I stepped out of the coach—and was immediately engulfed in a passionate embrace.
"Victor!" a voice came from somewhere close to my pseudo-manly chest. "I've missed you so much! It's been so long since I've seen you!"
"And yet it feels like yesterday." Eyebrows, twitching, I stared down at the little limpet that had attached herself to me. "Could you let me go, ehem...darling? I would like to exit the carriage."
"Oh, why, yes of course! How foolish of me! Look at me, all silly and emotional, such a typical woman." She gave me a demure smile. "Not like you, all cool, composed and masculine."
So, she's still enjoying this, is she?
"Thank you so much for your compliment. But don't worry." Reaching out, I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. And if I cracked a bone or two with my gentleness, that was mere coincidence. "I'm not one to believe in stereotypes. Women are just as capable as men."
"Oh, you're such a gentleman!" Snatching my arm before I could get away, she firmly attached herself to my side. "This is how all true men should behave. I can't wait to bask in your manly masculinity."
Yep. She is definitely still enjoying this. Far too much.
"Would you care to come in for some refreshments?" the demoness in human form enquired.
"Oh, you don't have to—"
"Don't worry!" Adaira gave me a loving look that made me want to grab a rope and strangle her. "I would love to serve you. It would be an honour."
Scratch the rope. If I strangle her, I should do it with a bridal veil. Blasted little minx!
Instead, I smiled back at her.
"Why, thank you. But before we go inside..." Swiftly slipping out of her grip, I moved back to the carriage and, reaching inside, retrieved a certain something I had prepared for her. After all, how could a prospective groom arrive without a present for his bride-to-be? "Here you go."
"Oh, a bouquet? For me?" Adaira placed a hand over her heart, and I could see surprise, actual surprise, flickering in his eyes. Especially when she got a closer look at the flowers. "Hemlock, Nightshade and...thistles? How...lovely."
"Your favourite flowers," I told her, with the fakest smile outside of an East End brothel. I should know. I had been there. "I remembered."
"I thought your favourite flowers were cherry blossoms?" Lady Samantha interjected, her head cocked in puzzlement.
"Um...tastes change, mother?"
"Ah, I see!" The marchioness beamed at the both of us. "Hm...interesting that it was this young gentleman to know of your new preferences first, isn't it? Has someone been receiving secret love letters?"
"Mother!" Adaira's cheeks flushed. "I—"
"It seems our secret has been discovered." I uttered a dramatic sigh. "No matter. My deep and abiding love for you is nothing to be ashamed of, Lady Adaira. Soon enough, I shall declare it for all the world to hear."
"How...how beautiful." The marchioness had to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. "From now on, I'll always remember to prepare thistles for your birthday."
"Why...thank you, mother. I will be looking forward to that so very much."
The expression on Adaira's face would have made me laugh if I hadn't been keenly aware of the large heels on her shoes. I had no desire to have my toes smashed this early in the morning. Snatching back my arm with a harrumph, Adaira sent me a look and started dragging me off towards the house. Deep inside, I couldn't help smirking.
Yay! Lilly—one. Adaira—zero.
At least that was what I thought until I heard Adaira's next words.
"So, Victor...I suppose now that you are here, I should introduce you to my father. I hear he is very eager to meet his prospective son-in-law."
The sneaky, devious little...!
"Um..." I swallowed. "Shouldn't you go rest, first? You must have been standing out here for quite a while, waiting for me. Please allow me to guide you to the fainting room, or somewhere else where you may find some respite."
"Oh, you're so sweet!" My prospective fiancée squeezed my hand. Her eyes softened in a way that almost fooled me. "Since you are so considerate, I shall take you up on your kind offer. I will go lie down for a bit while you go introduce yourself to my father and ask for my hand."
Dang it!
I had to admit. She was good. Really good.
Lilly—one. Adaira—one.
"Wouldn't you like to come with me to see your father?" I enquired. "After all, this matter involves us both."
"Your generosity and kindness is truly touching, Victor, dear. But such matters should be taken care of by men. Don't you agree, big brother?
"Indeed," came a familiar cold voice from my left, just before an arm clamped onto my free one. "Come, Mr Linton. I shall show you where my father's office is."
Traitor!
"Is this the thanks I get for agreeing to this hare-brained scheme of yours?" I hissed as I was being led away from a smirking Adaira.
"No," Mr Rikkard Ambrose stated. "This is the thanks you get for attempting to get your hands on my baby pictures. I had a little talk with my mother."
"Oh."
"Indeed."
"Um..."
"Needless to say I have confiscated the family album and stored it in a secure location."
"Ah."
Dammit!
I would have to revise my plans, apparently.
But, I realised as we reached the first floor and the set of double-doors that led to a certain office, that would have to wait for later. For now, I had bigger problems.
"Are you at least going to come in with me?"
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of interfering in such an important bonding moment between father-in-law and son-in-law, Mr Linton. Besides..." With a flip of his hand, he let his pocket watch snap open. "I have an important appointment."
"An important appointment?" I came to a stop, right in front of his father's office door. "Now of all times?"
"Indeed. Your conversation with my father should afford me sufficient time to teach my son a word or two."
My back stiffened. "A word? What word?"
He met my gaze, a challenge in his icy eyes. "I believe 'papa' would be appropriate. Till later, Mr Linton."
And before I could so much as move a finger, he was gone.
That devious son of a...!
No. Not son of a bachelor. He was a snake! A sneaky, slithering snake! A traitorous reptile so cold-blooded it wouldn't have been possible without an arctic ice infusion! If he corrupted my son with his poisonous words, I would—
"I know you are out there," came the harsh voice of the marquess from beyond the office door. "Come in!"
—wait till later before thinking of something appropriate to do. Right now, I probably had better get moving.
Straightening, I squared my shoulders, flexed my fingers, and then, once I had run out of impressive preparatory gestures I could use to stall, I knocked on the door of the office.
"Enter!"
Instead of answering "Do I really have to?" like I wanted, I took one last, long breath and pushed the door open. In the office, against the bright backdrop of the window, a tall figure of a man was standing with his back to me, his spine ramrod straight, his hands folded behind him. It would have been quite intimidating—if I hadn't seen a certain someone do the exact same intimidation routine a dozen times before, and do a better job of it.
"So," the unmoving figure spoke. "You wish to marry my daughter?"
Err...not really?
"I do indeed, Your Lordship," I said in my best manly, respectful voice. Meaning the exact opposite of my normal one. "She has had a special place in my heart for a long time now." As an annoying younger sister I fantasise about strangling sometimes. "I had been planning on doing something about it eventually..." The best fantasies are the fulfilled ones, after all. "...but when I learned the vicomte had stepped forward to make his interest known, I knew I could delay no longer."
"Hm." Reaching up, he slowly began to stroke his chin. "You mentioned the vicomte. Tell me, young man...why, pray, if there is such a prospective son-in-law, should I bother to consider you as an alternative, let alone choose you over him? What can you offer me?"
I swallowed. "I swear to devote every waking moment to your daughter's happiness and—"
"I didn't ask what you could offer the girl," he cut me off. "I asked what you could offer me."
I decided right then and there: it might be his son who was named Rikkard, but William Alexander Ambrose, Fifteenth Marquess Ambrose, was the Dick of the family. With a capital D.
Well...then I'll be a dick right back. After all, I have my uncle's socks for support.
Plastering a smile on my face, I shot back: "What can I offer you, My Lord? The opportunity to not sleep in the dog house for the next few weeks. Her Ladyship the Marchioness seems to be very intent on ensuring her daughter's future happiness."
I would have missed it if I hadn't looked for it. But I had spent the last few years searching in vain for micro-expressions on the stony face of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, so it wasn't hard to spot His Lordship's flinch.
"Ehem...well, perhaps I shall consider you after all." Reluctantly, he began to turn around to face me. Oh, so he finally found me worthy of notice, did he? "But this is not good enough to fully convince me." His eyes narrowed as his gaze bored into me. "I remember you from the last time you came to Battlewood, Mr Linton. I am not a blind man. You showed not the slightest hint of interest in Adaira."
Well, crap!
What to say now? What to bloody say to that? What—
Ah, yes!
"I am not a man to wear my heart on my sleeve, My Lord. You can blame your son's influence for that."
Yay! When in doubt, blame the hubby!
I quickly silenced the whispering voice at the back of my mind which told me that, if I didn't look out for myself, I might soon be on the receiving end of that method.
Suppressing the urge to run screaming out of the room at the idea, I morphed my face into an earnest, ardent expression and gazed straight into the cold eyes of my father-in-law to be. Time to dig deep into the vocabulary from my little sister's favourite romance novels!
"I might not always know how to show my feelings, Your Lordship, but I do have them. I..." It was hard not to pull a face. Really hard. But I somehow managed. "I have long held an ember of admiration for your lovely daughter in my heart, an ember that has since flared into the blazing fire of love. Whatever is in my power to do, whatever I possess, I shall put all of it forward to win your daughter's hand!"
"Indeed?"
That word. That bloody word. Something bad is coming, isn't it?
"Indeed, My Lord."
Folding his arms, he stepped forward. "And what do you possess, exactly?"
Bingo.
"You offer pretty words aplenty, Mr Victor Linton." Taking another step forward, he slammed his open palms onto his desk and leaned towards me. "But what else do you actually offer? Words are cheap."
I think your son would disagree.
Ignorant of my thoughts, His Lordship ruthlessly continued. "Do you possess lands? Do you possess a title? Do you possess anything that can compare to His Excellency the Vicomte? The son of landed gentry such as yourself is hardly suitable for the daughter of a marquess."
"Less suitable than a Frenchman?" I demanded, displaying enough patriotic outrage on my face for a veteran of Waterloo who had personally duelled Napoleon Bonaparte armed with nothing but a particularly British tea spoon. "Frankly, it astounds me that you would even consider such a thing. Where is your pride, My Lord? Where is your dignity as an Englishman?"
He leaned forward a little more, clearly intent on not backing down. "The Napoleonic wars have been over for decades! The past is the past."
"I'm sure that, just before Napoleon started his merry massacre across Europe, people thought the same about the twenty-eight previous Anglo-French wars."
That got a twitch of his eyelid in response.
Yay! One point for you, Lilly!
It was time to strike the iron while it was hot.
"Do you really wish to tie your daughter to a man from the continent? A Frenchman? Not only would she live hundreds of miles away in another country, the language of which she does not speak, but if the French end up getting up to their old tricks again..."
I let the end of the sentence hang in the air meaningfully. What I was suggesting was by no means unlikely. The French starting trouble with the English was as likely as sunshine in the Sahara. I mean...could you ever imagine France and Britain actually being allies?
Hah, yeah! Like that'll ever happen!
The marquess seemed to share the same opinion if the look on his face was anything to judge by. And whatever his feelings (or lack thereof) for his daughter might have been, I doubted very much he wanted her as a hostage on the other side of an Anglo-French conflict.
"I may not be as noble or wealthy as the vicomte," I continued, "but I am an Englishman of good breeding and good standing with my peers. I am wealthy enough to support Adaira in the style to which she is accustomed—" Since, luckily, I am married to the richest son of a bachelor in England! "—and stand firm in my opinion that I am the best candidate to become her husband."
"Is that so?"
"Indeed," I shot his earlier word back at me. "Besides, My Lord..." I hesitated for a moment. With my next words, I would be stepping into dangerous territory.
"Besides?" The marquess's eyes narrowed.
I took a deep breath.
"It is not as if marrying Adaira to the vicomte is your true goal, is it?"
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My dear Lords and Ladies,
The number of Anglo-French wars mentioned above is accurate. From the Norman invasion to the Napoleonic Wars, there were a total of twenty-eight wars between England and France, sometimes so close together that they could hardly be distinguished, thus giving rise to the term "Hundred-Year War".
By the way, depending on whether you operate under daylight saving time, you might now get the chapter notifications from this story at a slightly different time compared to before.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob