Chapter 22: 22. A Little List is a Dangerous Thing

During the next few days, Mr Rikkard Ambrose became really, really interested in being married speedily. He had always been the very opposite of a time waster, but still, for some mysterious reason, he now seemed to be borderline 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!' Vinnie sighed and rushed off to serve tea to Ella and Lady Samantha.

'Hm...no. That can't be all of it. Not with him.' Adaira's eyes narrowed, still following her brother. 'He's acting like there's a bee in his knickers!'

I delicately cleared my throat, and lowered my voice so Ella, Vinnie and any other innocents in the vicinity couldn't hear me. 'Trust me, there isn't.'

'I mean, what could possibly set off my brother like that? Who on this earth could—'

She froze. Then, slowly, her eyes swivelled to me.

'Lilly?'

'Yes?' I gave her my most best imitation-innocent smile.

'Is there something you want to tell me?'

'Depends. Do you want to know about what's in your brother's knickers if it isn't a bee?'

A pause.

'No. Most definitely not.'

'I thought so.'

'You there!' Mr Ambrose's barked orders drifted over towards us. 'The chairs go over there, in orderly rows of six, didn't you listen? Move! And you there, fetch the tablecloths!'

'Yes, Sir! As you say, Sir, except...this house hasn't been in use for years. We don't have any white tablecloths.'

'Then use bedsheets! God, do people nowadays have no imagination?'

'Yes, Sir! Just as you say, Sir!'

In record time, the manor was being restored to its former glory. While before, only a few of the big halls, used to display the various valuable knick-knacks and pieces of furniture 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 anyone attempted to take a feather duster to Lady Samantha, they didn't inform me.

The church, too, was being prepared for the big day. All the nice old ladies in the village (read: interfering busybodies dying for a chunk of gossip) were only too delighted to help with decorations and cleaning. All they required in return were a few juicy tidbits. Who would deny them just a few words of gossip?

Well...

I'll give you a hint. The last name of the answer to that question started with an A.

'Oh, good morning, Mr Ambrose. Isn't the church decoration coming along beautifully?'

'No.'

**insert startled pause here, due to first-time exposure**

'It... it isn't?'

'No.'

'Oh, um, I see.'

**old ladies exchanging nervous glances, then suddenly smiling**

'Ah! You're jesting. You're such a funny and sweet man.'

'No. I'm not.'

**insert another pause—a longer one**

'Um...err...I'm sure you are, deep down. And since we're on the subject of sweetness—I'm sure you'd like to show your gratitude for all the hard work we've done in some small way?'

**insert suggestive wink here**

A moment of breathless anticipation. Then...

'No.'

**looks being exchanged. The realization spreads that this is a tough one, and the ladies decide to fall back on the tried and tested interrogation technique of 'Good Granny, Bad Granny'**

'Oh, please don't misunderstand. We would never think to ask for money.'

'Good, because you're not getting any.'

'Now, really, Sir!' **Second Granny approaches, brows furrowed** 'That is no way to talk to a lady! Do you want me to have to tell your bride about your behaviour during this conversation?'

'Just tell us a little bit.' **Granny One sidles closer** 'Where did the two of you first meet? Was it at a ball?'

'If you don't tell us, we'll have a talk with your fiancée and the vicar.'

**good granny and bad granny wait with bated breath**

'Good. That means you won't be bothering me anymore.'

**utter disbelief spreads. For the first time, the technique of Good Granny / Bad Granny has failed to strike terror into the subject's heart**

'But...but...won't you tell us a tiny little bit? Your lady's family background, perhaps? I couldn't help noticing that her parents are not present, for instance, and neither is your father. We know so little about you and your—'

'Good.'

'But can't you—'

'No. Farewell, Ladies. I expect the decoration of the church to be ready by ten pm tomorrow. If not, I shall deduct three shillings from your wages.'

'But...you don't pay us any wages!'

'Which means you would owe me three shillings. Negative numbers, Madam, it's called negative numbers.'

