“Well…” Mrs. Woolsey blinked myopically and lightly wrung her hands. “I’m not sure, really…”

Melissa exchanged a glance with Faith. They stood in the front hall of Fulsom Hall. Melissa had just inquired of Mrs. Woolsey as to when—over what dates—she’d had the book of carols in her possession.

As well as Melissa, her cousins, and Faith, Mountjoy, the Hall butler, stood nearby and, no doubt inured to his mistress’s vagueness, looked on impassively.

Mrs. Woolsey’s brow furrowed as she plainly wrestled with her memory. “You know, dear, I can’t be certain when I had the book. Was it October or November? I really can’t recall. However”—the old lady straightened—“I’m sure I must have returned it. I would have, surely?”

Melissa was saved from having to respond by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching along a corridor giving off the hall. She and the others watched as a sturdy young gentleman with curly blond hair led three other well-dressed young men out of the shadows.

“What-ho?” the first gentleman exclaimed. “What’s this, then?”

“Henry!” Jamie beamed and bounded forward, closely followed by George and Lottie. They swarmed the young gentleman—who, from their greetings, Melissa took to be the owner of the Hall, Sir Henry Fitzgibbon—and he, in turn, beamed back at her cousins and returned their greetings with equal vigor. “Excellent to see you three back here. Staying with your grandmama again, no doubt. Couldn’t keep away, heh?”

Jamie nodded. “Last year was fun, so we came back—at least for a few weeks.”

“We have to go home for Christmas this year,” George explained. “But we’ll be here for all the events.”

“No skating this year,” Lottie said, including the three other young gentlemen with her innocent smile. “Mr. Mountjoy—the other one—says it hasn’t been cold enough, and there’s really no ice.”

The three other gentlemen and Henry exchanged glances.

“Perhaps that’s just as well,” one of the gentlemen—the one with straight dark hair and a wickedly handsome face—said.

Then that gentleman looked at Melissa. “But who are your other callers, Mrs. W?”

At the question, Mrs. Woolsey fluttered into action, introducing everyone—even Jamie, George, and Lottie, who the newcomers clearly knew—to everyone else in a flurry of names and, somewhat to Melissa’s surprise, titles.

The dark-haired gentleman—who appropriated her hand and bowed gracefully over it—proved to be Viscount Dagenham, the eldest son and heir of the Earl of Carsely and a friend of Henry’s from Oxford.

“Like your young cousins,” Dagenham said, demonstrating that he’d paid attention to Mrs. Woolsey’s disjointed introductions, “we were here last year for the weeks before Christmas and had such a good time, we begged Henry to allow us to return.”

“Well, there were four of them last year,” Henry said, “but Roger Carnaby had to stay back and swot, don’t you know.”

Melissa smiled and retrieved her hand from Dagenham’s grasp; he seemed to have forgotten he still held it, absorbed as he was in staring at her face.

“But it sounded as if you’re after something.” Henry grinned at the children. “On the hunt again, I take it. Last year, it was the geese. What’s it this time?”

“The church’s book of carols,” Jamie promptly replied. He started the tale, but soon appealed to Melissa. She took over, with Faith, George, and Lottie adding various points.

When they explained the likely outcome if the missing book of carols wasn’t found—namely that the carol service would be either very short or canceled altogether—even the visiting gentlemen looked shocked.

“I say,” the gentleman introduced as Thomas Kilburn exclaimed, “that would be a crying shame. The carol service was a highlight last year.”

The other gentlemen-visitors nodded earnestly.

Henry was appalled. “Good Lord! We can’t have that. No carol service…” His tone suggested that such a happening was unthinkable. Abruptly, he refocused on Jamie, then looked at Melissa. “But you’re on the book’s trail, and you’re here. Do you think the book might be somewhere at the Hall?”

Melissa explained—with distractingly vague interjections from Mrs. Woolsey—why they thought it was necessary to mount a search of the Hall. “We’re running out of time, you see, and as matters stand, with Mrs. Woolsey unsure, if we don’t search thoroughly, we can’t cross the Hall off our list of places the book might be.”

“Yes, of course. Entirely understandable.” Henry looked past Mrs. Woolsey to Mountjoy. “We need to organize a search, Mountjoy—one that covers every possible nook and cranny in this house.”

Mountjoy bowed, his ready acquiescence suggesting he agreed. “I will summon the staff, sir. It might be best were you to speak with them.”

