“Fay!” Kent yells the moment he walks into his house, storming down the hall.
His household staff freeze and then scatter when they sense that something is wrong. Kent is passively pleased by this – they, at least, know their place.
Still, Fay doesn’t answer him. Kent calls for her again, heading up the steps at a brisk pace. When he arrives at her room he pushes open her door, not bothering to knock, ready to tell her to learn to come when she’s called.
But when he enters the room, she’s not there.
The bed is mussed and scattered with books, pens, and paper – as if she had just been sitting there a moment ago. But where the hell is she?
Angry, he turns, ready to search the rest of the house. Unfortunately for her, a housekeeper is skittering past at just that moment.
“Where is she,” Kent says, grabbing the woman by the arm, his voice harsh.
“Um,” she says, looking up at him with fear in her eyes. “She left. A few hours ago.”
Kent takes a step forward, glaring down at the woman. “Where did she go?”
The woman shakes her head frantically. “I don’t know,” she says, her voice going soft. “but she was wearing…those boots.”
Kent lets the woman go, realizing belatedly that his anger here is misplaced. He doesn’t say another word to her, just heads back down the stairs as the woman hurries down the hall towards the spare bedrooms.
Kent bangs through the door to the kitchen, striding over to the table of older gentlemen.
“Who let her go,” he demands, seeking answers.
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