Page 17 of Storm over the Caribbean
Silence.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I glanced at his expressionless face, his jaw tightly clenched, a muscle in his cheek ever so slightly twitching.
Oh my. This had to be bad. Like…Mr-Ambrose-being-forced-to-make-a-speech bad.
“Can I deduce from the way you are trying to grind your teeth to dust that you cannot ignore his invitation?”
“Once. Again. Correct.”
The three words were as cold as a yeti’s butt in the arctic.
All right, Lilly! Time to get creative quick! You’ve gotta help your husband. And if you manage to advance your evil plans at the same time, all the better!
I cleared my throat. “So…I suddenly seem to remember that I’ve accepted my friends’ invitation to an outing in a few days, the very same day your father wants you to head north. As a loving, concerned husband, I’m sure you would feel obligated to come along to look after your frail little pregnant wife, wouldn’t you agree?”
I grinned up at him.
A momentary pause. Then…
“Agreed.” He nodded. “I am certainly very…?”
“Loving and concerned.”
“Yes, that.”
“And since you will be taking care of me, you probably won’t be able to travel all the way up north to the Scottish border.”
“Certainly not.”
“How about I send a message to my friends to make the outing an extra-long one?”
Reaching out, Mr Rikkard Ambrose cupped my face. “Marrying you was a considerably smart decision to make.”
I beamed at him.
Let’s see if you still think so tomorrow.
“You bet it was!” Standing on my tiptoes, I pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Now let’s go, shall we? I’ll set up things with my friends, and all of us will have a fun time together.”
“That sounds…adequate. Now, what sort of outing is this?”
“Oh, trust me.” I winked at him. “You’ll be blown away.”
***
The sun was shining. The grass was growing. The birds were singing in the trees. Smiling broadly, I surveyed thesurroundings. My minions—ehem,volunteers—really had done a good job.
“Is…pant…this…pant…the last one?”
I glanced to where the voice came from. Swaying under the weight of a wrought iron garden table, was one of Mr Ambrose’s clerks, who had been conscripte… ehem, who hadvolunteeredto assist us with setting up things for today’s outing in the park. It really was amazing how many of them had happily agreed to assist when I asked them kindly, with Karim standing behind me, his sabre half unsheathed.
“Ah, no.” I gave the man a broad smile. “There are around a dozen or so tables still stacked behind the podium.”
Uttering a deathly groan, the clerk’s shoulders sagged and he staggered away.
Motivating volunteers was such fun.
Whistling, I set out across the meadow of the park that had been rented for the afternoon, surveying the activities around me. So far, things were going splendidly. More than two dozen dainty tables with three chairs each had been set up all across the meadow. Snacks and refreshments had been placed before every seat, and there were parasols scattered here and there. At one end of the meadow, a stage was already being erected.
