Chapter 4


Whit and Thoreau rode all night looking for Anastasia. They found no sign of her, the horse, or the carriage she had stolen. Their own horses had long since grown tired and the two men looked worse for the wear.

“She could be anywhere by now,” Whit commented. “We need to stop and I’ll contact my people, see that they search for her everywhere they can. They’ll find her, Thoreau.”

He wasn’t sure if he was saying that to reassure the man next to him or himself. So far they hadn’t run into any bandits in their travels, but that wasn’t to say that she hadn’t. He worried about her, more than he had ever worried about anyone. He prayed she was safe and would give her a good throttling once he found her and convinced her to marry him.

Thoreau’s eyes were red with exhaustion and fear for his daughter. He knew that what the duke said was their best bet. They needed to stop and get fresh people and horses on the case. They would have a much better chance of locating her if they sent several people out in several different directions. They were, after all, just two men. What could they do? He knew Wetherby could use his vast resources to find his daughter in half the time it would take them alone. Resigned, he turned his horse and followed the duke’s lead to his estate.

Upon arrival there, Whit burst through the front door and the briefly instructed the harried Mrs. O’Connell that he and Mr. Thoreau were not to be disturbed under any circumstances and that if he were in need of anything, he would make sure to find her. With that, he ushered Thoreau into his study and closed the door. They wrote several notes that were quickly dispatched by more footmen than Thoreau had ever seen in one man’s employ. The notes went out to everyone Whit could think of from private detectives to police to friends and acquaintances who would most likely be more than happy to keep their eyes open for any sign of Anastasia. The detectives and police would require payment, of course, but the friends would return favors owed to him.

Whit paced the length of his office while Thoreau sat in a chair facing the expansive desk that Whit was too nervous to remain seated behind. He sipped a brandy and waited. It would take a good while to receive responses, as the estate was out in the country quite far from any of the people to whom he had sent the notes. Thoreau watched him nervously as he glowered into his glass. There seemed to be nothing to say at the moment, so they both remained silent.

After what seemed like hours, Whit told Thoreau to get some sleep, that it would not be until the next morning that they would receive any word back. The two men retired to separate quarters to continue pacing.


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Anastasia settled into her new duties with great enthusiasm. The expectations here seemed only to be that she do her job and that she do it well. She was given Sundays off, Mrs. O’Connell had told her, and some evenings, depending on when the master was coming home and what needed to be done. This didn’t sound like such a bad deal all told. She had reading time and she was free. She cleaned and washed things, taking great care with the grand manor. She treated it like her own and took great pleasure in making it shine. She helped in the kitchens on occasion but the other women quickly learned that she was no good as a cook. She tended to spill things or add too much of something or not enough of something else. She tried to steer clear of the kitchens and everyone else was very grateful when she did.

She took her meals in her room by herself, usually with her nose stuck in a book. The previous week she had stumbled upon the library and had still not recovered from her awe of it. She had opened the door and walked in and her heart had swelled with joy. It was a beautiful room of dark woods and deep sofas. The fireplace was big enough that she could stand in it and the atmosphere was one of coziness. She longed to sit on one of the sofas in front of the fire and curl up with a book. She knew that she never could, but it didn’t hurt to dream. Her library at her father’s house had been so small compared to this one. She had borrowed a book, the first one to catch her eye, and vowed that she would return it as soon as she was finished and no one would be the wiser.
She was now on her third book that week.

Mrs. O’Connell watched her from time to time to see how she was getting on. She was a nice lady and always treated Anastasia very kindly. She could see the worried looks, though. No doubt the woman was wondering what she was doing cooped up by herself all the time. Anastasia didn’t care, though. She was happy.

She thought about her father often and hoped that he was doing well, that he was not too terribly worried for her. She supposed she could have left a note but then when she left she hadn’t known where she was going anyway. She thought of sending a letter, just to let him know she was alive and well. But then she worried the letter would somehow get traced back to her and he would come for her.

She also thought of the duke. Whit. She always thought of him as Whit. In her perfect memory, he was just a man. He was the man she had talked with for so long about all of the things that she loved and all of the things she had never been free to speak of to anyone before. Her heart hurt when she remembered. There was a moment that night when she fancied herself falling in love with that man. His eyes, the way they sparkled when he looked at her, his laugh when she said something funny, his unabashedness. He was candid with her and she had been so taken by it. His face crept into her dreams at night, his handsome beautiful face. He haunted her. She would find herself melancholy in the middle of the day and not know why. Then she would realize she had seen something that reminded her of him. There was a portrait in the main drawing room of a man who, though twice Whit’s age, oddly resembled him. She would find herself gazing at it sometimes when she was in there to clean, lost in a reverie of what if’s.

