Page 45 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 29

He grasped Tia’s elbow. “Where’s Polly?”

“Oh, my goodness, she was right in front of me only a minute ago. How could she disappear so quickly?”

He took one look at Tia’s white, frightened face, and battened down his own fears to reassure her. “She can’t be far. If you go right, I’ll go left—and if you haven’t found her in one-quarter of an hour, meet me back here, and we’ll set a search in motion.”

He didn’t know how he managed to sound so calm when he was in such internal turmoil. It was most unlike him to panic, but the idea some harm might have befallen his daughter filled him with mind-numbing terror. Thrusting his way through the throng, he hunted for his child.

She can’t have gone far, she can’t have gone far. He’d only disputed with Tia for a moment. Why hadn’t they commanded Polly not to go anywhere without them? Why had he not taken her hand?

Willing his heart into a steadier rhythm, Hal tried to think logically. If someone had abducted his daughter, they’d have made for the edge of the field, perhaps to where the carts and carriages were drawn up, in order to spirit her away quickly. He should have told Tia to search the stalls, while he searched the margins of the fair. What on earth was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he think straight?

“Papa?”

He almost dropped to his knees. “Polly? Thank God, child. Where have you been?”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to blaspheme, Papa. They say so in church. And Miss Wyndham says so too.”

“I thought I’d lost you.” The urge to fold her to his breast was strong, but how would she respond to such an open display of emotion? If he wanted her to learn to control her emotions, he couldn’t be prey to his own.

With inevitable childish logic, she replied, “I wasn’t lost. I can find my way easily. I know exactly how to get back to the gig if I need to. And Miss Wyndham is wearing a bronze paisley shawl, so I can find her by her color, and you are a very tall person, so I can see you above other people’s heads.”

He kept his expression stern. “Not the point. You can’t run off like that, Polly. It’s extremely naughty.”

“I’m sorry, Papa. I only peeped inside the fortune teller’s booth for a moment to see her crystal ball, and when I came out again, you were gone. I’d only gone half a yard.”

“It was at least half a dozen, my girl. Don’t tell untruths.”

“No, Papa. I really am very sorry.” Her lower lip quivered, and tears glistened in the blue-gray eyes.

Hal groaned inwardly and softened his voice. “All right. Apology accepted. Don’t do it again. And now we must find Miss Wyndham, before she, too, is lost.”

“She isn’t lost. I can see her by the stand with the red ribbons. Bronze paisley shawl—I told you.”

Tia was soon reunited with her charge, and although she was decidedly businesslike in the way she dealt with the child, he could see she was as relieved as he was.

The stall with the red ribbons turned out to be selling— amongst other things—the juice of crushed raspberries and strawberries, albeit at an exorbitant cost. Polly, of course, had to have some, and he bought a cup for Tia too, secretly relishing the way it stained her lips a darker red, igniting wicked thoughts about the movement of her tongue as she licked it off.

Polly inevitably spilled some down her dress. Later on, she also tripped on a tent peg, bruised her foot, and got grass stains on her skirts. The fair was proving to be more hazardous than a battlefield, and he was certain someone had attempted to pick his pocket on more than one occasion.

“I pride myself on having managed to keep my temper thus far, Miss Wyndham, considering the numerous inconveniences of this outing. I’m yet to be convinced such activities can be construed as pleasant.”

But Tia’s spirits seemed indefatigable. “Really, sir? Don’t tell me you’ve never been to a fair before.”

“I assure you I haven’t. I wish I had a guinea for every countrywoman who has banged my elbow with her basket today.”

“You should try and participate instead of lurking around looking like you’re sucking a lemon. Anyway, we’re not here for your pleasure—we’re here for Polly’s.”

“Where has she got to now? Oh, for heaven’s sake, she’s making for the dance-floor.” In complete exasperation, he called out, “Polly, no. I forbid it.”

“I’m sorry, Hal.” Tia gave his elbow a squeeze. “I hadn’t realized she would be quite so uncontrollable. I’d better go and rescue her.”

He watched Tia make her way to the primitive staging erected on the most level part of the field. A group of musicians had struck up a lively air, and some of the younger fair-goers were already stamping their feet on the boards.

Tia, far from rescuing Polly, darted in amongst them, seized her charge’s hands and swung her around in a large circle, grinning broadly.

The bare-faced cheek of the woman. Hal surged forward furiously, only to trip on the basket Tia had left down by his feet. What was he now, a servant to guard their baggage? A packhorse? Muttering ferociously, he picked up the basket and marched up to the staging, determined to take control of the situation.