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He stepped onto the porch, and he sighed in relief when saw Miss Temperton hurrying across the garden and back toward the house. It looked to him like she was chasing Amelia, or the two were playing a game of hide and seek. Only then he noticed the look of worry on her face.

“Your Grace!” she cried out when she saw him. “Have you seen her? Please, tell me you have! Oh God!”

“Miss Temperton!” He strode toward her. “Where is Amelia?”

He looked around the large garden, his eyes searching frantically.

“Forgive me!” she wept as she reached him. Her entire body shook, and tears were already brimming in her eyes.

Frederick’s stomach dropped at the sight. Another glance around the garden confirmed it was empty. “Miss Temperton, where is my daughter?”

“I sent her outside to read,” she explained frantically. “I told her I would be out in a minute, but I used the time to clean her room, leaving her alone for only an hour, I swear! It can’t have been long, but?—”

“My daughter,” he growled, his nerves getting the better of him. “Where is she?”

“That is just it, Your Grace! When I came outside, she was gone! I don’t know where or how or… or… or where she is! Oh God!”

Miss Temperton threw herself at him, weeping openly, her body shaking with worry.

And Frederick, suddenly sober, felt as if he might vomit. Again he looked around the garden and then to the plains beyond the house, the setting sun, for darkness would be upon them soon.

His daughter, his little girl, had run away. And not so deep down—for it was too obvious for that—he knew that it was all his fault.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“The important thing is that we get ahead of this,” Lord Ramsbury was saying. “If we can do that, we might come out the other side not looking the worse for it.”

“I have already started writing letters,” Lady Ramsbury stated, “to everyone I know.”

“Saying?”

“What do you think?” she said, sounding almost insulted that he would even ask. “That His Grace was the one who erred—I did not say so specifically, but I have implied that he was abusive. Verbally, for we do not want to suggest anything violent.”

“Good idea, dear,”

“And that Hannah was the one who demanded a divorce,” Lady Ramsbury said rightly. “It will look better if she took action and sought a way out. Better that than the alternative.”

“Yes, yes.” Lord Ramsbury nodded his agreement. “We must mold the narrative to our favor, ensuring that Hannah’s name is not damaged. That will make it easier come next Season, when it is time for her to be courted once more.”

“My thoughts exactly. No gentleman is going to want her if he thinks she is a problem. But if we prove that His Grace is the problem, it will go a long way.”

“Wonderful.” Lord Ramsbury took his wife’s hand. “And who are you writing to, exactly? My thinking is that we need to be strategic. If you simply write to every person you know, it will look desperate and disorganized. But to the right people…” He chuckled. “Let the words spread on their own, rather than forcing them down everyone’s throat.”

“No, no,” Lady Ramsbury argued. “We must tell everyone. We cannot risk His Grace getting the upper hand.”

“Letitia, tactfulness is what will see us through.”

“Force, dear, is the only way.”

“A subtle hand.”

“A firm one.”

“But His Grace?—”

“Better hope he does not try and stop me, or else there will be hell to pay!”

Lord Ramsbury chuckled. “I am glad you are on my side.”