“Yes, of course.” Henry nodded his permission, and Mountjoy departed.

Dagenham, who had remained beside Melissa, caught her eye. “We’ll help as well, of course.”

She dipped her head in apparent acceptance. She couldn’t stop him helping, but she was already finding him distracting. Perhaps he would go off and search with his friends.

In less than a minute, Mountjoy returned with the rest of the staff at his heels.

Henry smiled genially and, once his household troops had gathered around Mountjoy at the rear of the hall, addressed the company. “Miss North and her cousins are searching for the church’s book of carols, which has gone missing somewhere.”

Many nodded their understanding; it was clear the villagers had, indeed, spread the word far and wide.

Henry glanced at Melissa, and she stepped forward and said, “As you know, we”—with a wave, she indicated herself and her cousins—“have been here before. We searched for the book in the music room, but nowhere else.” Remembering George’s suggestion from the previous evening, she went on, “Since then, we’ve asked everywhere the book was known to be. In the other cases, we can be certain it was returned. But when the book left here is unclear. Given that, we feel that if we don’t make every effort and search everywhere, and the book isn’t found and the carol service doesn’t go ahead, but then sometime later, someone finds the book lying on a shelf somewhere… Well, just think how dreadful that person and that household are going to feel.”

Murmurs rippled through the staff; from their faces, they could readily visualize the scenario she’d painted.

From behind her, Dagenham murmured, “Nice touch.”

She ducked her head and hoped she wasn’t blushing.

Then Henry said, “I think Miss North makes an excellent point. We don’t want Fulsom Hall to be the household that had the book but failed to find it in time. So!” Henry rubbed his hands together and surveyed his troops. “I believe we need to search the Hall.”

“High and low and everywhere between,” Jamie put in.

Henry inclined his head. “Indeed. We need to search now—this minute—and as I appreciate you all have duties to perform, let’s see if we can organize ourselves to be thorough, but also quick.” Henry looked at his butler. “Mountjoy?”

Mountjoy was ready to meet the challenge. “I would suggest, Sir Henry, that if you and your guests could search the reception rooms, we—the staff—will search all the rooms above stairs. Although it’s unlikely the book made its way into the areas the staff inhabit, we will search there as well.”

Henry nodded in agreement. “We’ll take the rooms down here while you look everywhere else.”

With a bow, Mountjoy turned to the staff.

Henry swung to face his guests. “We should split up into pairs, two pairs of eyes always being better than one.” He proceeded to pair everyone up—all except Mrs. Woolsey, who he quite tactfully suggested should hold the fort in the drawing room so that each pair could report there once they finished searching their allotted room.

Given Dagenham was standing beside her, Melissa couldn’t protest when he and she were paired. Not that she wanted to protest—not exactly. But he was broad-shouldered and lean and a good head taller than she was, which was unusual and, in an odd way, put her on her guard.

They were assigned to search the library, along with Henry and George Wiley. Faith went off with Thomas Kilburn to search the morning room before moving on to the drawing room, and the three children stuck together, intending to search the music room once again and then the dining room.

Melissa glided beside Dagenham in Henry and George Wiley’s wake. The pair turned through a door, and Dagenham stood back and waved Melissa in. She walked into the library—and realized why Henry had decided all four of them would be needed to search the room. The library was large—probably the largest room in the house—and boasted a lot of bookcases. Sadly, the bookcase shelves were only partially filled with books, more or less neatly arranged. The rest of the shelf space hosted an assortment of objects—knickknacks to hunting trophies and everything in between, including stacks of loose pamphlets.

The four of them stood just inside the door and surveyed the challenge.

“What does this book of carols look like?” Dagenham asked.

Melissa described it.

“Well, at least it isn’t bound in leather.” Dagenham waved Henry toward the other end of the room. “We’ll take this end. Why don’t you two start down there?”

Melissa turned, walked to the nearest bookcase, and started to poke through the detritus that littered the section of the shelves that was not filled by leather-bound tomes.

Dagenham trailed after her. After a second of observing her industry, he said, “Perhaps if you concentrate on the shelves from the middle to the floor and I search the higher shelves, we’ll get along faster.”

Melissa had to admit that was a sensible suggestion. She nodded. “Good idea.”

They proceeded to move from bookcase to bookcase, working their way around their half of the long room.

