Page 21 of A Wicked Earl's Widow
“It’s not the losing, it’s being bested.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “You’re splitting hairs, as always. By the way, is Althea taking a nap?”
Eliza shook her head. “No, she’s…” Mrs. Watkins lay still on the blanket, a doll next to her, and no Althea. Dread gripped her throat. “Oh, God.”
The women jumped from their chairs, the table wobbling precariously as the ivory sticks clattered to the ground.
“Mrs. Watkins! Wake up, Althea is gone.” Eliza gulped air, trying to push back the panic. She ran into the small wooded area, calling her daughter’s name. Decaying leaves and wet soil assaulted her nostrils. The sun left a speckled pattern through the leaves of the tall oaks but the grove was empty. “ALTHEA!”
“I’m sure she didn’t wander far. Let’s split up.” Grace took charge, calm as always, pointing each of them in a different direction. “Mrs. Watkins, please go to the house and tell Nate.”
“Tell me what?” he asked, coming from the stables, crop in hand.
“Althea is missing. She hasn’t been gone long but…”
Eliza knew the second Grace’s thoughts ran with hers. She looked at Nathaniel, his face grim.
“I’ll get Cyrano. Find me something that has her scent on it.” He ran back to the stables and the kennels.
“Cyrano?” Eliza did not have time to wait on anything or anyone. Her arms trembled, the deep breaths not enough to keep the anxiety at bay.
“Nate’s best blood hound. He can pick up a scent and follow it till doomsday.” Hannah grabbed the doll. “This will work. Bring it to my brother.”
Hannah picked up her skirts and hurried in the direction Grace had pointed. As Eliza ran after Nathaniel, she could hear the women calling over and over for Althea.Oh God, please don’t let him have her. Please.
Cyrano was a large black and tan hound with droopy eyes and long ears. His head reached Pendleton’s thigh as he held the doll under the dog’s nose. They jogged back to the blanket and had the animal sniff again. His ears dragged across the grass and dirt as his nose went to work. He entered into the woods and out again, back in to wind around several trees and out once more. The same pattern one would expect of a toddler ambling along.
Then his nose pointed toward the sky, and he grew still. A long, mournful bay sounded, and the dog’s nose back to the ground, and he picked up his pace. Nathaniel grabbed her hand, and they trotted after him. The other women’s voices grew faint.
Eliza’s stomach twisted into a knot. “What if my father has taken her?”
“He hasn’t.”
“How do you know?” She desperately wanted to believe him.
“Cyrano is moving too quickly. She’s close.”
Hope surged in her chest. The tears blurred her vision, and she gripped Nathaniel’s hand tighter, stumbling after him.
They came to a meadow on the other side of the woods. A large rowan tree stood in the center. A flash of yellow interrupted the shade of the low branches. A small yellow frock. “Althea!”
Cyrano began his long, mournful howl again and trotted toward the scent. Eliza ran after the animal. “Don’t hurt her.”
Nathaniel laughed behind her. The dog reached the sleeping child, sniffed her thoroughly, and let out another long yowl. Tail wagging, he slurped his long tongue across the little girl’s face. Fully awake now, she squealed in delight and threw her arms around the canine’s neck. “Puppy!”
Eliza sank onto the grass and pulled Althea to her, swiping at her own wet cheeks. “Oh, my baby. Oh my sweet, naughty baby.” She rocked the wiggling girl back and forth, Cyrano still trying to lick her face and getting Eliza’s cheek in the process.
Laughter bubbled up her throat. This sad-eyed, slobbering dog had found her little girl. “Cyrano, you are my hero.”
“Wait a minute,” objected Nathaniel. “I set him on the trail.”
Althea grabbed the dog’s wet jowls with her hands and kissed his nose. “Hewo, my hewo.”
“Pfft! The fickle female lives on.” Nathaniel picked up Althea and hauled her onto his shoulders. “Enough excitement for one day, little one. I don’t think your mama can take much more.”
He held out his hand to Eliza and she took it, the touch chasing away the panic and warming her cold fingers. As her racing heart slowed, she studied Nate’s profile. He still held her hand, while the other grasped a small foot that had left grass stains on his pristine white shirt. Her eyes strayed to the form-fitting buckskin breeches and shiny black boots then back to their clasped hands. Nathaniel sang a little ditty to Althea, who tried to sing along, her hands clasped under his chin. As the song’s momentum picked up, her chubby legs beat against his barrel chest as he sang, and his grip tightened, his shoulders stretching the fine material of his blue riding coat. Her heart eased, her muscles relaxed, and she began to enjoy the walk. Her daughter looked as if she belonged climbing on this man’s back, kissing his cheek or his shoulders. Everything about this scene seemed…natural.
“Mama, sing. Sing wif us.”
