Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

With all my might, I squeezed a single word past the lump in my throat. ‘Y-yes.’

‘Good. Because you’re going to.’

Had he just said good? Good? Not adequate?

Taking a firmer grip on my hand, he slipped the beautiful, big golden ring onto my ring finger. It went easily. In fact…a little bit too easily. It was a little bit too big.

I blinked.

No, not just a little bit…The bloody thing was large enough for three fingers at a time! Had Mr Ambrose gotten a knock on the head during the fight that had messed up his eyesight? Why else would he pick such a humongous ring that actually didn’t look like an engagement ring, but much more like a…

I froze.

No.

No, he wouldn’t. Not even he would dare to…

Slowly, I raised my eyes high, high above to where the theatre curtain hung from the ceiling, held by a number of big, glinting, gilded rings. At the very edge of the curtain, one ring was missing.

My eyes snapped back to Mr Ambrose, sparking with fury.

‘You…you…’

‘…are the love of my life?’ he suggested.

‘You miserable excuse for a miserly son of a bachelor! I…I…’

‘Yes?’

‘…I love you, dammit!’

‘How gratifying.’

‘But don’t ask me why!’

‘I was not planning to.’ Rising to his feet, he dusted off his tailcoat and offered me a hand. ‘Shall, we, Mrs Ambrose?’

Unable to keep the smile from my face, I slipped the ring over three of my fingers and took his hand. So what if it was crazy? It was us. The rest of the world could go bugger themselves!

‘We shall.’

Our little scene was interrupted by slow claps. Startled, I glanced around, just in time to see Claudette ascending from the orchestra pit.

‘Perfait! What a spectacle. It’s a pity sat I cannot turn your story into an opera. Se audience would flee se city in droves and I could get a well-deserved holiday.’

Mr Ambrose gave the prima donna a cold look. ‘I thought I gave orders for everyone to vacate the great hall.’

‘Pouah!’ Claudette made a dismissive gesture. ‘In my opera house, I can do what I want.’

Mr Ambrose opened his mouth, probably to remind her of the little fact that it was actually his opera house, but I squeezed his hand, and—wonder of wonders—he closed his mouth.

‘So, ma petit, you are truly leaving?’ The prima donna regarded me with warmth in her eyes. ‘Too bad. Life is more fun wis you here. I haven’t seen so much drama offstage since I was romanced by an actor from the royal seatre.’

‘Yes. I should be getting home, back to my family. And besides…’ Letting the sentence trail off, I glanced up at Mr Ambrose.

Claudette smiled. ‘I understand.’

You do? Then please explain it to me, because I sure as hell don’t!