Melissa’s senses flickered every time Dagenham reached over her to an upper shelf, or when he moved around her, of necessity close enough for his boots to brush her hems.

Temptation whispered, and when she thought he wouldn’t be looking her way, she shot a glance at him—expecting to see his undeniably aristocratic profile. Instead, she discovered that he’d chosen the same moment to glance swiftly—assessingly—at her.

Their gazes clashed. A second later, they both looked away. She felt heat rise in her cheeks and vowed not to succumb to temptation again.

Besides, he was at least six years older than she and possibly even older.

Admittedly, she was often taken for several years older than she was, so he might think…

She stifled a snort. As she flicked through another stack of pamphlets—this time about harvesting and crop rotation—she sternly lectured herself that, regardless of whatever Dagenham was thinking with respect to her, with his ruffled dark locks, pale-gray eyes, and mobile lips, let alone his wickedly charming smile, he was just the sort of young gentleman who had impressionable young ladies casting themselves at his feet, and she had no intention—none at all—of being so foolish over any gentleman and especially not one like him.

With her armor thus bolstered, she adopted a cool, calm façade and had the pleasure of seeing him glance, faintly puzzled, at her.

Clearly, he’d anticipated her swooning at his well-shod feet. Ha!

Yet she couldn’t fault his behavior toward her, which remained rigidly correct in every degree.

Several minutes later, he said, “I had no idea pigs could be trained to fetch.”

She looked up to see him reading a pamphlet he’d discovered on the top shelf. He noticed her looking and showed her the front of the pamphlet, which did indeed show a pig standing on its rear trotters with a pair of slippers in its mouth. She couldn’t hold back her laugh.

He smiled. “Indeed.” He looked again at the pamphlet, then shook his head and returned it to the shelf. “What will people think of next?”

Of course, she then felt compelled to share the next silly pamphlet she found—one touting the benefits of the water used for boiling eels for easing boots from swollen feet.

He frowned at the pamphlet. “Wouldn’t the water make the leather cling even more?”

“So one would think.” She replaced the pamphlet and moved on to the next bookcase. “While we might laugh at the contents of these pamphlets, I have to wonder who it was who saved them.”

“Indeed.” He followed her to the new bookcase, and they continued their searching in strangely companionable accord.

They met Henry and George Wiley by the fireplace in the middle of the long inner wall.

“Nothing,” Dagenham reported.

Henry grimaced. “It was a long shot, but with it being a book, I could imagine one of the maids or footmen finding it and thinking it belonged in here.”

The same idea had occurred to Melissa. She looked along the top of the mantelpiece, but there were no books lying on it.

Dagenham had pulled out his watch. “We’ve been searching for nearly an hour.” He tucked the watch back into his waistcoat pocket and looked at the others. “Let’s head for the drawing room and see if any of the others have struck gold.”

“I doubt it.” Henry turned toward the door. “If they had, I’m sure we would have heard.”

His assessment proved correct. When Melissa preceded the three gentlemen into the drawing room, a sea of glum faces greeted her. From the lack of hope in everyone’s expression, no one had imagined the library would have provided richer pickings.

“No book,” Jamie reported, dejection in his voice. “Not anywhere. The staff finished just a few minutes ago, and Mountjoy came and told us.”

“It wasn’t in the library, either.” Henry walked to the fireplace and took up a stance before it. He frowned. “I can’t think of anywhere in the Hall we haven’t looked—nowhere such a book might be.”

Melissa, Dagenham, and George Wiley had halted at the edge of the rug, facing the fireplace.

Seated on the end of the sofa closest to the hearth, Mrs. Woolsey stirred. Raising a hand to her throat, she glanced up at Henry. “What with all this hunting and searching, I’ve been wondering…” She broke off, looked down at the rug, and tipped her head, much like a curious bird.

Melissa saw Henry press his lips together, no doubt suppressing the urge to prompt his aging relative. Dagenham shifted, but just thrust his hands into his pockets and held his tongue. It seemed that all present were acquainted with Mrs. Woolsey’s mental meanderings.

Sure enough, after a moment, with a faint frown forming on her face, Mrs. Woolsey resumed, “I have to wonder, you see, if in returning the book, I might have called first at the Grange.” She looked up at Henry. “To see dear little Cedric. I’ve made a point of dropping by every time I venture into the village, so I suppose I must have called there…perhaps before I went to the church.” She opened her old eyes wide and looked around at the gathering. “Might I have left the book there?”

