tiresome, but you know his heart is good. If he says he will find them, then he will.”
Amelia didn’t even have the energy to argue. She wouldn’t rest, nor close one eye, until she had the baby back in her arms, and from that point forward she would never let the child from her sight.
She waited for Helena to put her arms around her. How she needed a comforting embrace. But the embrace never came. Slowly, surely, the words spoken earlier in the evening revisited Amelia’s mind.
What was wrong with everyone? It was as if an evil trance had befallen every soul within Winterwood’s walls. Her uncle had never been a warm man, but she never would have imagined he’d ignore the needs of an infant. And Helena—they’d been like sisters. But Helena’s demeanor tonight was void of any sisterly sympathy.
Helena spoke. “I’m going to call for some tea. Let’s go to the drawing room and wait for Edward together.”
Amelia shook her head, a little surprised at the calmness in her voice. “I cannot just sit. What if something terrible has happened?” Her voice rose. “What if Lucy is in danger and we are just sitting, waiting?”
Helena withdrew her hand as if Amelia had just bitten it. “I am only attempting to help, Amelia. I am calling for tea; join me if you will. Edward has everything under control, I have no doubt.” She paused and pinned Amelia with her stare. “Does Captain Sterling know you cannot find his child?”
Captain Sterling. He would know what to do. Amelia ignored her cousin’s snide words and turned to run down the hall.
“Elizabeth!”
Amelia waited for a response but heard none. She cried louder. “Elizabeth!”
After the second cry, the lady’s maid poked her head from the library into the main hall. “Yes, miss?”
“See that someone is sent to Eastmore Hall right away. Get word to Captain Sterling that his daughter is missing.”
Graham awoke with a start. He jerked his head up and listened. Did he hear hoofbeats?
Had William finally returned?
Jumping off the bed, he pulled on his buckskin breeches, the closest item of clothing he could find, and ran to the window, not bothering to tuck in his linen shirt.
A muffled voice shouted from below. “Hello! Ho, there!”
His brother would not bother to call a greeting. That fact alone and the lateness of the hour gave him reason for alarm. Graham grabbed his candle and left his room, running barefoot down the hall and taking the stairs two at a time. He pushed past Eastmore’s butler, who’d also awakened to the calling, and flung the main door open to find a young boy sitting bareback atop a massive horse.
“I have news for Captain Sterling,” the boy announced.
The bitter wind ripped through Graham’s shirt. “I am he.” Graham watched impatiently as the boy slid awkwardly from the animal’s back. “It’s William, isn’t it? What has he done? Where is he?”
The boy shook his head. “No, not Mr. Sterling. It’s Miss Lucy, sir.”
Graham winced. “Lucy? What’s the matter with her?”
“She’s missing.”
Fire surged through Graham’s chest. “Missing? What do you mean, missing?”
The stable boy shrugged and cocked his head shyly to the side. “Miss Barrett says she got home and the nurse and baby weren’t in the nursery. Everyone’s searching the grounds. Miss Barrett wanted that I should fetch you.”
Graham didn’t wait to hear more. He darted up the stairs to his bedchamber. After securing a coat, boots, and his hat, he reached into his open trunk, grabbed a pistol, and tucked it into the waist of his breeches. He sprinted to the stable. Every minute’s delay meant one more minute his daughter could be in danger. He retrieved a bridle from the peg on the wall and flung open the stall gate. After bridling his nameless horse, he led him to the yard.
No. Not Lucy too.
He refused to think about the child’s sweet expression. Her dimpled cheek. Her wispy red curls. Instead, he concentrated on formulating a plan. He would search the massive estate himself, call in the local constabulary if necessary. Using the muted moonlight as his guide, he swung the saddle into place. No-Name pranced and threw his head back, offering a whinny into the night mist.
Graham’s fingers fumbled with the girth. By now a groomsman had heard the commotion and tried to offer assistance, but Graham refused. Beads of perspiration dotted his brow despite the chill in the air. His mind churned, trying to make sense of what he had heard as he