Page 36 of Claiming His Lost Duchess (The Dukes of Sin #8)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“ N -No… That can’t — please tell me you jest. Tell me that you do not mean what you say. How can?—”

Joan was not certain there was any air in her lungs as words that sounded foreign to her ears left her lips. The information the servant had brought forth echoed in her head, and the horror of its implications caused disbelief to grow within her.

It couldn’t be. Sophia couldn’t be missing.

She had been left in hands that promised they were capable of caring for her.

Joan herself knew of their abilities, judging by how deeply each and every one of them had taken on the task of ensuring her wellness and safety in the weeks since Sophia had begun living with her father.

So… how had this happened?

Graham had apparently wandered the exact thing audibly, to which the servant shook his head, his expression taunt with distress.

“I do not — I am sorry, Your Grace. She had been in the care of the housekeeper and a handful of maids for a period of time. They said she was only out of their sight for a moment and when they had begun to search for her, she was nowhere to be found. A door had been discovered open and it was assumed she had wandered off onto the property. But we searched every inch —”

“Stop,” Graham hissed, holding onto Joan tightly. “This is not the place to delve into the details. Let us return and think of what to do next.”

Joan could barely comprehend what he had said, her whole form tense and fraught with worry and fear.

She felt her husband stir her in the direction of the door and lead her by the hand towards the entrance of the door. Her mind and heart raced with dread, the thought of going home and this whole situation had not been resolved to be some kind of unfortunate mistake making her sick.

The idea of Sophia not being there to welcome her with her precious smile brought tears to Joan’s eyes. She could barely hold them back as Graham came to a stop at the door, glancing up to find Catherine and her husband, Sampson standing before them.

“What’s wrong? What has happened?” Catherine questioned her brother, her gaze filled with worry.

“My daughter is missing. I need to return home,” Graham told her quietly, his grip still secure and warm around Joan.

Catherine’s eyes widened as she gasped, her hand reaching for her mouth in shock.

“Is there anything we can do?—”

“I’m going to look for her, but I need to take Joan home. Could you tell Margaret and Lysander what’s happened?”

Catherine nodded immediately. “Of course. I’ll let them know and we’ll be right down to see you.”

“No, no,” Graham shook his head, his gaze wandering over her shoulder to the garden full of guests. “You are a host. You should focus on your guest.”

“That isn’t at all important, compared to the fact that my niece is missing —”

“Do not worry. We will find her. Just… stay here and do what you need to,” Graham insisted, before leading Joan in the direction of the carriage without waiting for his sister’s response.

Joan still couldn’t seem to grasp the reality of things as she settled in the carriage, her fingers clutching onto Graham as though she believed he would vanish if she let go.

“Joan,” Graham told her fiercely, placing one of his hands over hers, “I swear, I will get down to the bottom of this. We will find her. I swear to you —”

“I should’ve stayed,” she lamented quietly, tears rolling down her face. “If I hadn’t left her behind, if I hadn’t insisted on going —”

“Joan, please. Please do not blame yourself. This has nothing to do with you. It isn’t your fault. Whoever is responsible will pay greatly, that you can trust me on,” he assured her, gently wiping her cheeks with the pads of his fingers.

His gestures and words were no less warm than they had been moments earlier when they had been intimate, but for some reason, she could scarcely feel his touch. It was as though her nerves had been petrified and all she knew was the unsettling discomfort beneath her skin.

She couldn’t accept his comfort, did not feel worthy of it.

They arrived at the estate to find several members of their staff wandering the grounds, calling for Sophia as though they expected that she would still be around somewhere, perhaps asleep under a shrub.

Mrs Wintersdown came to meet them with Williams in tow, the housekeeper looking beside herself with worry.

“I’m sorry, Your Graces. We only wanted to make sure her dinner was ready for her — we’d only turned away for a moment! It was only a moment — I swear. She just vanished!” the older woman cried, clutching at her chest with one hand.

“What do you mean? How could she vanish? Did she somehow learn to pull magic tricks in the time I was gone? She’s only a child! Where could my daughter have gone?” Joan cried, reaching her limit.

It was not fair. It was cruel for her worst fears to come to life at a moment where she had allowed herself to gain some relief and ease into the life she now led.

What struck her heart with even more pain was the fact that this was her fault but everyone else seemed focused on identifying how this had happened. If she had stayed with Sophia, if she had listened to the whispers of her instincts, her daughter would still be by her side.

“Your Grace?—”

“Joan, look at me,” Graham spoke softly, stepping in her line of sight. “It’ll be all right. We’ll find her.”

“You do not know that,” Joan whispered, feeling defeated.

She had done this. She had given into the desire that had been growing within her, had lost herself to pleasure and lost her daughter as well.

