'Where are you going?'
'Back to the manor.' Pulling up my dress, I sped up as much as possible. 'I've got to change into my trousers. I can't ride a horse in this thing!'
'We can't do that. Not enough time. Karim!'
The bodyguard appeared beside us. 'Yes, Sahib?'
'Have a carriage brought around!'
'A carriage?' I protested. 'Butâ'
'I have timed several instances of your changing your garments, Miss Linton. Let me assure you, we do not have sufficient time.'
Grumbling and muttering something about insufferable men, I followed Mr Ambrose to the driveway in front of the manor. Halfway there, Karim came racing down the road on the box of a carriage. Not far behind came Lady Samantha, red-faced and wide-eyed.
'Quick, Sahib!' Karim barked, throwing open the carriage door. 'We're being pursued!'
'Rick!' the marchioness called out. 'Rick, wait, don't! The wedding is tomorrow! There's no need to do this!'
'To do what?' Mr Ambrose demanded, throwing Karim a look as he hoisted himself up into the carriage. 'What is she going on about?'
Karim's face morphed into a painful scowl. 'I, um...may have come rushing in there shouting for a carriage for you and the Sahiba. She seemed to come to the mistaken conclusion that you and Miss Linton had the intention of eloping.'
'E...what?'
'Don't do this, Rick!' Lady Samantha was doing an impressive job of catching up with a coach drawn by galloping horses. 'Don't break your mother's heart!'
'Get the horses to move faster!' Mr Ambrose ordered as he pulled me into the carriage. 'And you, Miss Linton, stop laughing like a maniac!'
'S-sorry! I d-don't think that's p-possible, Sir!' Gasping, I curled up on the floor of the coach. Somewhere above me, Karim shouted encouragement to the horses.
'Gee-up!'
'Don't, son! We've already put up all the garlands in the church and the guests are ready and waiting! Rick! Don't do this!'
Unable to stop myself from grinning like a fool, I leaned out of the window and waved to Lady Samantha. 'Don't worry! We'll be back from Gretna Green soon!'
'Gretnaâ!' A hand grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me rather forcefully back into the inside of the carriage. Two cold, sea-coloured eyes met mine. 'Correct me if I'm wrong, Miss Linton, but isn't Gretna Green a certain town in Scotland where couples who plan to elope without the consent of their parents routinely travel to get married?'
I batted my eyelashes up at him. 'Why, indeed, I believe it is, Sir.'
'You, Miss Linton, are the most devious person I have ever met in my life.'
Patting his arm, I beamed up at him. 'Knowing your little sister, I take that as the highest of compliments.'
After that, we drove along in silence. Karim kept the coach-horses at a dead run, and not in a metaphorical manner. If he kept this up, they would drop dead sooner or later. The pounding of the hooves and the rattling of the wheels combined made such a racket that my eardrums almost exploded, and conversation was completely impossible. I didn't try, in any case. Right now, I was far too concerned with my own thoughts. Spread in front of me lay the items I had pilfered from Lord Dalgliesh's pockets. Could they provide some clues?
Let's see...
The keys. The snuffbox. The wallet. A golden pin. A handkerchief with the monogrammed initials L.D.H.D...
L.D.H.D?
What kind of person had his title stitched into a monogrammed handkerchief?
An utterly pretentious arsehead, that's who.
Speaking of arseheads...
'By the way,' I glanced up at Mr Ambrose. 'Was what Dalgliesh said true? Did you...did you really leave your family when they lost everything?'
Mr Ambrose flinched, and his figure stiffened, turning into a granite statue from one moment to the next. His only answer was silence.
'Please.' Swallowing, I leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee. 'Tell me. Is it true?'
His Adam's apple moved. 'Yes and no.'
Holy...! That man. Even when giving an answer, he somehow managed to say nothing.
'Please.' I gave his knee a gentle squeeze. 'Tell me what happened.'
That familiar muscle in his cheek twitched. And twitched again.
