Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

F rederick found the carriage roughly five miles down the road from where William, the stable hand, had been attacked. It was parked on the side of the road, empty and abandoned although the horses were left tied to it.

Naturally, upon finding the carriage, Frederick rode in every direction, screaming Caroline's name. "Miss Dowding!" he shouted as loud as he could, choosing to use the name that he knew her by. "Miss Dowding! Miss Dowding!"

He rode up the road, at least two miles along its length, then he turned back. Then he rode east of the road, across the pastures that ran toward the horizon, again shouting her name. From there, he rode west through the forest, calling for her, his voice bouncing off the trees until they were swallowed by the night.

He knew it to be a hopeless gamble, for Frederick did not think that the kidnappers had simply stolen the carriage without any intent on keeping Miss Dowding for themselves. Wherever they were, so was she, and that was very unlikely traipsing by foot through the forest.

It was late at night when he came back to the carriage to reassess his plan. The moon was covered by cloud so dark that he could barely see two feet in front of him. There would be tracks to follow, he guessed, some sort of clue. But as dark as it was, there was little he could do until the morrow.

Needless to say, Frederick did not sleep well that night.

He spent most of it pacing his room in thought, fear taking over, worry weighing him down, guilt crippling him. This was his fault, he knew. He was the one who sent her away. He was the one who left her defenseless. He was the one who had put her in this position in the first place. He should have trusted her! He should have given her a chance. But old wounds took time to heal, and after his first marriage, trusting was not something that he was very good at.

Dawn could not come soon enough. Only this time, he did not search for Miss Dowding on his own. He had sent word the previous night for George to meet him on the road as soon as he woke, and he was pleased to see his old friend riding its length as he made his way back toward the abandoned carriage.

"Frederick!" George cried. "Is everything all right! I came as quickly as I could!"

Frederick rode up beside him. He had not told George exactly what had happened, simply begging for his help, knowing that George would not hesitate in giving it.

A quick explanation of all he knew, and George's reaction was as expected.

"Dear God," the man gasped. "Taken by whom?"

"I have been thinking about that," Frederick began as the two men began at pace along the road, "and it can only be her father, Lord Edgerton."

"Lord Edgerton?" George said, sounding unconvinced. "But how?"

"It does not matter how," Frederick growled, his anger not aimed at George but himself…. and Lord Edgerton. "When we find the man, however, feel free to ask him."

"And how do you suppose we do that?"

It was a good question.

The carriage was as it had been left the night before, parked on the side of the road as if abandoned in a hurry. On first inspection, it appeared as Frederick remembered, and he worried for a moment that the day's delay might have cost him everything. But then he looked a little closer…

"See here!" he cried quickly; down from the horse now, he bent down on the other side of the road. "These markings—tracks!" He indicated to the deep, muddied tracks that lined the side of the road.

"Another carriage?" George asked, picking up on what Frederick was implying.

Frederick bit into his lip as he studied them, noting the way they moved off the road and headed south toward London. "He parked his carriage here and made down the road where he intercepted Miss Dowding." He pictured it in his mind as he put the pieces together. "Then he brought her back and transferred her to his own carriage, and he took off again…" His eyes searched down the road, following the tracks the best he could.

"And then what?"

"Let us find out!" He was quick to climb back atop his horse and take off in the direction of the carriage tracks.

The road ran in one direction, and for several miles they were able to follow it clearly, knowing that the carriage had to have gone this way. But the further they travelled, the less obvious the track marks became until Frederick was forced to admit that they were simply following the road and hoping for the best.

Even worse was when the road forked in two directions.

"Dammit!" he cried as he pulled his horse up.

"What now?" George asked as he pulled up beside him. "He could have gone either way."

Frederick considered, biting hard into his lip as he tried to puzzle out what a man like Lord Edgerton would do. Hopelessly in debt. Searching for his daughter for two years. Knowing that to simply take her home would be pointless as she would either run again or be found. Likely, he was taking her somewhere. Possibly hiding until then…

"How many villagers are there within, say, a thirty-mile ride of here?" Frederick asked.

George frowned. "Villagers?"

"With inns."

"Oh…" He clicked his tongue as he considered. "Half a dozen, perhaps? Sommerset is the closest, about two miles down that way—" He indicated to the fork in the right side of the road. "And Bellend is about ten miles that way—" An indication to the fork in the left side of the road. "Beyond that though, they are spread."

"We check them all—" About to kick his horse forward, George was quick to grab the reins.

"Check them all? How do you mean?"

"I mean that we ride from village to village and search every inn that we can. Any keeper worth his salt will know if a viscount and his daughter checked in the previous evening. That is how we find her."

"Village to village…" George frowned as he considered. "That will take—it could take days!"

"Is that a problem?" The way he posed the question, the answer he required of his friend was obvious.

George's expression tightened. "Not at all."

"Good." And then, having wasted enough time already, Frederick kicked his heels into the side of his mount and took off in the direction of Sommerset. And George, the good friend that he was, followed closely behind.