Otherwise, she paid little attention to the house she tended. She was enamored over its beauty but the details were lost on her. She knew every inch of the library, but there were no portraits or personal items in that room to give the house away. She had no idea of where she was hiding, in whose house she dwelt. She was blissfully unaware of the nearness of the duke. The staff referred to him always as ‘the master,’ and she was never any the wiser.

He was in and out often, still on a crusade to find her. His searches had thus far turned up little. Thoreau had returned to his own home, hoping that she would find her way back there on her own. Whit was not as hopeful, knowing from the moment he met her how hardheaded Anastasia was. He stayed in London for weeks at a time, engaging in the required social events while keeping an ear to the ground about the elusive woman he chased. She was not the only one with haunted dreams. She danced with him every night while he slept, a laughing beauty in his arms, beguiling and intriguing. A mystery to be solved. He began to look forward to going to sleep at night he was so in love with seeing her there.

One late night, while tending to his business affairs in his office, Mrs. O’Connell brought him a brandy.

“I thought you could use this, sir. You’ve had your nose to the grindstone nonstop for quite some time now.”

He smiled at his head servant. She always did try to mother him.

“I’m fine, Mrs. O’Connell. I just have some things to tend to.”

“So I see. Seems you’ve been on a wild goose chase is what I think,” she told him boldly.

“I seem to have lost something. I would like it back.”

“Ah, well. Good luck to you, sir. I’m sure you’ll find it in no time. I’ll send Annie in a bit later to fetch your empty glass and to see to anything further. I’ve got an early day in town tomorrow.”

Mrs. O’Connell started to leave the room, but Whit stopped her.

“Annie?” he asked. “Do we have a new girl?”

“Yes, sir. She came on with us just a month or so ago. Does a good job, she does. Strange you haven’t bumped into her since, but you’ve been busy. In your office or away from home days at a time seems like. Yes, sir. She’s a good girl. Keeps to herself. Much like you, I suppose.”

The thought of having to meet a new servant girl tonight when he had so much to catch up on gave him no comfort. She would no doubt bow and scrape all over the place as all the new ones tended to do. He just wasn’t in the mood.

“Mrs. O’Connell, leave the glass for tonight. I’m sure it will still be here in the morning. And I won’t be requiring anything else. You can give your new girl the rest of the night off if you like.”

“Alright, sir. I’ll let her know, then. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

Mrs. O’Connell left the room and closed the door behind her. She saw Anastasia approaching down the hall and intercepted her. She had told her earlier that she would need to see to the duke this evening but now would have to tell her otherwise.


In town the next morning, Mrs. O’Connell did some of her usual weekly shopping. She bought several things for the household with the funds she was given and a few personal items at her own expense. The milliner had a bolt of beautiful fabric in the window. She thought she could make a dress for Annie. She seemed to only have one dress and it was getting rather drab from being worn every day. She could whip something together with this fabric that would be both attractive and functional for working.

She passed the blacksmith’s barn, nodded hello to Mr. McDougall as he hammered away at work. He smiled and waved. She walked at a leisurely pace back toward the manor. She was sure it was in capable hands whilst she was away. The day was bright and sunny and she knew the fresh air would do her much good.

On her way, she passed the duke on horseback. He stopped to say hello, asked her if she had had a good visit to town, and then continued on his way. She couldn’t remember the last time the duke had gone to town on his own. She wondered what he was after and why he hadn’t asked her to get it for him. Oh well, she thought. He had his chance. And with that, she plodded on.


Whit pulled into town on his great black stallion. The horse was large and fast, one of the most impressive beasts in England he was sure. He had had a tip from one of his detectives that Anastasia may have been through this very town the night she fled and he wanted to check it out. He took his best horse, Captain, wanting to get there right away. He stopped in front of the blacksmith’s barn and tethered the horse. He petted him briefly on the nose and went to investigate. He talked to all of the shopkeepers and no one had seen her. His heart sank as he realized the information was probably false. He had gotten his hopes up that he would find her, that she would be safe and sound. But no, he would have to start all over. He was paying these detectives ridiculous amounts of money to find her and yet she seemed to have vanished into thin air.

He was walking back to the blacksmith’s barn to fetch Captain when something ran across his path. A dog, a young puppy, was tearing around his feet, barking and cavorting, as though playing some game he didn’t know. He saw the ball, then and realized immediately what the game was. A little boy stood in front of the apothecary and called to the dog.

“Sorry, mister! She got away from me.”

“That’s alright. I think she wants to play.”

