The moment I opened the door of my uncle Bufford's modest townhouse, I heard them.
'...white lilies, of course! Both for the decorations and bouquets. I mean, how could that not be obvious? Her name is Lilly.'
'I know what her name is, thank you very much. I've only been best friends with her since she's been so high! And I tell you, white flowers are completely ridiculous. We need something red! Something fiery! Something to reflect her character and the fact that, as everyone knows, red is much prettier than white.'
'I beg your pardon? I always wear white!'
'Exactly.'
I grinned. When I'd told Mr Ambrose I would let my relatives and friends do battle over who would be in charge of the wedding planning and pick whoever was left standing, I hadn't been joking. My friend Eve had jumped on the chance, spurred on by the fact that no one else among our friends would ever be mad enough to let her anywhere near their wedding planning. Before I knew what was happening, she was browsing exotic locations anywhere between Jamaica and Johannesburg, designing dresses that looked like a salad had eaten itself and regurgitated itself up again, and composing a wedding march for the event in five-seventh time.
But then something happened. Something neither I, nor my aunt, nor Eve would ever have expected: Ella. My sweet, little, demure, sister Ella, who normally couldn't be made to argue with someone if you threatened her with an iron axe, had marched up to Eve and told her: 'No! You are not allowed to ruin my sister's wedding! I won't let you!'
Eve had blinked.
And blinked again.
'Ruin? I don't intend to ruin anything! I'll make it the most wonderful day of her life!'
Ella snatched the drawing Eve was working on out from under her fingers. 'With this? What is this even supposed to be? The wedding cake?'
'The groom's attire,' Eve admitted, lips pursing.
'He'll be wearing much whipped cream, will he?'
'That's not supposed to be whipped cream! That's—oh, give that here! You're hopeless!'
'Me?' Ella drew herself up to her full height of five foot three inches. 'You're the one who's hopeless! And so will Lilly's wedding be, if someone doesn't start to take this seriously! So from now on, I will be taking over all wedding planning matters.'
'You? Ha! In your dreams!'
'Want to bet?'
It had been a most interesting scene, particularly since I was the one who could lean back and just enjoy the circus. I couldn't wait to see who would win the second round—particularly once a certain pair of ladies from northern England arrived...
Smiling, I tiptoed past the room containing the wrestling wedding furies and made my way into the dining room, where Leadfield had already prepared our usual sumptuous dinner of cold porridge and potatoes.
'Good evening, Leadfield.'
'Good evening, Miss Lillian.' Bowing so deeply his back creaked, the aged butler teetered on the spot for a moment, then managed to right himself. 'May I be so bold as to express my congratulations on your forthcoming nuptials?'
I gave the old fellow a smile, which he of course didn't return. He was a butler, after all. But his ears wiggled in a very friendly manner.
'You may.'
'Most gracious, Miss.' He glanced down the corridor, from where ever-louder voices were issuing, followed by a crash, and what sounded like the tear of fabric. Ah. Another wedding dress design down the drain. 'Ehem...I would not usually suggest this, Miss, but would you like me to serve your dinner now, before the rest of the family and your guests arrive? I have a feeling it will yet be some time until the others arrive.'
'You are most astute, as usual, Leadfield. Yes, by all means, serve. We wouldn't want the cold porridge to become warm again from the heat of the argument, now would we? That would totally ruin the familiar taste and texture.'
'Quite so, Miss Lillian.'
Limping over to the closest chair, he pulled it out for me. I settled down and filled my plate, knowing that if I waited for Leadfield to do it, Tantalus would get to eat before I did.
Footsteps approached down the corridor and, just as I looked up, my dear aunt entered the dining room, her usual cheerful expression of dyspeptic distaste on her face. The moment she saw me, she froze in place, and her face began to twitch.
I quickly lifted my napkin to cover my smile.
'Good evening, Aunt. So lovely to see you.'
A vein in her temple pulsed. Her bony jaw worked. Finally, against massive resistance, she pried her teeth apart and rasped: 'Yes. It is very...very...'
'Wonderful?' I suggested.
Her hands clenched into fists.