No one thought to answer; they were all too busy exchanging glances.

Eventually, Henry drew breath and said, “Right-o! We’ll go and find out.” He turned to check the clock on the mantelpiece, then looked back as all those who had been sitting, bar Mrs. Woolsey, got to their feet. “We’ve time before luncheon to call on m’sister at the Grange.”

With no more ado, they all filed out of the drawing room and headed for the front door.

They rattled up the drive of Dutton Grange in a small convoy of gig and curricles.

Melissa and Lottie traveled with Faith, but the boys eagerly scrambled up into Dagenham’s curricle, along with Thomas Kilburn, while Henry and George Wiley brought up the rear in Henry’s curricle.

Melissa, Lottie, and Faith reached the front door first and waited for Henry to join them. He strode up the steps with Dagenham at his heels, with the others clattering up behind them.

Henry tugged the bellpull.

Hendricks must have been alerted by the thunder of feet on the steps; he opened the door only seconds later and looked out at their company with interest. His gaze swept over them, then came to rest on Henry. “Yes, Sir Henry?”

“Good morning, Hendricks…well, it’s afternoon, I suppose.” Henry grinned at Hendricks. “Is my sister at home? Or Longfellow?”

“Sadly, sir, Lord and Lady Longfellow are out for the day. We aren’t expecting them to return until after dark.”

“Oh.” Henry looked taken aback, but then said, “It’s about this missing book of carols, you see. Aunt Em thought she might well have called in on her way to return the book, and instead of taking it with her when she went on to the church, left it somewhere here.”

Hendricks nodded. “Aye—her ladyship had the same thought. She had all the staff hunt everywhere in the house—upstairs and downstairs and through every room. Mrs. Wright—our housekeeper—knows what the book looks like, so we knew what we were searching for. But although we found other things we’d misplaced, we didn’t find the book of carols.”

The deflation that afflicted their company was evinced by downcast expressions and slumping shoulders.

Hendricks grunted. “Sorry to disappoint, but the book isn’t here.”

Henry nodded. “Regardless, it’s useful that you and the staff searched.” He looked at Melissa and Jamie. “We can strike Dutton Grange off the list of places the book might be.”

Somewhat glumly, they nodded.

After farewelling Hendricks, the company trod back down the steps and walked across the forecourt to the carriages. They milled about the horses’ heads.

George was frowning. “Maybe we’re on the wrong track”—his frown deepened—“but what other track is there?”

Jamie shook his head. “The book can’t have vanished.”

Dagenham softly added, “Ergo, it has to be somewhere. The question is where.”

Melissa shared a glance with Faith, then looked at the others and said, “There’s one last place where we know the book was for at least a few days. Exactly when—before or after Mrs. Woolsey had it—we don’t know, but clearly, we now need to ask.”

“Indeed,” Faith said. “We need to hold to our path and be thorough. Aunt Sally is sure she handed the book to Reverend Colebatch, but as I understand it, we’ve yet to confirm that he definitely had the book with him when he left Swindon Hall.”

Melissa looked at Jamie. “Actually, one place we haven’t searched is the vicarage.”

His jaw firming, Henry nodded sagely. “Very rambling, is our good reverend. He could well have carried the book off, forgotten what he was carrying, and taken it back to his study, then put it on his desk and left it there. If so, the book might well be buried under his papers. Every time I’ve been in his study, the entire desk is covered in piles of letters and sermons and such. The book could very well be hidden there.”

Jamie’s eyes lit. “That sounds promising.”

Just then, the bong of the church clock rang out over the village, a single midrange note.

“It’s lunchtime,” Melissa said, “and we’re expected back at the manor.” She looked around the circle of their now-expanded search party. “I say we all go and have lunch, then reconvene and stick to our plan and move on to Swindon Hall. We can talk to Mrs. Swindon and, hopefully, search there, and if we still find nothing, and thus prove the book isn’t at the Hall and that Reverend Colebatch took it away, then we go to the vicarage and ask to search there.”

Henry nodded, and Dagenham said, “That sounds like a solid, straightforward plan.”

Everyone agreed.

Faith offered to drop Melissa and the children back at the manor before driving on to Swindon Hall. She said she would speak with her uncle and aunt over luncheon and that the others should come to Swindon Hall at half past two, prepared to search.

With that decided, everyone scrambled into gig or curricle and rattled back to the lane.