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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.