Mr Rikkard Ambrose might be lord of the manor, but he most certainly was not lord of the manners. After his little chat with the ladies, I had to go down to the church and plie the scandalized, chattering grannies with tea and biscuits for an hour before they were ready to resume their work. When they started peppering me with questions about the mysterious, money-grabbing brute of a man who now ruled over these lands, and to whom I had decided to shackle myself, I did what I had always done best: lie my well-padded derrière off.

Why, you ask?

'So, tell me my dear, how did the two of you meet?'

Oh, we bumped into each other while I was in male disguise illegally trying to vote in a national election, and he hired me as his private secretary.

Yep. That would certainly give me a reputation among the old biddies—but not quite the one I was aiming for. If even my own family wasn't ready to accept the truth about me, the local gossip mongers certainly weren't.

I beamed at the old woman. 'It was simply fate. I just couldn't resist him. The moment I caught sight of him, I was captured!'

By two policemen, who threw me into jail for the night.

'Oh, do you hear that, Dolly, Maisy, Melody?' The old lady pressed a hand to her heart. 'Isn't that romantic?'

The other old women nodded emphatically, tears sparkling in their eyes. 'Tell us more, dearie! Tell us more.'

'Yes, yes!' Mrs Ritson's head bobbed so energetically I was worried it might fall off at any moment. Considering how spindly her neck was, it was a distinct physical possibility. 'For example, who is going to be invited to this wedding? I'm sure the cram della cram of London society is coming?'

Oh crap.

Oh crapedy crappedy crap.

I knew there was something I had forgotten.

'Err...um...well, there will be my family, and, um...friends, and...relations and....relatives and...acquaintances and...um...excuse me!' Pushing my teacup into Mrs Ritson's startled fingers, I dashed off across the village green. 'I'll be back soon!'

A few minutes later, I knocked at the door of Mr Rikkard Ambrose's room. Our room, as it would soon be. I didn't really 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 him say 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 audit department and had just discovered Lucifer had embezzled fifty thousand golden harps.

I popped my head in through the door.

'Err...can I talk to you? There's something important I need to discuss with you regarding the wedding.'

Slowly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose raised his gaze from the mahogany coffee table he had claimed as his temporary workstation. Dark, sea-coloured eyes met mine.

'Is it to tell me that you've changed your mind and would like to continue our encounter from a few nights ago?'

'No.'

'Then I'm not interested.'

'But this is important,' I insisted. 'It's about whom we are going to invite to the we—'

'Can't you see I'm busy? You just take care of the details.'

'But you might have your own opinion on some of 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.

You did not just say that, did you?

I did not care if his balls were currently blue, green or orange. Nobody got to dismiss me! He of all people should know that by now.

He thought I should take care of this 'little matter' myself?

All right. I would.

I gave him a radiant smile. 'Of course, my dear. You just take care of your important business matters. Your little woman here will deal with all the little, insignificant wedding details. Don't you worry. Everything will be just fine. After all, with both our families here, I'll have plenty of help. Till later.'

And I closed the door. Then, I slowly turned away and tried to control the urge to start spitting fire.

Little woman indeed! I'll show him!

'Adaira? Adaira, where are you?'

I entered my room.

'Vinnie?'

'Oh, My Lady!' My new lady's maid danced into the room, her face a picture of delight. 'Can you imagine? They have cows here! Real cows! And they even leave real dung heaps! Fascinatin', ain't it? I'm going for a walk this afternoon to take a closer look at one.'

Normally, Vinnie's unbridled city-girl enthusiasm would have been entertaining. But right now, I had other things on my mind.

'Vinnie? Do you know where Lady Adaira is?'

'I think I saw her outside.' The girl's face brightened. 'Perhaps she's looking at dunghills, too!'

'Perhaps. Would you be so kind as to fetch her? I have something to discuss with her.'

'Right away, My Lady, I just have to finish the needlework on this part of the—'

'Now, if you please, Vinnie.'

'Oh. Certainly, My Lady! I'm on my way!'

Five minutes later, the door to my room opened, and a familiar head of black hair peeked inside. 'Yes?'

'Could you come in for a minute? I need your help with something.'

'Am I to deduce from the deadly sparkle in your eyes that this "something" would piss off my brother?'

'Royally.'