'I was so happy.' His voice was hardly recognizable. No longer smooth, cold and arrogant, it sounded scratchy, almost as if he was...near to tears? 'So happy. My best friend, the great Lord Dalgliesh...he was like an older brother to me, no, an idol. When he told me he'd help me, help my family, I thought my prayers had been answered. I strutted all through the countryside, telling everyone how I had the best friend in the world. I even went on a tour to the South, convinced my family's troubles were over. And then, when one day I came back...'
There was a pause, long, black and empty.
'There were carriages in front of my Battlewood. At first I thought my father was holding a ball, but then I got closer and found that they weren't carriages, they were wagons. There were men carrying away all the antique furniture and paintings. Some were even carrying whole suits of armour or a piano. At first, I didn't understand what was going on. Were we moving? Had my mother decided to redecorate? But something didn't feel right. I rushed inside, and...and...'
Another pause. When he spoke again, his voice had regained its strength and was as cold and hard as I'd ever heard it.
'They were removal men, of course. Dalgliesh's "help", the so-called "investments", had been nothing but a scam. An excellently devised scam, but still a scam. When I ran inside, I found my father shouting at the removal men that he was a lord, and they were nothing but vermin and that he'd see to it that they would rot in prison for what they were doing. Then he spotted me.'
A muscle in his cheek twitched.
'I remember every word. So many words.' Again, that muscle twitched. 'Far too many. It was all my fault. If I hadn't persuaded him, nothing like this would ever have happened. I was a disgrace to the family. Finally, my father yelled at me to get out, and...and...' His Adam's apple bobbed, once. '...and so I did.'
I blinked. 'Got out?'
'Yes.'
'Out of what? The room?'
He cocked his head. 'The room. His house. His life.'
'You...you ran away?'
He met my gaze. Coolly. Proudly. I could just imagine his fifteen-year-old self gazing with the same cool, composure at an equally stubborn father. 'He told me he never wanted to see me again.'
'And you took him literally?'
'Of course.'
I felt a sudden urge to bang my head against the wall. No. Scratch that. I should bang his head against the wall. The only reason I didn't was that the wall probably wouldn't survive it.
I was just considering how best to get a grip on his cranium, when he continued speaking. The words were flowing out of him, as if with my question I had opened a wound that no one was able to close.
'I ran. I ran and ran and ran, until I reached a harbor city, and I ran onto a ship, went straight across the ocean, and...'
He paused for a moment, breathing hard.
'I spent months, shivering in the dark, hungry and alone. I didn't understand. I had been a marquess's son. A nobleman, wealthy and respected and happy. How could I have come to this? And then, one day, on a street corner, I saw a poster:
Apprentices wanted!
Apply at 37 Stone Street
Steady wages guaranteed
And it just clicked. Wages. Money. That was it. That's what I'd been lacking, and that was what I needed. I'd had money in the past, but it had never really been mine. I didn't earn it, let alone deserve it. That was something that had to change. So, I stood up and went to 37 Stone Street.'
Tears brimming in my eyes, I reached over to squeeze his hand, for the first time feeling real understanding. 'You wanted to stand on your own two feet,' I whispered. 'To be independent.'
Glancing up, he met my eyes. The dark pools of his eyes were swirling, drawing me in. 'Yes. I suppose I did.' Turning over his hand, he grasped my fingers as if they were his anchor to the world. 'I spent years in the colonies, working till my hands bled, armed and on guard, determined to never again fall prey to anyone, never again take charity. I had only one goal: build an empire big enough to grind Dalgliesh into the dust!'
Bloody hell! Having a goal is one thingâbut being determined enough to actually pull it off?
I wanted to ask how he did it, to demand what a fifteen-year-old boy could possibly have done to become the richest man of the British Empire. But that was a story for another day.
'When I came back,' he continued, still in the same cool and crisp report tone, 'I bought back my family's house and lands through a front man and gave it back to them. Only then did I reveal myself to them.'
His fist clenched.
'It...didn't go as expected?' I enquired softly.
