The Final Storm

04. Flat Race

"Really?" The older woman cocked her head sceptically.

"Really," Adaira assured her and crossed her fingers behind her back.

One corner of the proprietress's mouth twitched. "And I suppose you're the Duke of Wellington, too."

"No, just a close relative. Now, my room please?"

"Naturally, My Lord. This way, please. And..."

"Yes?"

"Do go back to your parents, dear, please? It might seem fun to go out adventuring on your own, but it's not easy for a boy to make his way out there in the world." She sighed. "Just look at the neighbour's boy. He lost all his money and had to join the army, poor lad."

Adaira suddenly understood why her brother liked silence so much. Having other people shut up was really a nice idea sometimes. "Yes. Poor lad. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Letting the sentence trail off, she stomped up the stairs, entered her room, barred the door behind her, fell face-first onto the bed and screamed into the pillow.

For a moment, just one moment, her resolve wavered. Was this really worth it? She'd taken all her saved-up pocket money with her when she left. It would probably be enough to hide out in the country for a while, far away from her father and the suitors he had chosen. Maybe even long enough for her to reach her majority. She would be safe then.

But you didn't run away to be safe, did you? whispered a little voice at the back of her mind. You ran away to find your own path in life. You ran away to find him.

Before she could stop herself, her hand had reached into her tailcoat and pulled up a somewhat crinkled, yet very well cared for letter. Unfolding it, Adaira stared down at the familiar words she had read so many times.

Dear Lady Ambrose,

Or dare I call you Adaira? (Pun very much intended.) If you permit it, I will call you by your first name. Whenever I write the name "Ambrose", the first thing that comes to mind is a certain brother of yours, which is not a conducive mental picture for what I wish to express in this letter.

I write to you this time from my latest post in Delhi, although, to be honest, I have not the slightest clue why I was sent here. The East India Company is supposed to be in charge of this place, courtesy of the incredibly brilliant genius who thought putting a for-profit company in charge of ruling an entire subcontinent was a good idea. My superiors are being rather reticent about revealing why I was sent here. However, as I write this letter by the riverside, sipping a fruit juice and enjoying the sunny weather, I find I do not particularly care. I have a feeling this is going to be a very relaxed and enjoyable assignment.

In fact, it would be perfect, if not for one thing: you are not here with me.

I miss you. Ever since those days we spent together before Miss Linton's wedding, I have not been able to stop thinking about you. Nor do I wish to. I will not say much more in this letter. What I want to say to you must be said face-to-face, especially considering your brother will most likely wish to punch me in mine. I would not deprive your sibling of his right to such a time-honoured tradition. Though I do plan on dodging. After all, I cannot let my roguishly handsome face be ruined, can I? If it were, how can I still charm you and steal your heart.

I can feel my commanding officer staring at me, so I should probably stop sipping fruit juice and writing about stealing things. I am reliably informed that, unfortunately, these are not a normal part of army life. So, for now,

Hoping to see you soon, I remain faithfully yours

Captain James Carter

Unable to keep a smile off her face, Adaira reached down to touch the letter. An image of his handsome face and roguish smile flashed past her inner eye.