“Where is my daughter, Antoinette?” I demanded, my voice echoing off the high ceilings of the entry hall.

She took a slow sip from her glass before answering.

“She is upstairs in her bedroom, Amelia,” Antoinette said, her voice unusually flat. “The nanny put her to bed an hour ago.”

I did not wait for her to finish.

I pushed past her, my wet coat brushing against her silk blouse, and ran up the grand staircase.

Grant’s heavy footsteps followed closely behind me, his breathing ragged.

I threw open the door to Lily’s room, the light from the hallway spilling across her carpet.

She was fast asleep, her small face peaceful beneath her pink quilt, her breathing steady and quiet.

The relief that washed over me was so sharp it made my knees weak.

I stepped inside, pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, and kissed her warm forehead.

“She’s fine,” Grant whispered from the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. “I told you she would be fine.”

“The front gates were wide open, Grant,” I whispered back, turning to face him. “And her stuffed rabbit was downstairs, wet.”