This was her fault, for listening to her husband. His fault for luring her away with his sweet words and scorching touch. She had trusted in him and now the consequences of her foolishness were too great.

“I swear on my life, that we will find her. I’ll lead the search myself.”

Reluctantly, Joan nodded, feeling too drained to say much more.

Graham ran his hands up and down her arms in an effort to soothe her, his lips pulling into a frown as he turned to the staff, “If she wandered off on her one, she couldn’t have gotten far. She knows better than to go off the property or even too far from the house by herself.”

“What do we do, Your Grace? It’s been over an hour since we’ve seen her,” the butler stated, brows drawn together tightly.

“Send for the constables. As well as the Duke of Morland. I’ll need as many people as I can get to look for her elsewhere. In the meantime, I and the duchess will wait for their arrival in the drawing room.”

The staff bowed and scurried away, them Graham led Joan into the house.

“You have my word, Joan. I’ll turn this city around on its head if I have to. I will find our daughter,” Graham promised fiercely again.

Joan’s thoughts were flooding her mind faster than she could comprehend them.

What if Sophia wandered too far and got hurt? What if she had been taken? Who would even do such a thing?

Joan could barely sit still, unsure of what to do or think as she waited for more help to arrive.

Eventually, after what felt like eons, the constables arrived.

Graham was immediately before them, explaining the situation, mentioning where they had been when Sophia went missing.

“Then we will start the search from here,” Inspector Lance, one of the constables, suggested. “We’ll go around the grounds, at least once and then extend our search outwards.”

“Fine. Let us find her as soon as possible, she is far too young to be out there without her family,” Graham pointed out, glancing back at Joan momentarily before excusing himself from the men.

As he approached her, a Steward came into the room and informed the Duke,

“The Duke of Morland and the Duke of Windermoor have just arrived, Your Grace.”

“Excellent. I will be down shortly,” Graham told the Steward before refocusing his attention on his wife.

He stepped closer towards her with his arms out, speaking softly,

“I am sorry, Joan. But please do not drive yourself sick with worry. Sophia will be found and brought back home.”

He had barely begun to embrace her before she slipped out of his hold, guilt gnawing at her insides.

“I need to lie down. I do not feel so well,” Joan mumbled, stepping back.

“Of course,” Graham nodded. “That for the best. You should get some rest.”

Joan muttered a quiet “Excuse me,” as she left the drawing room, feeling numb and somewhat overwhelmed at once.

She craved the solace of her chambers, needing some time to think, to pray that her daughter was all right.

It was almost ironic, a cruel twist of fate only a god would find humorous, how her worst fears had come to life in a way she could never have imagined.

Being in her room gave her some time to breathe alone, away from the apologetic gazes of her staff and the weight of their guilt.

She had trusted them and they had failed to keep her daughter safe. It was impossible for her to consider forgiveness now, not while she still had no clue where Sophia was or even how she was.

Joan looked down at herself and laughed, the hollow, unfeeling sounds clawing at her throat on its way out.

Sophia had loved the dress Joan was wearing, had begged for one just like it and Joan promised to have the modiste make her a more appropriate kind, suitable for her age.

Now, as she looked at herself, the warmth of her daughter’s admiration had long since evaporated, leaving behind heavy regret that treated to suffocate her, unless she freed herself from the garment.

With a sob, she undid the ties and buttons that kept the dress together, tears streaming down her face as she let it fall into a heap at her feet.

She did not know what to do, how to fix this — if she even could and it only made her self-loathing grow and grow.

Eventually, she decided to focus on the things she could control, opting to change into something more comfortable before she set out to actively participate in the search for her daughter.

With every step she took, she grew even more determined to demand that her husband allow her to find her child, regardless of what she needed to do.

Joan had been wandering around, looking for a place to settle quickly enough for her to pull on her shoes when she caught sight of something in the corner of her eye.

She turned in the direction of her bed, noticing a single pink rose seated atop her sheets. In her distress, the mysterious flower had not caught her attention when she first came in and its presence filled her with unease.

Who could have left that? Why?

When she moved closer to inspect it, she discovered a folded piece of paper tucked beneath the rose.

Ignoring the flower, she picked up the paper, unfolding it quickly. Her eyes scanned through what she swiftly realized was a letter, her stomach churning with dread as she took in each word.

“She looks just like you. It was quite lovely to see. If you want her back, meet me at the Smithens house. Come alone or you will be forced to witness as I carve up your daughter. You wouldn’t want that, would you, my precious little rose?”

At the bottom, it was signed with a single letter, the syllable causing her stomach to drop even lower than it had.

No, she thought, clenching the paper tightly between her fingers until it began to crumble. It couldn’t be.

But no matter how many times she blinked, how much she prayed, it remained unchanging, its singularity mocking.

You wouldn’t want that, would you, my precious little rose? — B.