Mr Ambrose mouth tightened into a razor sharp line. 'He could never forgive that I lost his fortune. And above all, he could never forgive my winning it backâwhen he could not.'
All right...time to change the subject. He clearly didn't want to talk about this subject. I should just shut my mouth and pretend this talk hadn't taken place. And yet...and yet...
He might not want to talk about his father. He might not even want to listen. But I had something else to offer.
Cautiously, I half-rose to my feet, careful not to bump my head against the roof of the coach, and reached out towards him. My arms gently encircled him and, pulling him against me, I pulled his face against my chest, while my fingers stroked the back of his head. Under my touch, he slowly relaxed. We stayed like that for a long time, until finally, I realized where exactly his nose was located and quickly stepped back.
'Um. Well.' I retreated farther, my ears heating. Settling back into my seat, I turned back to the articles appropriated from Lord Dalgliesh's pockets, trying to avoid his eyes. 'Let's see what we have here, shall we?'
Reaching for the snuffbox, I pulled it open. It was time to put thoughts of the past aside and concentrate on the here and now. We had a task to accomplish!
I peered suspiciously into the snuffbox. At first glance, there didn't seem to be anything inside except snuff, but with Lord Dalgliesh, you never really knew. Still, I wasn't willing to infect myself by sticking my fingers into that stuff. Spreading the handkerchief on the seat, I turned over the box above it. The snuff fell outâbut nothing else. There was nothing concealed inside. Gathering up the handkerchief, I shook it out through the window.
Next, I reached for the wallet. This turned out to be of more interest. It contained several letters and reports that I determined to study at a later date. The only other thing of interest I found...
I smiled.
'Here.' Reaching into the wallet, I pulled out a thick bundle of notes and handed it to Mr Rikkard Ambrose. 'Consider it another early wedding present.'
The notes disappeared into Mr Ambrose's pocket faster than I could blink. Then he reached out to gently touch my face. 'You truly know the way to my heart.'
I grinned. 'I'd better. I had to look for nearly two bloody years.'
Leaning forward, his eyes closed, he gently touched his lips to mine. His grip on me tightened.
'I appreciate your persistence, Miss Linton.'
Never mind my feminist principles of independence. I glowed. I simply glowed, and basked in his look for a long, long moment. A moment that was abruptly cut short when Karim drove over a pothole and catapulted me against the luggage rack.
'Ouch! Watch where you're going, you sabre-swinging oaf!'
My friendly encouragement was swiftly returned in Punjabi. Mine and Karim's friendship really was developing admirably.
'So...' Rubbing my aching head, I sank down onto the seat and peeked out of the window. 'How far is it to this place of Dalgliesh's?'
'At the current travelling speed, thirty-seven minutes and fourteen seconds.'
'Hm.' I stroked my chin, wishing I had a mustache to curl for the occasion, like any decent evil mastermind. 'Just enough time for us to think of a plan. What shall we do once we arrive?'
He cocked his head. 'Care to explain?'
'Well, I suppose you don't just intend to march up to Dalgliesh's door and demand of his butler to be let in, do you?'
'I might send Karim to do it. I don't know a butler in England who would have the courage to refuse.'
'Let's call that Plan B, shall we?'
Twirling my imaginary goatee, I considered the matter. Mr Rikkard Ambrose might be a tenacious fighter and financial genius, but when it came to being sneaky, he was not the most proficient expert one could hope for. I, on the other hand...
I smiled.
What did I have to work with?
Again, I considered the objects at my disposal. Watch. Handkerchief with a bloodstain on it. An empty walletâ
I paused.
A handkerchief with a bloodstain.
My smile widened.
'I think I know what we have to do.'
'Indeed.'
'Get that superior scepticism out of your voice, you chauvinistic son of a bachelor! Women can have smart ideas, you know.'
'Indeed?'
'Don't you remember my brilliant advertising strategies?' I patted his shoulder, giving him a broad grin. 'This plan is just as ingenious. Trust me.'
----------------------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Question: would you trust Lilly right now? Would you? ;-)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob