Mr. Clayton gave her another of those intent looks, then briefly covered her hand with his, his ungloved skin warm and reassuring. “He can’t have had much of a head start. Now, I don’t suppose you would heed my suggestion to stay here, Miss Fanshawe. No? Then follow me if you like.”

With that, he started at a swift pace down the road that led out of the village. Natalie dashed after him, determined to keep up even if it meant half running. But he had a distinctly longer stride, his legs unhampered by skirts and petticoats. As they left the hamlet behind, the gap between them widened and within minutes he had achieved a significant lead, appearing as small on the horizon as one of Leo’s carved animals.

She soon grew warm from the hike over the rolling countryside. As she strove not to fall too far behind, the beauty of the scenery filled her senses. She passed a farm with fields plowed for planting, a meadow scattered with woolly sheep, and several stone cottages nestled in groves of barren trees. It was all so civilized compared to the wild frontier of America. If not for the dire circumstances, she’d have liked to wander down one of the lanes, listening to the birdsong and looking for signs of spring as she was wont to do at home.

Her attention was caught for a moment by the bucolic picture of a farmer letting cows out of a red barn, and when she looked ahead again, it was to realize that Mr. Clayton had halted in the distance. He was standing at the roadside, staring downward, his hands on his hips. Her eyes widened on the little figure in front of him.

“Leo!”

Lifting her skirts, Natalie flew toward the pair. Her half-boots churned up the sodden grass alongside the road. It seemed to take an hour to reach them, though it could only have been a minute or two. As she came to a halt, tears of relief and joy stung her eyes.

She bent down and hugged him, to assure herself of his well-being. “Leo, you naughty boy!” she said breathlessly. “I’m so glad that we found you!”

“The boy has something to say to you,” Mr. Clayton observed. “Don’t you, Leo?”

The toy ship tucked in the crook of his arm, Leo cast a cautious look up at the man towering over him. Then he shifted his attention to Natalie and shuffled his filthy shoes through the mud. “Sorry, Miss Fanshawe. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“And?” Mr. Clayton prompted.

Leo thought for a moment. “And it won’t happen again. I won’t never go anywhere without telling you. Gen-gentleman’s promise.”

Her heart squeezed. “I certainly hope so, for you frightened me half to death.”

Heedless of the wet ground, she sank down on her heels and pulled him close again, reveling in the knowledge that he was safe in her arms. He was so sufficiently chastened that he didn’t even grumble when she pressed a kiss to his brow or when she took out her handkerchief and wiped away a smudge of grease on his cheek, presumably from the sausage he’d nicked.