods, trying to find the exact path the duchess had taken, but with the snow beginning to come down harder, her tracks in the snow, just like the rabbit’s, were beginning to disappear.
“Your Grace!” he called as he stepped beyond the treeline. No reply came, merely the wind answered him as it rustled the trees and made leaves peppered with icicles rub together. “Your Grace!” he shouted again, this time far louder, but still, no answer came.
Owen glanced back once to the house before making up his mind. He trekked further into the woods, using his heavy boots to wade through the clomps of snow. He tried to find the usual trodden paths, but they were impossible to discern. It led him to clambering over roots and nooks in the trees he had never passed before.
“Your Grace!” he shouted, doing his best to raise his voice as loud as he could. To the side of him, a twig snapped. He turned round, peering through the trees, but he could see nothing.
He chose this new direction and veered forward, hoping that he would eventually find the stream if he kept going in this direction. He was so deep into the woods that it was impossible to see back to the house. Around him, there was a thick density of trees, with the bark dappled white.
“Diana!” He didn’t think too much about using her Christian name. He was growing desperate and was quite willing to shout anything through the trees if it meant he would get an answer.
In reply, there was movement this time, somewhere beyond the trees. There was something that sounded like a yelp of pain before a voice came back.
“Mr Arnold?” she called to him, with the voice surprisingly weak.
Owen hurried towards the voice, slipping on the snow multiple times in his effort to reach her. He pushed through a covering of branches, just as someone was pushing from the other side, to reveal the duchess, only significantly changed.
She was as white as the snow around them, with her gown and pelisse soaked, her teeth chattering, her fingers shivering, and she was leaning against a tree, not really standing on both legs.
“Your Grace.” He reached for her, not caring if it was improper at this time; he just needed to ascertain she was well. “What happened?”
“I slipped and landed on the f-frozen s-stream,” she said, the words coming out stammered thanks to her shivering. She took one of his hands as he reached for her. It was a clinging action, with their gloved fingers entwining together. “I … I cannot walk.”
