Page 35 of Storm over the Caribbean
Dang it!
Whatever his father wanted, it must really have gotten his dander up. A small part of me started to get worried. So, instead of continuing to play around, I let go and stepped back with a muttered curse. Sometimes I wished my husband had just a little less self-control.
I guess I’ve got to go back to work now, eh?
Oh well…
I grinned. Planning a cruise around the world for me and my scrumptious husband, where we would be alone on a luxurious yacht for months on end…
There were probably worse things in the world, right?
“I see.” Stepping back, I nodded demurely. “Well then, I shall go and attend to everything like a dutiful wife should. See you later.”
And I bustled out of there before he could notice the sparkle in my eyes. I had lots of preparations to make.
***
Over the next few days, I duly attended to my wifely/secretarial duties. To the very best of my ability, I made every necessary arrangement for mine and my husband’s approaching business trip. Although, judging by the expression on Mr Pearson’s face when I ordered him to obtain bathing oil, sandals,straw hats and the skimpiest male swimwear available, you’d think I was asking for something unreasonable.
The shipping companies I talked to about chartering a cruise yacht were a lot more reasonable than dear Mr Sallow-Face. More than reasonable, in fact, they were delighted. After all, why wouldn’t they be ecstatic about the richest business mogul in the British Empire wanting to rent a ship from them? Surely, he’d pay a premium, right?
Looking at the blissful expression on the ship owners’ faces, it was really difficult not to burst out laughing. How very convenient that by the time the payment would be due, I’d be halfway around the world.
Suddenly, I heard a knock. Glancing up from my papers, I looked over at my office door.
“Yes?”
The door creaked open and Mr Stone stuck his head into the room.
“Mr Lin…um, Miss…Mrs…” He opened and closed his mouth, clearly not quite sure how to address me. “Um…Lady Secretary?”
The corner of my mouth quirked up. “Yes, Mr Receptionist?”
“A, um, messenger in livery arrived a few minutes ago. He informed Mr Pearson that Lord William Alexander Ambrose, Fifteenth Marquess Ambrose, would be arriving in the city on the fifteenth.”
“Oh, he will, will he?” I tapped my chin. “How unfortunate we’ll miss him. If only Mr Ambrose and I wouldn’t be leaving on our world tour on the twelfth.”
He blinked. “I thought it was the twentieth?”
“No, no.” I shook my head. “The twelfth, definitely.”
“Oh, I see.” Nodding, he shifted. “Should I return to my post then?”
“By all means do. I still have duties to attend to.” After all, now I would have to push forward our departure date from the twentieth to the twelfth, and speed up the packing. Damn interfering fathers and their schemes for their sons!
I sped up my preparations. Over the next few days, I was hustling and bustling everywhere, doing a thousand different tasks. By the time the twelfth had finally arrived, I was dead on my feet. And the only reason I wasn’t dead on my back was the dirty ground at the dock stank to high heaven of rotten fish.
“So,” Mr Rikkard Ambrose enquired, surveying the harbour. “Where is the ship?”
“Oh, it’s that one.” I pointed. “Over there.”
Mr Ambrose turned…
And stared.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Except for the mewing of the gull circling overhead, who was currently contemplating whether Mr Ambrose’s top hat would make a good nest.5
“Mrs Ambrose?” he enquired, his eyes still firmly fixed on the ship.