They reached Sommerset ten minutes later. Frederick, well and truly ahead of George by that point, pushed his horse down the main road in the direction of the inn—he knew roughly where it was, having ridden through Sommerset several times before. When he pulled up in the front, he was forced to wait for George to catch him so that he might hand his friend the reins, then he stormed in and demanded to speak to whoever was working.

Within one minute of questioning, he learned that Lord Edgerton and Miss Dowding had not been there the previous night, nor were they there right now.

Back outside, he found George still standing with the horses as he waited to hear what Frederick had learned.

"They are not here," Frederick said without breaking stride. He was quick to grab hold of his horse's saddle and pull himself up. Leg thrown over, buttocks firmly in the seat, he kicked the animal back into action.

"Frederick!" George called after him, slower to climb back atop his own horse and follow. "Where are you—will you slow down!"

"No!" Frederick called back without looking. "I won't!"

It was much the same way for the rest of the day. Sommerset was reached less than two hours after sunrise, giving them plenty of time to ride up and down the countryside in search of the inn where Lord Edgerton had to be keeping Miss Dowding. It became an obsession for Frederick, a certainty that he was right. For if he was wrong… he had no idea what he might do.

He simply could not be wrong.

They travelled to a small village known as Wells next, much to the same result. From there, they headed further south, finding a hamlet by the name of Scotsdale. After that it was Greenshade, Coventry, and then Dibbley. With each arrival, Frederick felt a swelling of hope for surely this would be it… only for that hope to crash inside of him like an avalanche as he was forced to question yet again if he was too late.

And as he rode, he thought to Miss Dowding and what he would say when he saw her. He would apologize—a smile brought to his lips when he thought of that, for that would be two apologies that she had gotten out of him. He would ask her to return with him. And if all went well, he would ask her to marry him. After all that had happened, he saw no sense in ignoring his feelings any longer. He loved her. He was certain she loved him. And it really was that simple.

But it was not so easy a hope to hold onto as time and time again they rode into a small village which sat outside of London, only to find that nobody that matched Lord Edgerton or Miss Dowding's description had come through the previous evening. And with each failing, Frederick could sense George wanting to question if this was a horrible mistake.

Frederick's body was sore when he rode in the village of Bellend, and his determination was wanning. Having ridden thirty miles south, they had turned about and were now heading back toward the original fork in the road. Bellend was the last town they needed to check, and if Miss Dowding was not here…

The sun was beginning to set too. The town sat quiet. A few glances at the two lords as they rode through the main street, whispers behind hands, a sense that the sight of such esteemed members of the peerage was unexpected and rare. Not a good sign.

"Wait here," Frederick commanded George as he came to a stop by the door to the inn.

"No arguments here," George said, sitting low in his saddle, looking well and truly ruined from a day of riding.

Frederick strode through the door to find a near empty inn. A fire burning in a hearth in the corner. A few tables peppered about a common area. One or two patrons already well into their mugs of ale. And the innkeeper, standing to attention at the sight of Frederick striding toward him.

"M'Lord, welcome!" he cried nervously. "My name is Oliver, and this here is my inn, the Bearded Lady?—"

"I am searching for somebody," Frederick cut him off with as much force as he could, but he was tired now, unable to muster the same amount of command he had earlier. "A man by the name of Lord Edgerton and his daughter, Miss Dunn. Although they may have been using different names."

"Lord Edgerton?" Oliver frowned. "Miss Dunn?"

"He is roughly fifty years of age while Miss Dunn is twenty and six. She has dark blonde hair, green eyes, freckles covering her cheeks, and…" A smile touched his lips. "She might have been the most beautiful women you've seen in these parts in all your life."

"Well…" Oliver chuckled. "I have seen many a beautiful woman, let me tell you that, M'Lord. As to this Miss Dunn…" He bit into his lip. "Last evening it was, there was a Lord Chester, he said his name was, checked into two rooms. Didn't see who he was with, mind you, but I had the feeling it was a woman. Strange that he wanted two rooms, but if it was his daughter, that would make enough sense."

Frederick's heart leapt. "Which rooms?" He spun about as if to run for them. "Where are they?"

"Oh, they left, M'Lord. An hour ago now, it was."

"What?"

"Took a carriage as I saw it. Headed north, I believe. I think I heard him telling someone last night over a drink that he was making for Scotland and?—"

Frederick did not wait to hear the rest. Determination returned. Hope surging. That sense that he was right, that he wasn't too late, that he still had a chance, giving him such energy that he felt as if he could fly. And indeed, he flew through the entrance and back on the street.

"Frederick," George started when he saw his friend charging the way he was. Again, he was standing by the two horses, holding them together by the reins. "What did he say? No— whoa!" he yelped when Frederick leapt onto his horse without pause, kicking his heels and shooting down the road as if a fire was lit under him. "Frederick!" George called. "Frederick!"

But Frederick did not slow his pace. He did not look back. He did not waste time with an explanation. Time was not something he had the luxury of, for Miss Dowding was still in danger. Although not for much longer, if he could help it.

And with how he was feeling, the way his heart beat and his chest exploded, Frederick knew that he would die before letting anything happen to her. Now, if that wasn't love, he didn't know what was.