'Nice?' I put forward as a less offensive alternative.
'...nice to see you, too,' she finished. Quickly, she strode over to the table and snatched a plate.
Poor Auntie...Lately, she did not know exactly how to treat me. On the one hand, I was an insolent young chit with the manners of a rampaging rhino, the dress sense of a parrot, and—horror of horrors—with opinions of my own, a mouth even smarter than my brain, and a tendency to use it in public. In short, I was everything Hester Mahulda Brank despised in this world and more, wrapped up in one neat, well-padded package.
On the other hand, it appeared that, of all people, I would be the one to make the dearest wish of her crumpled little vulture's heart—marrying a member of her family into the upper echelons of the British aristocracy—come true at last. When this had become clear, my aunt had gone through the following stages of niece-to-be-weddedness:
1. Denial
2. Delirious happiness
3. (having taken a good look at Mr Ambrose, and compared him to me) More denial. Lots more.
4. (after inspecting Mr Ambrose's birth certificate, estimated net worth, and his entry in Debrett's Peerage) More delirious happiness
5. Slow, dawning horror at the realization that she would, technically, have to be grateful to me. Worse than that, she would have to pretend to like me.
Worse yet, she had discovered that a small part of her shrivelled black soul actually did not, currently, hate me with every fibre of her being. So, at the moment, her feelings were rather ambiguous. Sometimes she hated me. Sometimes she loved me. When she was particularly confused, she lated me, or maybe hoved me. And every time I saw the struggle on her face as she tried to decide whether to strangle me, hug me, or do both at the same time, I had to work hard to keep a grin from my face.
But then again—hadn't I just worked a full ten hours? I deserved a little break.
Aunt Brank gazed at my deplorably cheerful face with an expression of mingled disgust and anticipation.
'I see you've been spending time with your fiancé?'
'Indeed I have.' Carrying files, taking down business correspondence and organizing the schedule for next week. But she didn't really need to know that.
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'Are you sure you aren't spending a little bit too much time in his company? You were gone all day.'
I gave a romantic sigh. 'That's how much he loves me. He can't bear to be parted from me.' Not without cutting my wages in half, that is.
The suspicion doubled. I could see the unfamiliar thoughts in my aunt's eyes as clearly as if they'd been written on her forehead: A man and a woman...alone...there wasn't that much they could do without going out, except...
'You do have a chaperon, don't you?' she demanded sharply.
'Certainly.' Reaching for the potatoes, I shovelled a goodly portion onto my plate. 'The loveliest chaperon anyone could imagine. Charming, sweet...' ...seven feet tall, turban-wearing, masculine. 'The poor dear has a bit of a problem with facial hair, though.'
Instinctively, Aunt Brank's hand went up to her own modest moustache on her upper lip.
'Facial hair is perfectly normal from a certain age! I'm sure whoever she is, she is a lovely lady.'
I gave her a bright smile. 'I'll be sure to pass that along, word for word. I'm sure your words will make a big impression.'
Somewhere from down the corridor, we heard a crash. Ah. The Battle of the Bride had apparently reached its climax. Luckily, the bride herself had better things to do. Nibbling on a delicious cold piece of potato, I leaned back and sighed. Life was good!
'Miss Lillian?' I glanced up to see Leadfield hobbling closer, carrying a letter on what looked like a silver tray, but, knowing my Uncle Bufford, was probably just tin. 'My deepest apologies for disturbing your meal. This telegram has just arrived for you.'
'Telegram?' Aunt Brank demanded. 'Who on earth would send you a telegram?'
'Let's find out, shall we?'
Snatching up the missive, I tore open the envelope, and read:
Coming next Friday STOP Will stay at best suite in Brown's hotel STOP and send bill to my brother.
Looking forward to seeing you STOP
Adaira
'And?' Aunt Brank demanded.
I just grinned. Life was about to get even better.
***
The rest of the week drifted by in relative peace—except for the living room of my uncle's house becoming a deadly battleground. I mostly tried to stay far away from there, but occasionally, I caught a peek of the ravaged remnants of a dress design or the tatters of a seating arrangement. R.I.P., wedding plans. You shall live on in our memory.
Some people might wonder why I didn't take a more active part in the proceedings. But really, in my opinion, there were only three essential components to the wedding day:
1. Me
2. Him
3. The vows
Taking that into account, I didn't really see the point of getting involved. Plus, it was just so much fun watching my little sister turn into a bloodthirsty wedding monster. I made sure to keep her fiancé Edmund entertained with tails of her atrocities, so he would have something to look forward to.
However, not all of my life could be fun and games. Some had to be fun and work instead.
'Good morning, Pearson.'
'Good morning, Mr Linton.'
It was a few days later. I gave Sallow-Face a nod and, as slowly as humanly possible, sauntered past the mysterious tarpaulin still affixed to the wall beside the stairs. The noises coming from behind it had become more and more mysterious. My nosy instincts were clamouring to know the truth. My mouth was already open to stop one of the clerks hurrying around the big hall and demand to know what was going on—when I caught sight of Pearson's smug face and closed my mouth again.
'Well...I'll be on my way upstairs then, Mr Pearson.'
'Yes. I believe that would be best, Mr Linton.'
Damn him! And damn Mr Ambrose, too! I'd like to grab him and strangle him until—!
'Ah,' a familiar cool voice came from right behind me. 'There you are, Mr Linton.'
I nearly fell over my own feet. Whirling around, I caught sight of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, standing not ten feet away, tall and proud like a granite monument. Around us, a hush fell over the grand hall.
'What are you doing down, here?' I demanded—then hurriedly tagged on, 'Sir.'
'Have you already forgotten, Mr Linton? Today, the meeting with my advertising directors is scheduled. And you are coming with me.'
My face lit up. 'I am?'
'Yes. You shall be taking notes while I will evaluate their proposals.'
'So, tell me if I understand this correctly...they are going to, completely metaphorically of course, try and sell you their ideas, and you, how shall I put this, have to buy them?'
'Indeed.'
I grinned. This was going to be fun.
'When do we leave?'
'Right now. Karim?'
At the snap of a finger, the huge Mohammedan emerged from a nearby door, making the clerks all around retreat a couple of steps. I didn't know why exactly. I myself had to work hard to resist the urge to give the big, bearded mountain a hug.
'There you are! I haven't seen you in weeks. Where have you been?'
Karim gave me the look of reluctant respect a warrior might give a pack mule, because while the warrior might be far superior to it, at least they're both equally stubborn.
'Busy.'
'Too bad. But now that you're back, you can help out with the wedding.' I gave him a charming smile. 'How would you like to be the flower girl?'
'If you try, I shall eviscerate you with my bare hands.'
Ah, the sweet sentiments of friendship... How comforting to know that some things never changed.
'Enough time wasted,' Mr Ambrose ordered. 'Come, both of you!' Pushing open the front doors, he stepped out into the cheerfully damp and overcast London morning. I pulled my tailcoat more tightly around myself and followed. Outside, Mr Ambrose's little excuse for a chaise waited, strapped to the grumpy grey horse that had reluctantly towed us around on previous occasions. Karim climbed on the box while Mr Ambrose squeezed into the small space at the back.
'You know,' I mused, snuggling against him and sliding an arm around his shoulders, 'I used to get annoyed by the fact that this bloody thing is so small. For some reason, I don't mind anymore. Funny, isn't it?'
Under my touch, Mr Ambrose stiffened. 'Mr Linton! We are in public!'
'Why, yes we are, Sir. So observant of you to notice.'
'And you are wearing your...work attire. Masculine attire.'
'You don't say.'
'What if someone should see us?' he hissed, lowering his voice. 'Remove your arm this instance!'
'And where else would you like me to stash it?' I enquired sweetly, looking around the miniscule space. 'In the luggage rack? Well, I suppose if you don't want it around your shoulders, I could always slide it a little lower, and—'
He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. 'Karim! Put the top up!'
'Yes, Sahib. Immediately, Sahib.'
With a snap, the cover of the chaise unfolded over us, shielding us from prying eyes. Snuggling closer into Mr Ambrose, I rubbed my nose against his neck and breathed him in.
