The Mislaid Magician by Patricia C. Wrede, Caroline Stevermer

so very glad that you recovered Edward promptly.
    My first reaction to your letter was neither so calm nor so sensible. Indeed, I am afraid that the intensity of my emotions led me to act with uncharacteristic rashness. To be quite plain, as soon as I had read your letter, I thrust it into James’s hands and set off in search of Daniel. Most unfortunately, I found him almost immediately, before I had had time for my head to clear. He was in the gun room, examining a set of dueling pistols with two of the other house-guests. I did at least retain enough presence of mind to say in what I thought was a matter-of-fact tone, “I beg your pardon for interrupting, but I have something of a private nature to discuss with my cousin-at-law. Rather urgently.”
    I must have sounded more decided than I intended, for Daniel went pale and began stammering that there was no need, while the two gentlemen with him immediately bowed and left. I managed to contain myself until the door had closed behind them, and then I said in a low voice, “How dare you!”
    Daniel backed away, for all the world as if I had pulled a shotgun from one of the wall mounts and threatened him with it. “What? What? How dare I what?”
    “I was hoping you would tell me the details, my lord,” I said coldly. “I’m sure you have some excellent reason for your actions. Threatening Georgy until she runs away, and then following her and setting gypsies on to kidnap our children—how dare you!”
    “Georgina?” Daniel blinked, then looked, if possible, even more distressed than before. “Has something happened to her? Lucky said he’d call them off, but that was before … Where is she?”
    “She’s with Kate and Thomas, as you must know, and if you think Thomas will let you get away with this, you are very much mistaken. If there’s anyone Thomas cares for as much as Kate, it’s Edward. Duke or not, you are going to be very sorry your people laid a finger on that boy.”
    “What has Edward got to do with Georgina?” Daniel said. Then he frowned slightly, and added, “Or with me, for that matter.”
    “You know quite well—,” I began, and the door behind me opened. I spun around and found James, wearing a puzzled expression and holding your letter.
    “Cecy,” he said in that long-suffering tone he occasionally uses, “why is it of such enormous urgency for me to read an account of the sniffles that have attacked the nursery crowd at Skeynes, along with several receipts for cough mixtures?”
    I stared at him, then realized what must have happened. When Thomas enchanted your letter, he did a thorough job of it— no one else could read the real message, not even James. I took a deep breath, arranged my thoughts, and gave him a summary of the relevant portions.
    “I see,” James said when I finished. “And you rushed out here…”
    “To find Daniel and drag an explanation out of him,” I said, turning as I spoke. “And he—” I stopped. The only sign of Daniel was the half-open French door that led to the garden.
    “Come on,” said James, and we followed.
    We did not find him. We did find the Webbs—or they found us, for they appeared almost the instant we left the gun room. They were perfectly happy to help us search for Daniel, at first, though naturally they refused to split up. They became much less happy as time went on with no sign of my lord duke, and they displayed positive signs of annoyance when news arrived that his mare was missing from the stable. The annoyance was quite clear at tea, when he still had not returned. Mr. Webb said, rather shortly, that he hoped Daniel’s horse had not met with an accident, then sent one of the grooms out to look for him (a singularly useless gesture, since no one had seen him leave and therefore no one knew in which direction to look for him).
    And that is how the matter stands at present. It is after midnight now, and Daniel has not returned. I do not think he means to. His valet is very