"Her brother is in the house, and he will deal with you!"
Mental images appeared in my mind of how exactly Mr Rikkard Ambrose would "deal" with me if he got the chance. On my lips, I could still feel the tingle of his kiss.
I had the sudden urge to shout "I'm here! Arrest me!"
Instead, I ducked my head and slid farther into the bushes.
Please don't notice me! Please don't notice me!
"Close the window!" came the gruff, cold voice of an older man.
"But..."
"No buts! Come back to bed. It's probably just a deer."
"R-really?"
Yes, really! I nodded fervently. I'm definitely a dear! You even call me that yourself sometimes, remember?
"Yes! Now close the window and come back to bed already. We have a busy day before us tomorrow."
Oh, you have no idea.
"Very well, darling. I'm coming."
There came the soft thud of the window closing, and I breathed a sigh of relief. First stage of Operation Crossdress successful! Now...
How to untangle myself from this bush?
In retrospect, maybe I should have divested myself of my skirt and half dozen petticoats before climbing out of my window in the middle of the night.
Half an hour of bush-wrestling and silent cursing later, I finally managed to untangle myself and proceeded down the driveway, taking care to keep to the shadows of the trees that lined the gravel path. I didn't have to walk far before the shape of a simple, black-painted coach emerged from the darkness. A young man was waiting right beside it and jumped to attention the moment he caught sight of me.
"Good evening, Mr...um, I mean Lady, err..."
I watched the man desperately search for suitable appellations, my eyebrows twitching. "Why not just call me Shady or Blister, while you're at it?"
The man brightened. "Would that be suitable in these circumstances?"
Threateningly, I raised my parasol. "Get on the coach! Now!"
"Yes, Blister! Right away, Blister!"
And the bugger was gone before I could get my hands on him. Grumbling, I climbed into the carriage and, soon after that, we were off. From behind us, I heard the thumping of hoofs. A glance out of the window showed me two dozen riders appearing out of the shadows, forming an escort on both sides of the coach.
A smile tugged on the corners of my mouth.
Of course! Of course that granite-headed son of a bachelor wouldn't let me out of his sight without sending half a platoon of heavily armed guards along.
That still wouldn't save him from the baby pictures, though.
Two hours or so later, when the moon was already high in the sky, we reached a cosy little inn by the side of the road. We had already passed two others before, but I guess Mr Rikkard Ambrose wanted to make really sure that I didn't accidentally run into the Battlewood butler or something like that.
Or he may just have realised it was best for me to arrive late at night, a thought flitted through my mind as I caught sight of the sleepy innkeeper, who was hardly able to keep his eyes open, let alone pay attention to my face.
"E-evening, M'lady." He yawned.
"One room, please. For one night."
"Aye, M'lady. Right away, M'lady."
***
"Merde!"
A delicate vase shattered against the wall, showering chips of porcelain all over the floor. The vicomte watched as, without waiting for the order, his English butler and personal manservant walked over to gather the shards. Despite his personal opinion that France was superior to any other nation in everything, DeMordaunt had to admit the British made better butlers. Plus, having an Englishman polish his boots gave him the satisfactory feeling of succeeding where Napoleon had failed.
If only it were a different Englishman. He narrowed his eyes as his hate-filled thoughts turned to a certain man with a stone-cold, unmoving face. A man who was getting in the way of his plans.
"I feel it incumbent upon myself to point out," came Everill's professional butler voice from somewhere just above floor level, "that this vase was the property of the marquess. I fear His Lordship might not be pleased by this accident."
"Merci beaucoup!" The vicomte sent a glare his servant's way, secretly re-evaluating what he had thought about the supremacy of British butlers. "That is just what I needed to hear."
"You are most welcome, My Lord."
"Hah!" Gesturing impatiently, DeMordaunt strode across the room, towards the window. "Get that out of here, will you? And send Lapointe in. I have some things to discuss with him. Immédiatement!"
"Right away, Your Lordship."
Swiftly gathering up the remaining shards, Everill retreated from the room. Moments later, the vicomte heard the sound of the door opening once more. In the dark window, he saw the reflection of a man entering the room, a slim man with an equally slim face and large eyes that made him look like a slightly skittish horse.
"Ah, Lapointe! There you are."
"What may I do for you, Monsieur Vicomte?"
DeMordaunt didn't turn around. His eyes remained fixed on the window as if, even in the darkness of the night, he could see the object of his desire out there.
"Has everything been completed according to my instructions?"
"Um...oui, Monsieur Vicomte, but..."
"But what?"
"Are you certain you truly wish to go through with this?"
This time, DeMordaunt did turn around. Had he just actually been questioned? By one of his own subordinates?
"Do you think I am so easily intimidated?"
"N-no, Monsieur Vicomte, I—"
"Do you think I am afraid of Rikkard Ambrose?"
"No! It's just..." Hesitantly, the young secretary took a step backward. "It's just, your goal this time, it's..."
One look from DeMordaunt was enough to make him shut his mouth.
Tres Bien. Looks as if he still remembers who he is dealing with.
Now it was time to remind that impudent Englishman.
"This goal," DeMordaunt stated, his voice hard as steel, "is the most important one I have pursued in my entire life. Mistakes are not allowed. Hesitation is not permitted. Am I understood?"
"Oui, Monsieur!" The secretary gave a hurried bow.
"Good. Now go! Prepare everything according to my plan."
"Oui! Immédiatement!"