'Mr Linton!'
'Hmm?'
'Desist!'
'Nobody can see us.'
'That's not the point. I...you...'
I smirked up at him. 'Afraid I'll steal your virtue before the wedding night? That's already taken care of, remember?'
A muscle in his cheek twitched. For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then...
His hand touched my cheek. 'I'm not likely to forget.'
I leaned into his touch. Neither am I. 'So...what are you thinking about, Sir?'
'Classified business matters, Mr Linton.'
The smirk returned. 'In other words, you're considering how best to fire me before the wedding.'
The little finger resting against my cheek twitched just a little. 'No comment.'
I glanced up at him. 'It's all right. I don't mind.'
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. 'You don't?'
'Why should I? You've tried firing me before. Did it work?'
For a moment, there was only silence. Then...
'No.'
'In fact, you tried it multiple times. Have you ever had the slightest bit of success in that regard? Did I ever lose?'
Another silence, this one considerably more arctic than the one before. Finally...
'No, Mr Linton.'
'Exactly.' I grinned up at him. 'I've won every single time. I rather enjoy winning as it happens, so I'm looking forward to getting another chance.'
A storm began to gather in his eyes. With the force of his gaze alone, he pinned me to the seat, and goosebumps appeared all over my body. 'You do, do you?'
'Yes, indeed, Sir.'
He gave me a look so intense I swear I could feel the carriage tremble beneath me.
'Well...then I shall do my best to make things challenging for you. I would not wish my bride-to-be to be bored.'
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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Some fabulous ifrits from a S&S Fan group on Facebook have put together a video, sharing their views & experiences about the Storm and Silence series. So much love & work obviously went into this video, and such a wide variety of fans from all over the world participated, that I simply had to share it here with all of you :)
(There are even subtitles available! Isn't that awesome? ;)
A bucket load of thanks for this fabulous video goes to all the participants, editors and other people who were involved! So, thank you (takes a deep breath...)
1. @Lira_Monique 2. @shrushtishiyale 3. @fairy2507 4.@marysol1989 5. @QueenDeitra 6. @olivia_welo 7.@reyesAugustina 8.@HimekoYori05 9. @Joecrizan 10. @ i_have_ur_chocolate 11.@AnandNesh 12.@ChrisBernaBe711 13.@Akanksha612 14.@ShrutiSehgal355 15. @babyLovez4pnu 16.@KimOYK 17. @_dracoxhermione_ 18.@rosy32 19.@lovemysunshine 20.@daisyling 21.@downtoashes 22.@anishasen 23.@themelsan26 24.@ NavyaChoudhary_ 25.@nikita91200 26.@ loloxD2000 27.@mariyalashari 28.@ freeshoes09 29.@Sarah_Mateen 30.@ranniekudo 31.@ new@this 32. @ LittleSoberGirl 33.@ tinkle_bell_25 34.@Katherine_Misfits 35.@magret94 36.@travallene_V 37.@Eionn22 38.@Akkuu04 39.@ kireinaatashi13 40.@chiekisafreak 41.@KaylinnLovato1 42.@Ashtonwomack 43. @MissLeaves1944. @Sarah_Mateen45. @TheRobThierFan
...phew! I hope I didn't forget anybody. I'm touched by the fabulous video you all put together. Thank you again, and keep being the awesome ifrits you are! :)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Time - "time", as used in the above chapter doesn't refer to the usual concept measured with watches. Rather, it refers to the term "time" as used in music. In music, time determines how many notes of a certain length are placed within a single bar (the smallest division of a piece of music). Marches are usually in four-fourth time, whereas waltzes would be in three-fourth time.
Tantalus - Tantalus is a figure from Greek mythology. For hi sins, he was punished by the gods by being chained up in the middle of a lake, underneath a fruit tree. He was cursed to suffer eternal hunger and thirst, and whenever he tried to drink the water or eat the fruit, they would retreat from his mouth.
Brown's Hotel - Brown's Hotel is one of the oldest hotels in London, established in 1837.