"Send for Mrs. Green to fetch Sarah," Charles commanded Barton as the butler hurried to take his soaking coat and hat.

The old servant bowed and departed in an instant, Charles headed to his room for dry clothes, leaving his still-squealing female companions in the foyer. The hunt had been more of a trial than a help, he mused unhappily as he went. Intending to clear his mind and separate himself from the object of his thoughts, Charles had imagined being out of doors would do the trick. Adding the conniving Lavinia and Leticia alongside the downright unbearable foppery of Hugh and Stephen Staunton would've been trying on its own. Then there was the ever-terrified Miss Mary Allen, and the squealing Steward girls who were flirting so loudly with the other young men that any kind of game would've had warning enough to flee the county.

And where was Henry in this? At the back of the cue between John and Amelia, absolutely no help to him at all. Charles had been praying for torrential rain for over an hour before it finally arrived, forcing the party inside. Now he could at least be free of them for an hour or two before dinner if he could just get to the Study without interruption. And where was Mrs. Green with Sarah?

A knock at the door seemed to answer his query as his valet finished knotting his cravat. Charles hurried to join Mrs. Green and Sarah in the hall, imagining for a moment that he would take Sarah Stanhope's hand and the two of them would simply run. He didn't know where. He just had a longing to escape everything and everyone here. But in a moment he realized, it was Mrs. Green standing alone in the corridor.

"Where is Sarah?" Charles asked, brows knitting together as he watched the older woman ring her hands.

"I am so sorry, Sir Charles," she was muttering, "We haven't seen her for some time, I thought she would be with you," said Mrs. Green.

Terror seized him. Warwick. Had he returned? Had he recognized her? Had he taken her away?

"You will have the household search for her, immediately!" Charles bellowed, and Mrs. Green flinched before scurrying away. Let the woman flinch, he thought to himself. If she had been so careless as to lose his Sarah -

His Sarah? Charles ran a hand through his hair, pushing such thoughts aside as he hurried to collect his great coat again from Barton. He only needed to find her, he repeated to himself as he went. He only needed to find her, and all would be well.

An hour later, Sarah was nowhere to be seen, and Charles had the house in uproar looking for an under maid. Robin had been the first suspect on his list and after a full ten minutes of death threats to the young footman ending in the man crying, Charles had given up that avenue as well. He tried to retrace in his mind if there had been any possibility of Warwick spotting her yesterday, but could not seem to focus his mind enough to recall.

"You've gone mad then, haven't you?" Henry questioned as he met him in the Front Hall as Charles was returning from his search of the grounds.

"I have been for a while, I'd guess," Charles admitted wearily to his friend.

He now suspected that Sarah had been kidnapped, and he'd been gone on the hunt for many hours - there was no telling where she would be now. He found instead of the rage that usually guarded him from such emotion, Charles could not seem to breath at the thought of Sarah in the hands of Warwick.

"You've turned Broadcroft on its ear, Amesbury. Your mother, your sisters, your guests - they're all wondering what has caused such an upheaval, imagine if they only knew the reason. I myself cannot understand why you, Sir Charles Amesbury are in such desperation" said Henry then lowering his voice, "For a maid?" he added with narrowed eyes.

"Is it not my duty as the master of the house -" but he couldn't finish the statement, only just shook his head, "I have to go after them," he said instead attempting to brush past Henry for the door again, but his friend braced a firm hand against his shoulder, stopping him.

"You'll kill yourself over her, then?" growled Henry, and Charles looked to him quickly. It seemed Henry had found the rage Charles had lost. He himself was beginning to wonder if such a thing needed to be recovered... should he lose Sarah there was no amount of naval gruffness that would save him from that pain.

"If you will not help me -"

"I did not say that," Henry replied through gritted teeth, stepping even closer to Charles to drop his voice, "I am your friend, Charles, tell me who this girl is to you. I have not seen you in such a state in my life," Henry finished and Charles suddenly heard the concern, the bewilderment in his friend's voice.

"I have reason to suspect that Sarah was betrothed to Richard. If that is the case, then I am bound to protect her," Charles nearly choked as her name crossed his lips, Henry's face was all surprise.

"Sarah? As in, Sarah Stanhope - the girl Warwick came looking for?" Charles only nodded in response, unsure if he should've told Henry at all. Henry would've known her last as a young girl, and Charles suddenly had a ridiculous fear of her preferring his friend then and now.

"She's been posing as a maid all this time?" Henry whispered incredulously, "Did you know?"

"Henry!" Charles barked, growing impatient again. Henry studied him for a moment longer, saying nothing.

"Right! Of course!" he replied, seeming to collect himself once again.

"I will collect my saber and meet you directly," said Charles.

"First, you would die for her and now you mean to kill for her?" said Henry, but the familiar sound of merriment had returned to his tone. Charles ignored him as he took the stairs by twos.

The study was quiet, cold and empty.

Charles was struck by the emptiness, by his own emotion. He'd known she had a hold of him, but he would go mad if ... But he did not finish the thought. Striding across the room, he reached for the saber that rested above the fireplace, turned back for the door and froze.

There slept Sarah, curled so tightly in that huge chair that anyone searching the room would've missed her entirely. Charles did not move for a moment, but watched as her chest rose and fell with the sound of her breathing - such life and loveliness... and he'd believed it all to be lost. His chest seized again, with more foreign emotion, stronger than he wanted to admit. Breathing with relief, Charles returned the saber to its place and again crossed the room for the door. Finding a maid in the hall, he told her the search was called off, and to get a message to Henry that they would not be traveling tonight. The maid's eyes were huge as she stared up at him. She probably thought him a monster to hunt down a housemaid. The whole household probably had imagined all sorts of things regarding him today. Never mind it, at least she was safe.

Charles slowly crossed back to the fire and shrugged out of his overcoat. Exhausted and soaked for the second time that day, he landed in the armchair opposite the one that Sarah now occupied. The last hour of panic and searching had drained him, all for this one woman, he scoffed. He studied her in the gray light that was still reaching in through the window, her golden hair had fallen out of its pins altogether and now slipped out of her cap. She was covered in soot, small smudges of the stuff dotting her nose and forehead. Charles let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair, he could barely begin to fathom how deeply the thought of losing her had affected him. He felt a fear even now that she would be taken from him yet, a fear that shook him to his core. Be it Warwick or the mysterious soldier, Charles felt a violence towards the man who tried to snatch away what had become so precious to him. Then again, he was loath to admit just how precious a housemaid had become to him, even before the discovery that she might be his childhood friend.

Sarah Stanhope, sitting right under his nose all along. Was it truly her? Why had not she told him who she was? Why had not he recognized her? He didn't have to look far to answer that, he had seen her last just before shipping out on his first voyage, a tiny scrawny little thing, with the same giant blue eyes. He sorted through dozens of memories he had of their shared childhood, smiling to himself as he went. Of course it would be Richard's Sarah he wanted, Charles laughed at himself. The truth of his feelings for her could no longer be contained, but until today such a liaison would've been impossible. Now? She was a gentleman's daughter, her betrothed was dead and she could be rescued by a convenient marriage. His path was clear, so long as she was truly Sarah Stanhope and not Sarah Jennings.

Whichever she was, Sarah stirred in her sleep, revealing a purple bruise along her jar. Worry seized him yet again, would he ever have a moment's peace now? Charles reached across the space between them and brushed a thumb against her skin. He felt responsible for whatever happened next, and it cracked at the long dormant parts of his soul. He'd worked so hard to avoid all obligation to the estate, his family and the tenants, but somehow Sarah had slipped past those defenses to become the very center of his universe. What had he told his mother just a week past? He had no heart to offer a woman? Then what had Sarah taken possession of so easily?

Charles busied himself with building up the fire again, reluctant to leave her even to find dry clothes. The noise woke Sarah, for she began to stir in the chair, Charles knew he would need to speak to Mrs. Green so that Sarah wouldn't be punished for her absence.

"Charles?" came a sleepy voice as Sarah sat up slowly, and looked at him curiously. The sound of his name, just his name without that title melted him.

"How was the hunting trip?" she asked.

"Horrid," Charles admitted with a hint of a smile, returning to his seat across from her.

"You're soaking wet," Sarah commented as she began tucking the stray pieces of hair back into her cap, distracting him for a moment.

"It's nothing," he said finally.

"Shall I call for tea?" she asked, rubbing her eyes and effectively smudging soot across one cheek.

"I will, if you'll read to me?" he asked.

"Of course," she smiled at him sleepily.