Page 58 of Marrying a Reluctant Lady
“My lord! My lord! The manor’s aflame!”
“I know,” Owen said gently to Mrs. Walgren, the maid who cleaned the house. “We have to get out. Will you fetch everybody on the staff and get them out onto the front lawn?”
“Yes, my lord. But I’m afraid.”
“I’ll go too.”
Owen watched as Mr. Crane went with the woman, who was clearly too terrified to move, and he stepped towards the front door, Ophelia in his arms. As soon as he was outside on the lawn, he ran to the stables. Benjamin was there, trying to calm the horses, who could smell the smoke and were rearing and snorting in terror.
“Benjamin?” Owen addressed him briskly. “I need you to ride to the physician’s cottage. Take Shadow. As fast as you can.”
“My lord?” Benjamin looked at him with a mix of fear and joy. “You mean it? I can ride?”
“Of course, I mean it,” Owen said swiftly. “Now, off you go. As fast as you can.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Owen watched as the youth saddled the terrified horse, speaking calmly to him as he worked. Owen looked at the other horses. They needed to be moved, too. The stable was too close to the blaze.
As soon as Benjamin was on his way, Owen went to the assembled staff, who stood on the front lawn about thirty paces from the burning house. The entire west wing was burning, now, the smoke billowing from the roof. He went and knelt beside Ophelia, quickly taking in the assembled staff. Mr. and Mrs. Crane stood together, Mrs. Walgren and Miss Cranford beside them. Mr. Grierson, the gardener, had joined them. There was one member missing.
“Where’s Barrow?” he asked Mr. Crane.
“We don’t know,” Mr. Crane replied. “We looked for him, but he wasn’t in his quarters, and he wasn’t in the kitchen or his office. We can’t find him.”
Owen felt his stomach twist with a horrible realization. He prayed he was wrong, but somehow it fitted too well.
“When he comes back, I want to know immediately.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Ophelia had found the proof that money had been disappearing without being recorded in Barrow’s books. He had suspected that the reason was theft, but now, with Barrow disappearing and Ophelia’s life in danger, he was almost certain he was right.
He felt sick. He could have forgiven the theft—he wouldn’t have trusted the fellow again, but theft alone was not unforgivable. Murder, or attempted murder, of the dearestcreature in the world, was a sin that he could not forgive and rage that was dark and terrible twisted in his stomach.
God help me,he said to himself.But I will kill him with my bare hands if I’m right.
He looked down at Ophelia. Now that the chaos had abated, he had time for emotions again, and he bent down beside her.
Gathering her into his arms, he sat and rocked, moaning in pain and horror as he held her tight. He had never taken the chance to tell her he loved her. And now he couldn’t.
As he sat there rocking her in his arms, he felt something.
She stiffened, and he thought he heard a small gasp escape her mouth.
“Ophelia? Ophelia!”
She started to cough. He held her and she started coughing harder, turning away from him as terrible hacking coughs racked her.
“Ophelia. It’s all right.” Owen was crying again, unashamed to let the servants see his tears. Ophelia was alive!
She coughed again and gasped and turned over, looking up at him.
“Owen...” she whispered. Her voice was thin and hoarse, her throat damaged from the smoke.
“I’m here, sweetheart,” he said, and felt no hesitation at using the endearment. “I’m here and you’re safe now. You’re alive.” He whispered the words, almost unable to believe it himself. She was alive! She was here with Owen, and he could tell her what he had wanted to tell her.
“Owen...what happened?” she murmured. She coughed again, then struggled to sit up. Owen wrapped his arms around her, holding her upright.
