confidently as Jean. Should they encounter even the slightest problem, our neighbors on the river would offer their help most willingly. Now come inside and let's dine with no further mention of our daughters. Think how sad Hunter and Alanna must be that Falcon left again so quickly."
"Oh, how thoughtless of me," Arielle sighed. "I blamed Dominique for that failing only last night, but truly, I am no better." She took Byron's hand as they went inside, and did her best to keep the dinner conversation light rather than burden Hunter and Alanna with her foolish worries when their concern was rightly with Falcon, who had left to fight in the war.
Byron had been sincere in his attempts to lift his wife's spirits at noon, but when their daughters were not home by three, his confidence that the day would be as ordinary as he had supposed was badly shaken. The afternoon was sultry and he could easily imagine Dominique and Belle napping on a grassy riverbank, but he wanted them home. Leaving his study, he paused at the door of the sitting room where Arielle and Alanna were sipping lemonade and doing their embroidery with lazy stitches.
"I thought I'd ride up the river and meet the girls on their way home."
Arielle knew all of her husband's expressions and while he was smiling, she saw the tension he was attempting to hide in the taut muscles along his jaw. "I'm trying not to worry," she replied, "but thank you for going to find them."
Alanna had not realized it was so late. "They're probably dangling their feet in the river and paying no more attention to the time than I am. I do want them to enjoy their idle hours, but I can barely recall being as young as your girls."
"That's odd," Byron said. "I remember those years vividly. You were already married to Hunter and raising Christian at Belle's age, and by Dominique's, you had given birth to both Johanna and Falcon. There are days when I think it's good our daughters have enjoyed so many carefree years, and then others when I pray they have not missed a chance for marriage and family."
"The war can't last forever," Alanna assured him.
Because he had been among the first to agitate for freedom from Great Britain, Byron felt responsible for every life lost in the cause he held so dear. "No. It can't, but our girls need the joys of peace as much as the men fighting." He came into the room to kiss his wife good-bye, then hurried away before the conversation became any more maudlin.
He followed the fresh tracks on the path bordering the river, but when he came to the spot where he had taught his children to fish, the marsh grass was high and untram-pled. Disappointed not to have found his daughters quickly, he went on, but at the next shady spot there was no sign they had stopped there either. Recalling a mention of pretty places for a picnic, he thought they might have ridden farther than usual, but when the sun dipped low toward the river and he still had not found them, he was forced to return home alone.
He left his horse at the stable for one of the boys to tend
and sprinted up to the house. One look at his wife's anxious expression and his heart fell. "I thought they might have ridden inland and come home by a different route, but obviously they aren't here."
"No, and now I'm sorry I didn't beg you to go out looking for them at noon."
Having overheard their conversation from the parlor, Hunter and Alanna entered the hall. "I'll leave at first light," he promised. "They won't be difficult to track."
Arielle clutched Byron's hand tightly. "They should not have to be tracked," she cried. "They were just going fishing, so they would have stayed beside the river. How could they possibly have gotten lost?"
"They are not lost," Hunter said. "They must not want to be found."
Arielle stared up at her husband. "I don't understand. Why would they hide from us?"
Alanna saw Byron shake his head, and offered her own explanation. "Belle asked about tending wounded yesterday. You