Page 113 of Storm of Bells
‘Which meansyouwould owemethree shillings. Negative numbers, Madam, it’s called negativenumbers.’
Mr Rikkard Ambrose might be lord of themanor, but he most certainly was not lord of the manners. After hislittle chat with the ladies, I had to go down to the church andplie the scandalized, chattering grannies with tea and biscuits foran hour before they were ready to resume their work. When theystarted peppering me with questions about the mysterious,money-grabbing brute of a man who now ruled over these lands, andto whom I had decided to shackle myself, I did what I had alwaysdone best: lie my well-paddedderrièreoff.
Why, you ask?
‘So, tell me my dear, how did the two of youmeet?’
Oh, we bumped into each other while I was inmale disguise illegally trying to vote in a national election, andhe hired me as his private secretary.
Yep. That would certainly give me areputation among the old biddies—but not quite the one I was aimingfor. If even my own family wasn’t ready to accept the truth aboutme, the local gossip mongers certainly weren’t.
I beamed at the old woman. ‘It was simplyfate. I just couldn’t resist him. The moment I caught sight of him,I was captured!’
By two policemen, who threw me into jail forthe night.
‘Oh, do you hear that, Dolly, Maisy, Melody?’The old lady pressed a hand to her heart. ‘Isn’t thatromantic?’
The other old women nodded emphatically,tears sparkling in their eyes. ‘Tell us more, dearie! Tell usmore.’
‘Yes, yes!’ Mrs Ritson’s head bobbed soenergetically I was worried it might fall off at any moment.Considering how spindly her neck was, it was a distinct physicalpossibility. ‘For example, who is going to be invited to thiswedding? I’m sure thecram della cramof London society iscoming?’
Oh crap.
Oh crappedy crappedy crap.
I knew there wassomethingI hadforgotten.
‘Err…um…well, there will be my family, and,um…friends, and…relations and….relatives and…acquaintancesand…um…excuse me!’ Pushing my teacup into Mrs Ritson’s startledfingers, I dashed off across the village green. ‘I’ll be backsoon!’
A few minutes later, I knocked at the door ofMr Rikkard Ambrose’s room. Our room, as it would soon be. I didn’treally need to knock. Soon, this would be my place as much as his.But if I didn’t knock, I wouldn’t get the pleasure of hearing himsay in that cold, I-couldn’t-care-less voice of his…
‘Enter!’
Ah. How sweet and gentle his voice sounded.Like the wings of an angel. One that worked in heaven’s auditdepartment and had just discovered Lucifer had embezzled fiftythousand golden harps.
I popped my head in through the door.
‘Err…can I talk to you? There’s somethingimportant I need to discuss with you regarding the wedding.’
Slowly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose raised his gazefrom the mahogany coffee table he had claimed as his temporaryworkstation. Dark, sea-coloured eyes met mine.
‘Is it to tell me that you’ve changed yourmind and would like to continue our encounter from a few nightsago?’
‘No.’
‘Then I’m not interested.’
‘But this is important,’ I insisted. ‘It’sabout whom we are going to invite to the we—’
‘Can’t you see I’m busy? You just take careof the details.’
‘But you might have your own opinion on someof the people I want to—’
‘I am dealing with important matters, here,Miss Linton. Surely, you can take care of these things on your own?Or are you so incompetent?’
No.
Oh no.
