Harriet looked at herself in the mirror over her dressing table, grimacing at the circles beneath her eyes. She rubbed her cheeks, trying to find some color. Heavens, she was as pale as a ghost. Sinking onto the cushioned seat, she began combing her hair.

It was lamentably thick and sadly brown. When she’d been a child, she’d spent an entire summer without her hat in an effort to get some sort of color to it. She’d thought perhaps a startling reddish hint might appear, but instead, all she’d done was turn her skin a lightly toasted color that did little to alleviate the overall brownish cast of her appearance, but had added several unfortunate freckles to the bridge of her nose.

“Brown, brown, brown,” she muttered with dissatisfaction at her reflection in the mirror, pulling the brush through an especially troublesome knot. Perhaps, if she’d had flaxen hair and apple cheeks and not boring brown hair and a thin face, then Chase might have fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with her. Like a prince in a fairy tale.

That would have been divine. Harriet imagined what it would be like to have a man like Chase St. John all to herself. Her heart ached at the thought.

Someone pounded on her door. “Harri!” Stephen’s voice, raised in fear.

Heavens! What was wrong? Harriet hurried to open the door.

Stephen leaned on his crutches, still dressed in his nightclothes. His eyes were wild, his face white. “The barn is on fire! The wool—” His voice broke.

Dear God, no! Harriet ran to the window and yanked back the curtains. A bright reddish glow lit the predawn blackness.

Harriet’s eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t believe it. How could this have—“Chase!” She whirled to face Stephen. “Have you seen him?”

Stephen blinked. “No. No, I haven’t. Do you think he set the—”

“No, you fool! He was in the barn. By himself. If he fell or—” Harriet brushed past Stephen and ran down the hall to Chase’s room. She knocked once, then yanked the door open. It was painfully empty, the bed unslept in.

“Dear God, no,” Harriet said. She would never remember running down the stairs through the foyer, or out the front door. One moment, she was looking at Chase’s unmussed bed, and the next, she was standing in the yard, looking up at the barn as it bellowed huge flames. The entire structure cracked and hissed as if furious at the black sky that stretched above it.

Derrick ran up beside her, followed by Sophia and Ophelia. Ophelia had a thick robe over her nightgown, but Sophia had only a blanket over her gown-clad shoulders.

Harriet looked around wildly, her heart thumping painfully against her ribs. “Chase is inside and we have to save him. I need to—”

“No,” Derrick said firmly. “You can’t. Just look at it.”

“But Chase—”

Sophia put her arm about Harriet. “I’m certain he’s not in there. I daresay he’s in the house right now. Maybe he went to the kitchen to get a drink or—”