Marquesses at the Masquerade(104)
But neither Amanda nor her friends had seen Sylvie slip away, and though the square was small and plenty of people sat on benches or in coaches by the roadside, Sylvie was nowhere to be found.
*
How could Lord Tyne be calm, how could he think at all, when Sylvie was missing?
He was utterly composed. He dispatched the two grooms to work their way around the square, bench by bench, asking after Sylvie. Amanda and her friends did likewise with the children, while Lucy’s heart hammered against her ribs and guilt hammered her conscience.
“She could have been snatched away,” Lucy said, gaze upon the busy streets surrounding the square. “She could be lost, she might have been knocked witless by a passing carriage, and she’s so little, nobody would even—”
“Miss Fletcher,” Lord Tyne said, putting a hand on each of Lucy’s shoulders. “This is not your fault, and we must look at the situation logically. Sylvie is a sensible child. She has had your example to guide her for quite some time, and she knows better than to dart into traffic. She will not take foolish risks, will not talk to unsavory people, and will not leave this area without us.”
He took Lucy by the hand and led her back in the direction of the coach.
“Where are we going? We can’t leave, not with—”
“We have searched the square, and unless Sylvie has learned to levitate straight up into the boughs, she’s not here. We must check the coach and the coaches of acquaintances who happen to be enjoying the square. Thanks to you, Sylvie has many little friends, and she might even now be cadging another ice with one of them.”
That… that made sense. Lucy’s panic subsided the least bit. “I still feel responsible. She’s a little girl, and I am her governess.”
“While I am merely her father? You are being ridiculous. This outing was my suggestion, Sylvie is my daughter, and she will be fine, assuming she survives the scolding we’ll give her.”
His tone was cool, his grip on Lucy’s hand steadying. His lordship inquired at three different coaches, and still no Sylvie, not even a sighting of a child who might be Sylvie.
“We need to look in one last place,” his lordship said, escorting Lucy back across the street to Gunter’s. “I should have started here, because I have every confidence that we’ll find the prodigal and her accomplice slurping maple ices and looking entirely—”
“There you are!” Lucy said, dashing among the tables and wrapping Sylvie in a hug. “We looked everywhere for you, and I was so worried. Sylvie, you must never again give us such a fright.”
Sylvie yet held her spoon—she was indeed enjoying another maple ice—while Mrs. Holymere looked on with tolerant amusement from the seat at Sylvie’s elbow.
“I had to get Lady Higginbottom,” Sylvie said when Lucy could stand to turn loose of her. “I forgot her, and I’m not supposed to be forgetful. Mrs. Holymere helped me cross the road and said we should wait for Papa to come fetch me.” The girl looked uncertainly from her father to Lucy and then set aside her spoon to pick up her doll. “Am I in trouble?”
Mrs. Holymere beamed at the marquess. “Of course not, my dear. Looking after you for a few moments was my pleasure, and you really must not let this delicious ice go to waste. My lord, won’t you join us? Lady Amanda is somewhere about too, isn’t she? Perhaps the governess can take the child back to the square while we enjoy some adult conversation.”
The governess . Mrs. Holymere turned her smile on Lucy, clearly expecting the governess to take Sylvie by the hand and disappear for so long as it pleased Mrs. Holymere to publicly flirt with the marquess.
Sylvie took Lucy’s hand, and Lucy had picked up the half-eaten ice when Lord Tyne offered Mrs. Holymere a bow.
“While I thank you for aiding Lady Sylvie, I am not free at this moment to tarry. Good day.” He plucked Sylvie up onto his hip, passed Lucy the spoon Sylvie had been using, and strode in the direction of the door.
Lucy offered the barest curtsey and marched after him.
The ride back to the house was taken up with Amanda chattering about Rose and Winnie, her kickball opponents, and Sylvie debating the merits of maple ices over those flavored with lemon. Happy, normal babbling about an enjoyable outing on a fine spring day.
When the coach pulled up in the mews, the girls scampered into the house. Lucy climbed out last, accepting Lord Tyne’s hand to assist her to the ground.
“You are still upset,” he said, keeping hold of her hand as the coach pulled away to the carriage house.
“I am furious.”
“With Sylvie?”
Lucy shook her head, willing herself to remain civil, to keep to her place.
“With me?” Lord Tyne asked.
“You were wonderful. You kept your head, you didn’t panic, you applied common sense and persistence, while I wanted to run up and down the walkways shouting Sylvie’s name.”
“That would have been my next step as well, having exhausted all other possibilities. If you’re not wroth with me or Sylvie, then who has earned your ire?”
Standing this close to Lord Tyne was distracting, but not distracting enough. All over again, Lucy saw Mrs. Holymere’s smirk, heard her dismissing the governess, the better to be seen sharing an ice with the marquess.
Lucy stalked the half-dozen paces across the alley and into the garden, Lord Tyne following. “I am furious, my lord, though I know I shouldn’t be. I am furious at Mrs. Holymere for dragging an innocent child into her machinations, for pretending to be Sylvie’s friend, for entirely disregarding the difficult position she put a little girl in. Was Sylvie to suffer a birching for the betterment of Mrs. Holymere’s designs on you? Do you know how far back that would set the poor girl?