She was in the room before I could blink. A moment later, she stood before me and saluted. 'I am at your command! Do with me as you wish.'

'Have I mentioned I will love having you as a sister-in-law?'

'Yes, but do repeat it as often as you wish. My ego loves a bit of boosting from time to time.'

'Then you've come to the right place. Follow me.'

I led her out of the room. Right now, we were still far too close to Mr Ambrose's sharp ears. So I steered her down the corridor and into the....well, I wasn't exactly sure what kind of room it was. Drawing room? Breakfast room? Fainting room? Head-scratching room? This place had so many rooms I was lucky not to get lost and die of chocolate-deprivation in a distant corner.

But right now it didn't really matter where we were. Sinking onto a chaise longue, I steepled my fingers and, over the tops, gazed at Adaira.

'You,' she told me, 'really have been spending too much time with my brother.'

'Hm. Apparently, he thinks so, too. I asked him to help me prepare the guest list for the wedding, and it seems that Mr Rikkard Ambrose has better things to do with his precious time.'

'So...he's leaving the guest list entirely to you?'

'Yes.'

Slowly, a grin began to spread across her face. 'The poor man has no idea what he's in for.'

'As a certain person I know would say—indeed.'

'So...' Scuttling over to a small desk in the corner, Adaira snatched up pen and paper, and returned to me, squatting beside me in conspirator-mode. 'Whom do you want to invite?'

I stroked my chin. 'Well, for starters, all the people from London who despise me from the bottom of their shrivelled little hearts.'

Adaira's hand with the pen started to move—then she blinked, and glanced up abruptly. Whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't that.

'Why in God's name would you want that?'

A seraphic smile spread across my face as I leaned back, thinking of all the obnoxious people who had lorded it over me—or tried to—for years now. They had been so superior...just because they had a higher position, a bigger wallet, or, in most cases, just a bigger head. But now...

'Well, let me put it like this: what do you think they'll feel when they arrive here, see this place, and meet my groom-to-be, Lord Rikkard Ambrose, heir to the Marquess Ambrose?'

A pause.

Then...

'Lilly?'

'Yes?'

'Remind me never to get on your bad side.'

'I doubt that will be necessary.' Our eyes met. Out of all my siblings, only Ella had ever felt like a real sister, like someone I could rely on always and forever. But now...I was starting to think that soon, I'll have one more sister to count on.

She held my gaze—and nodded. 'Neither do I. So—who, if I may ask, has the misfortune of being on this list of people you dislike?'

'Hm, let me think...Lady Allbright, Miss Mabel Finchley, The Baroness Marlington, Lady Ellington, Lady Bindle, Lady Allington, Lady Vindington, Lady Dellington, Lady Harrington...'

'Dear me. That's a ton of Ladies.'

'Yes, they do seem to have a particular antipathy towards me. Hm...who else despises me? Oh yes, of course! Most of my family. But they are already here. And, of course, there are a few dancing partners whose feet I have trampled on over the years. Perhaps I'd best list them in alphabetical order. Mr Abbit, Mr Abbet, Mr Abbot, Mr Abbs, who by the way didn't have any, Mr Abner, Mr Abney, Mr Abrahams, Mr Ace, who wasn't one, Mr Ackerly, Mr Ackland—'

'Err...Lilly? How many are on this alphabetical list, exactly?'

I stroked my chin, thoughtfully. 'You know, I'm not entirely sure. It's so hard to distinguish swollen feet.'

'Hm. I'll have to try that out myself someday.'

'By all means, do. Now, about that list...should I provide you with all the names on paper at my earliest opportunity?'

'That would be nice.' Adaira glanced down at her notes. 'I'd prefer not to get carpal tunnel syndrome.'

'Good. Now that we've got the preliminaries out of the way...,' I rubbed my hands and threw her a grin, 'let's get to the juicy part of this list.'

Adaira's eyes sparkled. 'So...who do you think might piss off my brother even more than the squashed-foot squad?'

I considered the question. Whom else could I possibly invite to the wedding? Who would be willing to come, and be able to create enough of a scandal to rock Mr Rikkard Ambrose's well-ordered world?

