A Midsummer Night's Kiss (Howertys #1)

Chapter 18: Safe

Dear Diary,
Joan can be so hateful sometimes.
I still remember when we were children
and she locked me in a closet.

As he reached Gowthorpe House, Nathaniel hesitated for a moment. Was he making a fool out of himself like he had said to Wortham, coming charging like a battalion at the slightest suggestion of something being wrong? But he couldn't quite shake the feeling of something being wrong, so he left the carriage and went up the front steps. A footman opened the door and let him in before he could knock.

"Is Miss Grafton available?" he asked immediately.

The footman closed the door before turning around. "I have been informed that Miss Grafton is not receiving any visitors."

"Has anyone seen Miss Grafton?"

"No, she has been in her room all evening. No one else is at home at present. Would you like to wait in the upstairs drawing room for someone, my lord?"

Nathaniel nodded. "Please. I can see myself there."

The footman gave a curt nod before disappearing into the house. The staff was so used to Nathaniel visiting Gowthorpe at all hours that they allowed him freedoms normally frowned upon. Taking the steps two at a time, he went upstairs, but instead of going to the drawing room, he walked down the hallway to the room he knew belonged to Angel. Staring at the closed door, he lifted his hand. This was the moment he would find out if he was a complete idiot.

"Angel?" he queried softly as he carefully knocked.

There was no response, so he tried again. Nothing. Maybe she was sleeping. If she had begged off with a headache, it was not impossible. He should leave. And yet, the uneasy tingle at the back of his neck wouldn't allow him to turn around. Hoping he would not come to regret it, he slowly opened the door and looked inside. The room was dim, with only a lone oil lamp lit on a table by the window seat. He couldn't see anyone in the bed, so he stepped inside. Where was she? Finding some matches, he lit a few candles.

"Angel?" He wasn't sure why he called her name, since she obviously wasn't there. It wasn't as if she would hide under the bed. Could she have gone out somewhere?

Then he heard it. An odd muffled sound came from the other side of the room, like something scratching against wood. He turned around but couldn't see anything in that part of the room. There was nothing but a bureau with porcelain figurines, a small vanity table, and a door to what he assumed was a dressing room. The sound came again, fainter this time, but appeared to be coming from the other side of the door. Frowning, he walked over and turned the key, hoping that Gowthorpe didn't have rats in his house.

The door swung open, and at first, he couldn't see anything inside the dark space, but as his eyes adjusted, he caught sight of a small form in a white dress and his heart skipped a beat.

"Angel?"

Other than a slight jerking movement, there was no response. She sat on the floor with her arms tightly around her, rocking back and forth as she stared unseeingly into space. The haunted look in her eyes sent a tingle of apprehension down his spine. Taking the steps separating them, he hunched down before her, but she still didn't react. Not knowing what to do, he scooped her up from the floor and carried her out. She was limp as a rag doll in his arms, and he could see tear stains on her cheeks. Her knuckles and hands were bruised and bloodied from where she must have been pounding on the door.

Bringing her over to the bed, he sat down with her in his lap. She felt small and fragile in his arms, and so incredibly cold. It was as if she didn't register his presence, or that she was out of the dressing room, instead staring at something no one else could see. Feeling helpless in the face of her unusual state, he sat there with her in his arms while stroking her hair with his hand, mumbling incoherent words of comfort. Hoping that, somehow, it would be enough to bring her back.