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Lord Hartfield shifted uncomfortably. “She is uhm… visiting some of our relatives, isn’t that right, dear?” he asked his wife.

“Yes,” Lady Hartfield immediately nodded. “That is why you cannot see her.”

Jonathan’s eyes darkened. “Which relatives? Where exactly?”

Lady Hartfield faltered. “She’s, uh, with her Aunt Margaret. Yes, in Bath. She wanted some time away to rest.”

Jonathan stepped closer, his presence menacing. “And why wasn’t I informed of this? I am her husband.”

Lord Hartfield cleared his throat. “Well, it was all very sudden. Ciara needed some a change of scenery, and we thought it best not to trouble you with the details.”

Jonathan’s fists clenched at his sides. “I don’t believe you.”

Lady Hartfield’s face paled. “Your Grace, please, there’s no need for this hostility.”

Jonathan leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. “I will ask you one more time: where is my wife?”

Lord Hartfield’s eyes darted to his wife, who looked just as panicked. “I told you, she’s with her Aunt Margaret,” he insisted, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.

“When did she leave?” he asked.

“Three days ago,” Lady Hartfield tried to assure him, but it was in vain.

Suddenly, a thought struck Jonathan like a bolt of lightning: the note Ciara had sent him. Why hadn’t anyone come to retrieve her belongings? How had she been living at the Hartfield estate without her things?

He spun back to face Lord and Lady Hartfield, his eyes blazing with renewed suspicion.

“If Ciara has been staying here,” he said slowly, “why hasn’t anyone come to collect her belongings from Silverbrook Manor? How has she been living here without her clothes and personal items?”

Lady Hartfield’s eyes flickered nervously. “Oh, we simply bought her new clothes and other necessities,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “It was easier that way.”

Lord Hartfield stepped forward, attempting to put on a brave front. “Your Grace, I assure you, Ciara is fine. She’s just taking some time for herself. There’s no need for your concern.”

Suddenly, Jonathan’s patience snapped. He surged forward, grabbing Lord Hartfield by the collar and yanking him to his feet. The older man’s eyes widened in terror as Jonathan’s furious face loomed inches from his own.

“Tell me the truth,” Jonathan growled, his voice low and menacing. “Or I swear, you’ll regret it.”

Lord Hartfield, a complete coward, began to tremble. “All right! All right! She’s being taken to St. Catherine’s!” he blurted out. “Mother Superior is with her; they left a few days ago.”

Jonathan’s grip tightened for a moment before he shoved Lord Hartfield violently, sending him sprawling onto the floor. His fury was palpable as he stood over the cowering man.

“You’re despicable,” he spat, his voice filled with venom. “How could you do this to your own daughter?”

Lady Hartfield gasped, her face pale. “We were only trying to help her,” she protested weakly.

“Help her?” Jonathan echoed incredulously. “By sending her back to that wretched place? You’re not helping her, you’re destroying her. If anything happens to Ciara because of your actions, you will pay dearly. I will see to that myself!”

Jonathan’s mind was racing, a million questions swarming inside his mind. Fear gripped him, but he knew that he couldn’t give in to that feeling. Ciara was counting on him. He had to save her.

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at the trembling Lord Hartfield. “Where is St. Catherine’s?”

Lord Hartfield stammered, “It’s on the southern border of Scotland.”

Jonathan’s mind raced. “And when was Ciara taken away?”

“Five days ago,” Lord Hartfield replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jonathan made a quick calculation in his head. “They must have reached Sheffield by now,” he muttered to himself.