Suddenly, an idea appeared in my head. An outrageous idea. A fiendish idea. A marvellous idea. I wondered why I hadn't had it sooner. After all...who do you invite to your wedding?

Simple. Your friends.

'I know!' My eyes blazing with delight, I leaned forward to lower my voice. 'We could invite—'

Just then, a door opened behind me and I heard the rustle of dresses entering.

'I thought I heard you two in here! What are you doing? It sounds as if you're having a lot of fun.'

'Oh crap!' Adaira muttered, pasted a smile on her face, and turned to face her mother.

I turned as well, my smile far more natural—until behind Lady Samantha, I spotted my aunt.

Oh crap indeed.

'So, my darlings!' Lady Samantha beamed. 'What are you doing?'

'Yes.' My aunt's eyes bored into me. She did not beam. 'I would like to know that, too.'

With effort, I kept the smile where it was. 'Oh. Um. I'm...just compiling a guest list for the wedding.'

'Oh, how fabulous!' Clapping her hands, Lady Samantha sank down beside me on the chaise longue. 'Can I help? I'm sure you wouldn't mind, would you? Please tell me you wouldn't mind?'

She gazed at me, her baby-blue, motherly eyes pleading.

What could I say?

'Of course you can, My Lady.'

Darn! How am I supposed to be wicked with her around?

Lady Samantha practically hopped on the spot. Eyes bright, she leaned forward to peek at the list.

'So, who is your latest name on the guest list?'

'Ehem, well...' Swallowing, I glanced down at the latest name that, in my enthusiasm, I had scribbled down.

'Amy?' Lady Samantha leaned over towards her daughter and peered down at the list with interest. 'Who is Amy?'

I cleared my throat.

'Oh. Um...just a friend of mine from London. She's a wonderful person. I'm sure the other guests at the wedding, especially the noble lords and ladies, will find her very...interesting.'

'How wonderful!' The marchioness clapped her hands. 'You have so many lovely friends! Has she already had her debut?'

'Err...I don't think so, no.'

Lady Samantha looked as if Christmas had come early. 'Wonderful! We must introduce her to society.'

My eyebrows shot up into my hair.

'We must?'

'Oh yes! If she's anything like your other friends, she'll be a great success with the gentlemen.'

I almost choked on my cough. 'Err...yes. I imagine she will.'

'Fabulous! Simply fabulous! Just leave everything to me. I'll be sure to make her a success! Oh, I so look forward to meeting her.'

'So do I.' Aunt Brank chose that moment to join the conversation. Her sharp little eyes were focused on me like searchlights. 'I can't wait to meet this "friend" of yours.'

Oh dear.

'So...' Lady Samantha rubbed her hands like a little girl about to open a jar full of cookies. 'Who's next?'

Good question. Was there someone who would have an even better chance at blowing Mr Ambrose's top hat off and setting Karim's beard on fire? Who could possibly make this guest list even more explosive?

I glanced over at Adaira.

'I'm out of ideas. Do you perchance know who else we could invite?'

She tugged at her ear, considering—then, a devilish, positively seventh-circle-of-hell-diabolic grin spread across her face.

Lady Samantha's face lit up with interest. My aunt's face...

Well, sometimes, it is better to refrain from description so as not to give small children nightmares.

'What? What did you think of?' I demanded, leaning forward.

'It's not what,' she told me. 'It's who. Guess who I've heard is back in England?' And, leaning over towards me, she whispered a name.

Lady Samantha clapped her hands. 'How wonderful!'

'Yes, indeed.' I nodded, deeply impressed. 'You are evil.'

Her grin was almost wide enough to split her face. 'I know.'

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Soon, I'll be revealing the first bits of news about the project I'll be tackling next, after this one is completed! After listening to your fabulous feedback, I've made my decision at last!

Looking forward to it? :)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

GLOSSARY:

Carpal tunnel syndrome - This medical condition was known since about the middle of the mid-nineteenth century. However, it was not actually called by that name back in the day, since the connection between the sickness and carpal ligaments was only discovered in the twentieth century. Yet in spite of diligent research, I was unable to discover by what name it went in the Victorian Age. My sincerest apologies for the historically inaccurate vocabulary.