Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

Something touched my hand, and my thoughts fizzled out like a wet fuse. My eyes darted down, and with horror I watched Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s hand closing over mine.

He was holding my hand.

He was holding my hand.

He was holding my hand.

And what was worse, I didn’t even try to slap him for it! I didn’t even want to, because it felt…good.

My mind flashed back to that day in the Chapel Royal. He had held my hand while the minister pronounced the wedding vows.

Not yours! I thought, fiercely. They weren’t your wedding vows!

No. Not yet.

It took me a few moments, but then I realised: hang on, what had that traitorous mind of mine just thought? Not yet? As if…as if this might lie in my future?

My ears started to burn. I felt sure that if Mr Ambrose looked my way, he would be able to read every single little stupid thought on my stupid face. But he didn’t look my way. He just stared straight ahead, and I, too, stared straight ahead. But our hands didn’t part.

*~*~**~*~*

I suppose you’d think there was a big fuss when I suddenly returned home after a few months of mysterious absence, and I suppose, in a way, there was. If she could have, my aunt would have had me up in front of a hanging judge for disappearing just when she had found a nobleman to marry me off to. Since not marrying rich people was fortunately not a hanging offence, she instead dragged me into my uncle’s study, so he could visit his worst punishments on me.

And what did my uncle do?

Well, our conversation went something like this:

Uncle Bufford (raising his eyebrows threateningly): ‘Where have you been, girl?’

Me (smiling innocently): ‘Busy.’

Uncle Bufford: ‘Busy? What is that supposed to mean?’

Me: ‘It means I earned some money.’

Uncle Bufford: ‘Earned money? How?’

Me: ‘If I give you ten per cent of it, will you not ask that again and forget about this whole business?’

Uncle Bufford: ‘You think you can bribe me, girl?’

Me: ‘All right, fifteen per cent.’

Uncle Bufford: ‘Twenty-five, at least!’

Me: ‘Twenty, and that’s my last offer.’

Uncle Bufford: ‘Done.’

Me: ‘Let’s shake on it.’ (shaking hands)

Uncle Bufford: ‘Where did you learn to negotiate like that?’

Me: ‘I’m learning from the best, trust me.’

Uncle Bufford: ‘Good girl! And now get out of here, I have work to do.’

You know what? I really love my uncle.