Page 17 of Miss Flibbertigibbet and the Barbarian
Addie nodded. “And we found him gone…” She glanced at Nicholas.
“A little before three o’clock,” he supplied.
Rogers nodded. “So he was taken between, say, eleven and half past two.”
“On a day like today,” Addie pointed out, “with all the workers in the fields during that period, whichever way the blackguard went, someone is sure to have seen him.”
Hicks humphed. “Not as if anyone could disguise that hulking beast.” He tapped an area to the southeast of the house. “Me and the lads were spread out around here.” His finger transcribed an arc. “None of us saw anything—not the horse nor anyone who shouldn’t have been there, either.”
“It’s nearing four o’clock now,” Nicholas observed. “Whoever took the horse wouldn’t have wasted any time getting off the estate.” He met Addie’s eyes. “I think we can assume that the thief has quit the estate by now, but searching on the estate is still our best chance of learning in which direction he went.” He gestured at the map. “Given the location of the estate, the thief could have gone in any direction.”
“Hmm.” She stared at the map. “If I was a horse thief with a horse to dispose of, I would make for Grantham or perhaps Lincoln. Any other useful town is farther away.”
Nicholas shook his head. “That’s assuming he’s making for a town to sell the horse. If he’s stolen it for someone specific, there’s no saying in which direction he’ll head.”
He saw her take that in, then she grimaced and tilted her head in acquiescence.
A knock on the door had all four of them turning to look expectantly at the stable hand—the first of the searchers to return—who was hovering in the doorway.
The man saluted and reported, “No sighting anywhere south of the lake. We found the Tomkinses in their fields, and none of them had seen anyone riding by nor spotted The Barbarian.”
Over the following half hour, that tale was repeated in various versions; people had been about, but no one had spotted the hard-to-miss horse or, indeed, anyone they hadn’t expected to see.
The four gathered about the desk kept track of which areas had been cleared and which had yet to be vouched for. Gradually, the fields to the south, southeast, and east of the estate were deemed devoid of any sightings, and bit by bit, the northeast and northern areas were confirmed as being the same.
Nicholas watched Adriana deal with the older men as well as those returning from the search, many of whom had remained and now stood in groups, waiting for their next orders; without exception, the men treated her with unwavering respect. Not only was she patently a lady born to command, she did so with instinctive tact. More, the men—all of them—undeniably looked to her for leadership; they expected her to lead them, and she did.
He hadn’t before realized that such attributes would be attractive in a lady, yet to him, in her, they most definitely were. Yet what captured his attention and effortlessly held it was the conundrum she posed by being the ton’s most notorious flighty miss.
She is Miss Flibbertigibbet.
That was a truth almost impossible to accept, yet there she was, before his very eyes, real, vibrantly alive, and in complete control of her small army of helpers.
This was an undeniably stressful situation, ergo, equally undeniably, what he was seeing was the real woman. But of the other, Miss Flibbertigibbet, what of her? He had no idea, but the lady before him was focusing his interest in a way no lady ever had.
Indeed, he’d been taken aback by the strength of the impulse behind his declaration in the hall. Nevertheless, that, too, was undeniably the truth—his truth as it currently was.
Finally, a clatter of boots in the corridor outside heralded the news they’d been waiting to hear.
“Spotted him, my lady!” Two of the younger stable hands rushed in, their faces alight with excitement.
Adriana beckoned. “Show us where.”
Eagerly, the pair approached the desk.
“It was the Denbys as saw him, my lady,” one said as everyone else in the room crowded around.
The other dutifully reported, “They saw The Barbarian being led off by a dark-haired man riding a chestnut.”
The first pored over the map and put his finger on a spot. “Just here. On the lane to the village.”
Nicholas saw that the village in question—there were three close by—was Aisby.
“Right, then.” Rogers straightened. “We’d better get after him.”
Studying the map, Nicholas held up a staying hand. “From Aisby, the thief could have gone in any of four directions.” He glanced at Adriana. “We’ve confirmed that the horse has been taken from this property, ergo formally stolen. The most likely reason is for his worth to breeders willing to deal with stolen animals. Such enterprises are the dark side of the Thoroughbred breeding industry. I couldn’t be a major trainer without acknowledging they exist. However, illicit breeders are located throughout the country, not in a few specific regions as most legitimate breeders are. Our thief could be heading to any point of the compass.” He held Adriana’s gaze. “Therefore, we should send men to scout along all four lanes that the thief might have taken out of Aisby—north, south, east, and west—to determine in which direction our villain actually went. Then we can follow with a larger party to retrieve the horse.”
She stared at him for a moment; behind her blank features, he sensed she was thinking, weighing…
