‘She did - just like she taught me that a gentleman has no business being alone in a lady’s room. Leave.’
‘Miss Linton and I-’
‘-can speak later. Miss Linton is recovering from injuries. Leave. Now.’
Captain Carter opened his mouth to protest again - and closed it. What could he do? This house belonged to Mr Ambrose. In fact, the captain would probably have to walk for a good, long while to reach a portion of the city that didn’t belong to Mr Ambrose. His gaze bored into my employer, then slowly moved from Mr Ambrose to me, and back to Mr Ambrose. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally.
‘Very well.’ Rising to his feet, he marched to the door. He very nearly shoved Mr Ambrose as he strode past. Nearly, but not quite. Just as he reached the door, he turned and looked back straight at me. ‘I shall return. Very, very soon.’
And he was gone.
Silence reigned.
Earth-shattering, ice-cold, terror-inducing silence.
Silence that promised death and destruction.
‘Well, well.’ Turning towards Mr Ambrose, I gifted him with one of my best fake smiles. ‘Nice weather today, isn’t it?’
‘Which part? The snow storm or the thick fog?’
‘Well…’
Taking a step into the room, Mr Ambrose let the door slide shut behind him. Never in the history of carpentry had anyone been able to make the soft click of a door sound so terrifyingly threatening.
‘What,’ my dear employer enquired in a tone that tickled my spine with icy fingers, ‘was he doing here?’
I waved dismissively, then stopped when the motion hurt like hell. ‘Oh, just the usual. Stopping by, asking how I’m doing…’
…proposing marriage…
For some reason I didn’t mention that last point to Mr Ambrose, though.
He gave me a long, hard look. One of those looks that could make accountants quake in their boots and confess embezzlement on the spot. I was preparing for an inquisition including thumbscrews and Chinese water torture - after all, why not? I was prone and helpless. But it didn’t come. Instead, he gave a curt nod.
‘I see.’
I blinked. ‘You… you do?’
‘Oh yes, Mr Linton.’ His cold, sea-coloured gaze bored into me, making me shiver. ‘I see everything.’
*~*~**~*~*
The days passed slowly and torturously. As I lay there, waiting for my ribs to stop poking me with red hot irons, I reflected that this probably was what marriage to an eligible bachelor would be like: nothing to do all day but be idle until you were bored out of your skull.
So I was determined to approach my injuries with the same brilliant strategy with which I had always approached the prospect of marriage: ignore it and hope it goes away.
‘Ah! Ouch! Argh!’
‘Um…Miss? I’m not entirely sure you should up on your feet. Your poor ribs-’
‘Blast, blast, blast! Ow! Ouch! Bloody hell!’
‘Miss, please! Mr Ambrose said you weren’t to overexert yourself.’
‘Really? He said that?’
Nellie, the maid Mr Ambrose had assigned to me as my personal whipping boy and dogsbody during our stay at this lovely house, blushed. ‘Well… he said “Get her up on her feet by the day after tomorrow, or you’ll be out of a job.” But I’m sure he meant for you to not overexert yourself.’