Page 111 of Storm of Bells
‘I’m glad you think so, Sir.’
‘But even a good negotiator can beconvinced.’ He took a third step towards me. ‘With enoughdetermination.’
‘Ricky? Ricky, where are you?’
My grin widened. ‘Oh really? Do you haveenough determination to face your mother in your current state ofdress?’
The sound that issued from the throat of MrRikkard Ambrose was difficult to describe. Something between thegrowl of a lion and the squawk of penguin suddenly finding himselfstranded in the Sahara.
‘Ricky? Are you in there?’
Abruptly, he leapt towards the bed and divedunder the covers, until only the top of his head peeked out frombeneath the blanket. It was completely impossible to apply certainwords to Mr Rikkard Ambrose. But if it had been, if I hadn’t beensure he would enact swift revenge, I would have said helooked…cute.
Love really does make you blind.
‘Toodeloo.’ Waving at him, I flashed him alast smile—then slipped out the door.
A Little List is aDangerous Thing
During the next fewdays, Mr Rikkard Ambrose became really, really interested in beingmarried speedily. He had always been the very opposite of a timewaster, but still, for some mysterious reason, he now seemed to beborderline possessed by urgency.
‘What on earth is the matter with him?’Adaira muttered as she watched her brother marching up and down,barking orders at the poor, harried-looking servants.
‘Can’t ye see it, My Lady? It’s love!’ Vinniesighed and rushed off to serve tea to Ella and Lady Samantha.
‘Hm…no. That can’t be all of it. Not withhim.’ Adaira’s eyes narrowed, still following her brother. ‘He’sacting like there’s a bee in his knickers!’
I delicately cleared my throat, and loweredmy voice so Ella, Vinnie and any other innocents in the vicinitycouldn’t hear me. ‘Trust me, there isn’t.’
‘I mean, what could possibly set off mybrother like that? Who on this earth could—’
She froze. Then, slowly, her eyes swivelledto me.
‘Lilly?’
‘Yes?’ I gave her my most bestimitation-innocent smile.
‘Is there something you want to tell me?’
‘Depends. Do you want to know about what’s inyour brother’s knickers if it isn’t a bee?’
A pause.
‘No. Most definitely not.’
‘I thought so.’
‘You there!’ Mr Ambrose’s barked ordersdrifted over towards us. ‘The chairs go over there, in orderly rowsof six, didn’t you listen? Move! And you there, fetch thetablecloths!’
‘Yes, Sir! As you say, Sir, except…this househasn’t been in use for years. We don’t have any whitetablecloths.’
‘Then use bedsheets! God, do people nowadayshave no imagination?’
‘Yes, Sir! Just as you say, Sir!’
In record time, the manor was being restoredto its former glory. While before, only a few of the big halls,used to display the various valuable knick-knacks and pieces offurniture for sale, had been in a decent condition, now, rusty,long-forgotten doors were being opened, dust covers were torn away,and dukes and marchionesses were being dusted. In portraits only,not in real life, by the way. At least as far as I know. If anyoneattempted to take a feather duster to Lady Samantha, they didn’tinform me.
The church, too, was being prepared for thebig day. All the nice old ladies in the village (read: interferingbusybodies dying for a chunk of gossip) were only too delighted tohelp with decorations and cleaning. All they required in returnwere a few juicy titbits. Who would deny them just a few words ofgossip?
