Page 81 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
“Her Grace?” Oliver blinked at him, looking perplexed. “I thought you and she were arriving together, Your Grace.”
Alexander inhaled through his nose, fighting the urge to hurl something against the wall. “So she hasn’t returned home?”
“Not to my knowledge, Your Grace.” The man turned and opened the servants’ door, speaking to a maid there. Then he returned his attention to Alexander. “I’m afraid I don’t know where she is, sir.”
“Prepare warm blankets for her,” he barked, looking at the storm raging outside. If something had happened to her—
No, he wouldn’t think it.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Hot soup, hot cocoa, anything that might warm her.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Without another word, Alexander turned and strode from the house once again. This time, however, he didn’t bother with the carriage. What cared he for getting wet? And he would be faster traveling cross-country on a horse.
“Prepare my gelding,” he commanded as he approached the stables, snatching a lantern and holding it aloft.
“Where are you going at this time of night, Your Grace?” Philips asked, entering through a side door.
“To find my wife,” Alexander said shortly.
The stable boys scrambled to fulfil his request, and Alexander ground his teeth as he glared at the rain. Was it possible she was still at the house? Miss Parsons had not specifically informed him that she had gone.
If she intended to hide away at the house until she perceived him to have left, then…
He would go there first.
The moment his horse was saddled, he swung atop it. “Send out search parties,” he instructed his head groom. “Check around the house and surrounding areas in case there’s a chance Her Grace tried to make her way home and lost her way.”
The head groom, a worn, kindly faced man with a patient expression, nodded his head. “At once, Your Grace.”
Without waiting for anything more, Alexander swung his mount around and set off for Harrogate’s house once again. The minutes slipped by as the miles slowly passed beneath his horse’s thundering hooves. Instead of traveling the roads, he took a path across fields and over hedges. This was the land he used to cross as a boy; he had taken a horse and ridden this way more than once.
He used that knowledge now, and faster than he could otherwise have hoped to arrive, he reached the house. Lights blazed from the windows; the ball was evidently still in full flow.
And yet, even as he strode inside the door, dripping wet, he knew Lydia wasn’t there.
How, he didn’t precisely know, butknowhe did.
“Your Grace!” the butler gasped, rushing to his side. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Bring me Lady Harrogate,” he commanded. “Tell her the Duke of Halston wishes to speak with her.”
“At once!” the man nodded, slipping away. Alexander stood in the hallway, barely noticing the way he dripped across the marble floor, as he waited for Lady Harrogate to appear. After only a few minutes, she did, her expression tightening when she saw his condition.
“You haven't found her?” was the first thing she said. “Eliza—Miss Parsons—informed me you were looking for her.”
“I thought she might have returned home, but I was mistaken. Is she not still in the house?”
“I've been looking for her since you left.” Lady Harrogate wrung her hands. Unlike the combative Miss Parsons, she didn't appear to blame him for his wife's disappearance. “Could she have gone to London? I hardly know why she would, but—”
“There is no reason for her to,” Alexander cut in, raking a hand through his wet hair. His mind raced through possibilities, each more terrible than the last. Where could she have gone in this weather? What if she'd been hurt? What if—
Footsteps sounded behind Lady Harrogate, and Lord Harrogate emerged from the depths of the house, the portrait clutched in his hands.
“Your Grace,” he said, slightly breathless. “Before you go—I know the timing is poor, but you left so abruptly earlier. This portrait—my wife insisted I return it to you tonight.” He pressed it into Alexander’s hands. “It belongs with the duchess.”