The duke was buoyed by the dog’s presence. He had had a dog when he was young and had almost forgotten the joy they brought just by being around. He bent down and petted the small creature, took the ball from her and tossed it. The dog ran after it, barking even more, moving as fast as her little legs could carry her. The ball rolled around the side of the blacksmith’s barn and she chased it all the way there. Instead of picking up the ball, though, she started barking furiously at something. The boy and the duke exchanged glances and went to see what the ruckus was about.

“She’s been barking at that stupid thing for weeks now. You’d think she’d’a figured out by now it’s not gonna move at her,” the boy said as they walked toward the dog.

“What thing?” the duke asked.

“The carriage. McDougall’s got it parked round back of his shop, has had for goin on a month now. Drives poor Lilly up the wall, it does. Sure as I ever seen.”

Whit’s eyes darted up, trying to see around the barn. He hurried over, unable to believe what he had just heard. He rounded the building and saw for his own eyes a very handsome, shiny black carriage. A carriage that no blacksmith could afford, or need, for that matter. And it was just big enough for one, probably fast enough for a quick getaway. It bore no seal, as his own carriages would have, but then Thoreau had no seal. This was Anastasia’s carriage. He was sure of it. His heart pounded in his chest.

The boy watched the duke’s strange reaction to the carriage. It was, after all, just a carriage. He had seen several of the duke’s own carriages over the years and they were much nicer than this one. The dog continued to bark at it as though it were about to attack her.

“Lilly!” the boy said sternly. “Stop that, now. Stop that. Let’s go back and play in the street.”

He picked up the wayward ball and threw it back in the direction of the road. Lilly stopped barking long enough to watch it go, then tore after it. The boy and his dog were gone and Whit stormed into the blacksmith’s shop.

“Where did that carriage come from, McDougall?” he demanded.

The blacksmith looked up from his forge and stopped hammering.

“Your Grace,” he stuttered. “Weren’t expectin to see you here. A pleasant surprise, to be sure. Do you have an order? Something I can make for ye?”

McDougall was pretending not to have heard the question, but wasn’t sure how long he could put the duke off. He wasn’t about to sell out Anastasia, good sweet girl that she was. He wondered why the duke was after her and how he had managed to miss her working about his own house all this time.

“No order. Answer the question.”

Whit didn’t pull rank very often. In fact, he tended to try to be most friendly with the townsfolk and his own servants. But when he was angry or determined, he tended to be quite impatient.

“Question, sir? Sorry, sir. I don’t believe I heard you.”

“The hansom outside. Where did it come from?”

“Oh that sir. A traveler stopped off here for some food and water for a horse and then continued on. Said they had no need of the carriage anymore, sir. I told them I would keep it here until they came back for it. It was a proper business arrangement.”

Whit studied the dirty face of the blacksmith. He was not convinced that was the truth. But it could be. Anastasia could have left it here as a diversion or because it was too cumbersome, then she could have moved on. If that were the case, he would have no chance of finding her. But if it had been her, the blacksmith might know more than he was letting on.

“Who was this traveler??”

”Who, sir? I don’t think I got a name, come to think of it.”

McDougall was fidgeting nervously.

“No name? But you said it was a business arrangement. As a businessman myself, I do not normally enter into arrangements with people whose names I am not given,” Whit replied with mock patience.

“I, well, I…” he looked at a loss for words. Whit almost felt sorry for the man, but his annoyance won out in the end.

“Tell me what I need to know, blacksmith. Was it a woman?”

“A woman? I…well…” McDougall’s desire to protect Anastasia and his instincts not to cross the duke were colliding. He was confused and anxious. He would not give the girl away to protect his own skin. He would not!

The man’s reluctance to answer the question was almost all the answer the duke needed. Whit could imagine how the scene might have played out. She would have come by here, alone and small. The blacksmith had helped her and perhaps even told her where she could go. He would have been beguiled by her. Anastasia had the tendency to bring out the tender sides of people, make them want to take care of her even if she didn’t need it. She never would have admitted she needed taking care of. Nonetheless, Whit wanted more than anything to have the job. And was even more determined than ever to find her.

“Where did she go, McDougall?”

“I don’t rightly know, yer grace,” the blacksmith lied. “She came by here and left the carriage and rode off on her horse. Didn’t tell me where she was going and I didn’t think ter ask.”

McDougall hoped that his lie was convincing. He had given Anastasia away enough already, and he didn’t want to have to tell the duke that the girl was working in his very house. He hadn’t realized when he took her up there that the two were acquainted and he realized now he may have made a mistake.

Whit studied McDougall’s deeply lined face another minute and then realized that it was hopeless. The man probably had no idea where she had gone because it wasn’t in her nature to tell him. He left the shop and headed back toward the manor.