The man was out of the room in a blink. DeMordaunt returned to staring out of the pitch-black window once more, his searing gaze almost burning a hole through the glass.
Monsieur Ambrose...you shall not get in my way. Not with this.
And speaking of people getting in his way...
"Victor Linton." He tasted the name on his lips like curdled milk. "So he is to be my adversary, is he?"
A dangerous smile that had broken the hearts of hundreds of Paris maidens played around his lips.
"Just you wait! No man can ever get the better of me!"
***
The innkeeper yawned as he shuffled behind the counter and started cleaning glasses. Good God, was he tired this morning! He really should have gone to bed earlier yesterday. But then again, he'd had to clean those blasted dishes. And if he had closed his doors earlier, he would have missed that guest last night. Such a nice, respectable young lady. She had even paid in advance. Most young people these days were so outrageous, running around in the strangest clothes they called "fashion". But this young lady seemed to be—
"Good morning," a voice greeted him. "I'll be leaving without breakfast. I'm in a bit of a hurry."
"Huh? Oh, good morning." He glanced up, smiling at the figure descending the stairs in black trousers and an elegant waistcoat. "I hope ye have a pleasant trip, Your Ladyshi—"
Then he abruptly stopped and blinked.
Trousers? Ladyship? Trousers?
Turning, he stared at the open door through which his guest had just left—then shook his head.
"Nah!"
He really needed to get more sleep.
***
"Ooooh, I can't wait!" Clapping her hands, Lady Samantha Genevieve Ambrose, Marchioness Ambrose, bobbed up and down before the front steps, probably more reminiscent of an excited school girl than a dignified lady of an age that was impolite to mention. But right now, she didn't care! For so long, she had been incredibly concerned for her dear daughter because of the antics of her stupid husba—ehem, her beloved spouse. But soon, it would all be over! Soon, her salvation would arrive! "It's been so long since I've seen dear Mr Linton." She glanced sideways at the towering figure that, once upon a time, had somehow fit inside her. "If only your lady wife were here, Rick. Are you sure she can't come down?"
"Yes," her son stated. "Quite sure."
The marchioness heard a snicker from behind her, and turned around to see her daughter hiding her lower face behind her fan.
"Adaira? What is it you find so funny?"
"Oh, I'm simply excited about meeting my prospective husband." She gave a longing sigh and gazed off into the distance in a way that made the marchioness's heart warm. "I've never met a man like him before, you know, and I doubt I ever will."
"I'm happy you're happy, dear," Lady Samantha stated, her tone mildly remonstrating. "But you shouldn't laugh while your brother's wife is sick."
"Oh, right. Poor, poor Lilly!" Adaira's expression morphed into the perfect picture of sympathy. "Don't worry. I'll go to see her very, very soon."
"Good." Lady Samantha gave a satisfied nod. Her daughter still knew how to behave properly. She really had done a good job of raising her. "Now then...when is Mr Linton set to arrive?"
Her son fished a pocket watch out of his tailcoat. An old, silver, heart-achingly familiar pocket watch.
"Four minutes and thirty-three seconds."
Confused, Lady Samantha blinked up at her son. "How do you know so precisely when he will arrive? You can't really have talked with him beforehand, can you?"
"Ehem!" Adaira suddenly cleared her throat. "Anyway, where is everyone else? Didn't father say he wanted to take a look at my prospective groom?"
"Oh, he is watching." Throwing a look over her shoulder, Lady Samantha glanced up at the French window in the façade of Battlewood hall, through which she could see a familiar figure that evoked bittersweet feelings. "He's watching like a hawk."
"But he isn't here with us." Adaira lowered her head. "Nor is he interested in my opinion."
Lady Samantha opened her mouth—then closed it again, not knowing quite what to say for a moment.
"Don't worry." Reaching out, she patted her baby girl's shoulder, wishing she could hug her close, comportment be damned! "Mr Linton is coming. I'm sure he will prove himself every inch the man of your dreams I believe him to be."
A smile abruptly spread over Adaira's face, and Lady Samantha couldn't help patting herself on the back in motherly pride. That had been just the right thing to say to cheer her darling daughter up. Although...
Why did it seem like Adaira's smile was just the tiniest bit off? And why were her shoulders suddenly shaking?
"Um...Adaira? What—"
"Shh!" Raising her hand, Adaira cut her off. "Listen!"
The marchioness was about to chastise her daughter for interrupting her—when she heard it. The clip-clop of hooves, followed swiftly by the rattle of carriage wheels on gravel.
"It's him!" Grinning widely, Adaira stepped forward. It was truly heart-warming to Lady Samantha to see her daughter this happy about the young man's arrival.
Maybe he really is the one.
With renewed joy in her heart, Lady Samantha turned her gaze back towards the driveway, where the man who would safeguard her daughter's future happiness would soon come into view. The rattling of the coach wheels grew louder, and then, there it was! A simple, but elegant carriage in black, swiftly racing up the driveway. It swerved around the fountain in the centre of the courtyard as it slowed, and finally came to a stop in front of the assembled Ambrose family with a spray of gravel.
Adaira stepped forward, her eyes sparkling. Good God, that girl had it bad. Although...why were her shoulders still shaking? Was she so moved by her love's arrival that she was about to cry?
The idea deeply touched the marchioness, and she swore that, no matter what her husband might say, come hell or high water, she would make this marriage happen!
Then the carriage door opened, and a slim, black trouser leg emerged.
------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Time for Mr Linton's debut as a suitor. My my, how the times change... ;)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob