"I have decided on the perfect competition, and it is...a hunt!"
Once more I heard a snort from beside me, although it was better concealed this time.
"You hear that, my Hercules?" a devil's whisper entered my ears. "Time to hunt the Nemean Lion for me."
"You'll be lucky if I don't sic a lion on you, you devious vixen, you!" I hissed out of the corner of my mouth.
But before I could go looking for a zoo to make good on that very reasonable threat, the marquess continued.
"Actually, it was your sister who gave me the idea, Mr Linton."
It was? Damn that stupid little—oh wait. That's my alter ego.
"Really?" I enquired, trying my best to plaster a smile on my face. Only, I didn't seem to have any plaster left. My supply had long run out.
"Yes. Your sister's recent little...confrontation with His Excellency the Vicomte drew my attention to the vicomte's excellent hunting skills, Mister Linton. So I wished to see them first-hand, and discover whether you can match them. What do you say to that?"
"It would be an honour, Your Lordship," the vicomte answered before I could get a single world out.
Bloody French git!
"Yes," I agreed while trying my best to keep a fake smile on my face. "Such an honour. I would love to display my hunting skills." ...non-existent as they may be. Especially if it's your head I get to mount over my mantelpiece.
"Excellent!" The marquess nodded, obviously delighted with his genius plan of determining who best to sell his only daughter to. "Then, what type of hunt should we stage? Any suggestions?"
Mr Ambrose opened his mouth.
Led by my wifely intuition, I stomped down on his foot, hard. "If you are about to suggest a treasure hunt," I hissed, "don't!"
"It would be a perfectly reasonable suggestion," came his whispered answer.
"And also one your father would approve of?"
That made him fall quiet. And not in the usual way he seemed to enjoy so very much. As for me? I was silently chanting a mantra in my mind.
Please let it be a tortoise hunt! Please let it be a tortoise hunt! Please let it be a tortoise hunt!
What? Don't look at me like that! I'd never been on a hunt before, and tortoises were nice and slow. Plus, while at any other time, I didn't mind shooting things—or people, if they were annoying enough—I was not looking forward to chasing some pesky animal through the forest only a week or so after giving birth.
Please be a tortoise hunt! Please be a tortoi—
"How about a fox hunt," Adaira piped up.
I closed my eyes. Leaning over towards her, I lowered my voice. "Adaira?"
"Yes?"
"I'm going to strangle you!"
"Hey! That's spousal abuse! Or at least it will be soon."
My eyebrows twitched. "Fox hunt? Really?"
"Well..." She gave me a wink. "I do need a new scarf."
"You...!"
At that moment, we all were interrupted by a dry cough. Looking up, I saw the hunched figure of Fersby standing in the corner. How the heck had he gotten there without passing us on the stairs? Butler teleportation?
"Begging your pardon, young Miss, but it is not the season for fox hunts at the moment."
Yes! Thank you, my most favourite Methuselah-lookalike ever!
I was going to have to visit this old man with some tea and biscuits.
"True." The marquess frowned. "Then what would you suggest, Fernsby?"
"If I may be so presumptuous, Your Lordship, it is the season for pheasant hunting, and Your Lordship's firearm collection has not been put to use in quite a while."
"Hm...that is true." His Lordship gave a nod. "Very well. I shall allow it."
Oh, you shall, shall you? How gracious of you to allow something that was your bloody idea in the first place!
Then again, I couldn't really complain. Pheasant hunting basically consisted of strolling around and shooting at the sky. It would be the best kind of competition I could hope for in my current weakened condition.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the French bastard who was the cause of all of this. That man who had tried to kill my Berty.
The best I could hope for—with the possible exception of frog hunting, that is.
All in good time, Lilly. All in good time.
"Then we shall consider this matter concluded." Imperiously, the old nobleman's gaze swept the room. "Unless any of you have any objections?"
"None in the least," the vicomte said with a smile that suddenly made me feel a whole lot less confident about the approaching challenge. Only then did it occur to me that, during that hunt, I would be alone, out in the wild. Alone with DeMordaunt and his heavily armed minions.
Oh crap.
My dear husband seemed to have come to the same conclusion at that very moment. Or at least that's what I deduced from the way his hand suddenly appeared around my wrist in a tight grip.
"Don't. You. Dare." The words were low and cold, yet still all the more dangerous for it. Like the submerged part of an iceberg. "You are not allowed to be alone with him."
I blinked in confusion. Leaning towards him, I whispered, "I thought you wanted me to do this!"
"I wanted Mr Victor Linton to put on a little play to give me time to get my sister out of this façade of an engagement. I did not want my wife to risk her life!"
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could—
"Mr Linton?" The marquess's cold voice sounded out, his eyes stabbing into me with impatience. "I am waiting for your answer. Any objections?"
I hesitated—then glanced sideways at Adaira. In her eyes, I saw it: she might put on a brave face with all the teasing and taunting, but, deep down inside, she was terrified. And I, her beloved sister-fiancée, was the only one who could help her.
Ugh! What did I do to deserve this?
"No, Your Lordship." Ignoring Mr Ambrose's forceful pressure around my wrist, I plastered a smile onto my face. Would you look at that? Miraculously, my plaster-supply has replenished itself! "None whatsoever."
"Very well, then." With a curt nod, the older nobleman inclined his head. "We shall gather to begin the hunt in front of the manor at noon tomorrow. You are excused, gentlemen."
***
"Phew!" As the four of us—me, the marchioness, her daughter and her son—stepped out of the marquess's office, Lady Samantha breathed a sigh of relief. "I was starting to think we had a problem there for a moment."
I stared at her. This old lady was truly dear to me, but... "How do we not have a problem?"
Her answer was a radiant smile. "Don't be so humble, Mr Linton. My son has told me all about what an amazingly talented man you are."
My eyes flicked over to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who was currently strategically manoeuvring behind his little sister. "He has, has he?"
"Oh yes." The marchioness placed a gentle hand onto my shoulder. "With your skills, I have no doubt you shall be triumphant tomorrow. But I wish you good luck nonetheless." Inclining her head, she stepped away. "For now, I must bid you farewell. I have left little Berty alone for too long already and must hurry back. Lillian should have long returned from her walk right now. Oh, I can't wait to share the good news with her!"
And, humming happily, she turned around and bustled off down the corridor.
I stood there for a moment, staring after her, before...
"Um...Lilly?"
At the sound of Adaira's voice, I jumped and turned towards her. "Yes?"
"Well..." She threw a worrying look after her mother. I didn't quite get why, until the next words left her mouth. "...do you have a life-sized Lilly-doll tucked into your bed? Because if you don't..."
All colour drained from my face. "Crap! She's gonna find the room still empty, and when she does she'll start a manhunt, or rather womanhunt, only there won't be any woman to be found! And then..."
Then she'll discover our ruse. Then everything is over.
As our gazes met, we could read those words in each other's eyes.
"Run!" Adaira hissed. "Get to your room!"
"How?! She's blocking the only bloody corridor!"
"Well, how did you get out of your room so you could 'arrive' as Mr Linton?"
"I climbed out of the bedroom window with a bloody bedsheet rope!"
With a shooing motion, Adaira pushed me away. "Well then, happy climbing! Get moving! I'll distract her!" And, before I could utter a word, she rushed off after her mother.
"Come on! Are you bloody serious?"
But she had already vanished around the corner. Fiddlesticks! With added violinsticks! Whirling on Mr Rikkard Ambrose, I sent him a glare a basilisk would have been jealous of.
"You!"
He blinked. "Me?"
"This is all your fault!"
"How is this my—?"
"You're a man, that's how!" I answered with a very reasonable argument. "Now, how the heck do I get to my room before your mother?"
He opened his mouth—then closed it again, apparently coming to a decision. Nodding, he made a "Follow me!" gesture and strode off down the corridor. In the opposite direction of his mother.
"Where...huff, huff...are we going?" I demanded, trying everything I could to keep up with him.
"Shut up and run, Mr Linton!"
I would have shot a snarky response back. I definitely would have. But right now, my air was being rationed for running. And a moment later, when we came to a stop at a balcony, my question was answered anyway.
"Don't...huff, huff...tell me you're...huff...going to—?"
"I don't tell." Grabbing hold of me unceremoniously, he lifted me up into the air. "I do."
Then he grabbed me around the waist and, slinging me over his shoulder, strode towards the balcony railing.
"Oy! What the heck do you think you're doi—"
That was when he broke into a run and jumped.
"—iiiiaaah!"
I barely had time to scream before our brief flight through the air came to an end and my husband's feet hit the floor of the neighbouring balcony. He didn't even stop for a second, but sped up till he was nearly at the next railing and...
"Aaagh! Crap, shit, shit, shit!"
"Be quiet, Mr Linton! The gardeners might hear you."
"That's not the main thing I am concerned about right now!"
"Just hold tight. I've got you."
"Great! Fabulous! You'd sound a lot more convincing in your role as loving husband if you weren't currently trying to break both our bloody necks!"
"Hyperbole, Mr Linton. At this height, we would break a leg at most."
"Oh, and of course that makes it so much better!"
"Well, consider this..." Climbing atop another balustrade, he leapt again, and I squeezed my eyes shut before, a moment later, we landed on the next balcony with a thud. "Would you rather break a leg, or let my mother find out Adaira is about to be engaged to my wife?"
I didn't even need half a second to think about that. "What the heck are you waiting for, Mr Ambrose? Run! Jump! Move!"
"I thought as much. Prepare yourself."
"Prepare myself? For wha—"
Then I saw the massive gap between us and the next balcony.
"Waaaaah!"
"Is that not normally our son's favourite word?"
"If I don't survive this, I'm going to kill you!"
"That is a contradictory statement, Mr Linton."
"I'm a girl in men's clothes being held in a princess carry! Contradictory is my middle name!"
"Indeed?"
"You can stuff your indeed up the place where the sun doesn't shi—"
"Shh!"
Mr Ambrose's hand clamped down over my mouth. The nerve of him! The—
That was when my eyes fell on the door of the balcony we were currently on, and, through the glass, I spotted Lady Samantha Genevieve Ambrose.
Oh.
"Be very, very silent," Mr Rikkard Ambrose whispered right next to my ear.
Right now, I had absolutely no problems with that.
With careful, silent steps—and this was Mr Rikkard Ambrose, so they were really, really silent steps—he started to move across the balcony, past the French window through which his mother's back was visible. Every stride seemed like an eternity, every movement like an eon.
Please don't turn around! Please don't turn around! Please don't turn around!
Two yards till we would be past the window.
One yard.
Half a yard, and...yes!
Yes, yes, yes!
We did it! We really did it! We got past her! Half a minute or so later, we were at the balcony door of my room, and Mr Ambrose put me down.
Yes!
In a moment, I'd be safely in my room, and Lady Samantha would never have a clue of our little ruse. A relieved smile spreading over my face, I reached out for the balcony door knob and—
—and the door didn't budge.
It was locked.
Fudge.
Fudge with bloody treacle tart on top! What on earth were we going to do now?
Mr Rikkard Ambrose pre-empted my asking said question by grabbing a bronze flower pot from the corner of the balcony and slamming it into the window pane.
Crack!
The pane splintered, and he reached inside to grab hold of the key.
"What was that?" the marchioness's voice came from inside the manor.
"Err...probably a cat?" I heard Adaira's muffled response.
"A cat made out of glass shattering?"
"Um...people use the strangest decor these days."
I didn't hear the response to that. I was already pushing open the now unlocked door and racing into my room. Shoving a flower-patterned screen in front of the damaged balcony door, I hurled myself towards the bed, just as footsteps were approaching from outside, and—
"Oh, Lilly, dear!" The marchioness swept into the room, her grandmotherly face full of concern as she gazed down at where I lay on the bed, my blanket pulled up to right under my chin. "Why are you in bed? Are you all right?"
"Um...yes, Your Ladyship. Just still a little tired."
"Oh, you poor dear!" She bent forward. "Let me have a look at you..."
"No!"
Please don't, please don't, please don't!
"Um...all right?"
The marchioness backed away with a look on her face that somehow reminded me of a kicked puppy, even though I had never actually seen a puppy being kicked.
"I, err...I am sorry, Your Ladyship." I cleared my throat. "It's just...my body still feels a little bit tender after giving birth, and getting touched feels uncomfortable."
Plus, I'm still wearing a bloody tailcoat under this blanket!
"Oh." The marchioness's expression turned stern. "Why does it still hurt? Was Rick rough with you? And so soon after the birth, too? I swear, that boy! I should give him a good talking-to! Where is he?"
From behind the floral-patterned screen came a strained noise, like someone choking.
"Um...well..."
Do not look his way! Do not look his way!
At my hesitation, Lady Samantha narrowed her eyes. "What is it? What has he done?"
"Well..." I cleared my throat. "He did manhandle me just a short while ago."
A crack came from behind the screen, as if from someone clenching his fists just a little too hard.
"That scoundrel!" The marchioness put her hands on her hips. "Don't worry, dear! I'll take care of it! Just wait till I'm through with him!"
And, whirling around, she stalked out of the room, a cloud of motherly fury gathering over her head.
Phew!
Breathing a sigh of relief, I relaxed into my mattress.
I did it! I actually did it! Now I can relax and—
That was when the floral-patterned screen was shoved aside and Mr Rikkard Ambrose stalked out into the open. The force of his icy glare was nearly enough to turn me into a sleeping ice princess. It was only then that I remembered that I just sicced his mother on him after declaring in front of his entire family that I would risk my life by walking into a forest with a dangerous homicidal megalomaniac.
Oops.
Um...was it too late to escape through the window again?
-------------------------------------------------
My dear readers,
Last time, I received extremely mixed responses to my new way of greeting you, some positive, some negative. I'm really sorry for starting a heated debate here, which truly wasn't my intention. Wattpad has always been a great community where people get along and enjoy reading together, and my stories are supposed to be for entertainment and relaxation, and maybe learning a little bit about history by the way.
One last word on the subject: The greeting of "My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen" was only ever supposed to be a means of creating a historical atmosphere. If laws hadn't been created on the subject of gender in my home country, I would probably have stuck with it not to insult or exclude anybody, but to retain said historical atmosphere.
As some readers have pointed out, "gentlepeople" doesn't achieve this effect of creating a historical atmosphere very well. Thus I'm going to keep it simple and stick with "my dear readers".
So, let us return to the wonderful world of fiction where we can lie back and relax from all the problems of the real world.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Nemian Lion - The Nemean Lion was a mythical monster with invulnerable skin that was supposedly hunted and killed by Hercules.
Methuselah - Methuselah was a biblical figure, famous for being the oldest (human) person in the entire Bible. According to the Bible, he was supposed to have lived for a whopping nine hundred and sixty-nine years.
French Window - I'm not an expert on architecture, nor am I a native English speaker, so I was a bit confused when I found out that, in English, "French window" and "balcony door" can refer to the same thing, even though one is called a window and another one is called a door. If I am mistaken in this, by all means let me know. I'm always happy to be corrected ;-)