Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

‘Tell me why you think of the Queen of England as a fish?’ I whispered to Mr Ambrose.

‘Later, Miss Linton.’

‘But-’

‘Later!’

I gave up my protests. To be honest, I was too caught up in watching the couple. Music had started playing in the background, and Victoria was walking towards the altar, suddenly seeming much taller and more royal than before. When the bride and bridegroom stood beside each other, a light appeared to shine out of their eyes that was brighter than the sun. No great achievement on a rainy day like this, but still…the looks on their faces stirred something deep within me.

I glanced over at Mr Ambrose. He was standing stock-still, not looking at me. The moment the couple turned towards the altar, away from him, the bright smile bled from his face, leaving only cold stone in its place.

For some reason, it made me happy.

The priest cleared his throat.

‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face-’

At the word, my eyes were inexplicably drawn back to Mr Ambrose’s face. Why? Why did I, now of all times, feel an irresistible urge to drink in the sight of him? Yes, he was the most breathtakingly handsome man imaginable. Yes, he looked a thousand times more like a king than poor Prince Albert ever would. But he was a chauvinist miser, a tyrannical, ruthless opportunist. Exactly the kind of man I most despised!

Or at least I should most despise.

With great effort, I tore my eyes away from his face.

‘…of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.’

They jumped right back, unable to look away. Blast them! A girl should be able to rely on her own visual organs to do what she wants, shouldn’t she?

Suddenly, looking at him standing beside me, I realized something: he had shifted. Only slightly, very slightly. But as finely attuned as I was to detecting minimal changes in his stony features, it took me only moments to spot that his right hand had made an almost imperceptible movement - towards me!

Ha! You’re probably just imagining it. Or maybe he just shifted a bit. So what? People shift all the time when they have to stand around..

People, yes. But Mr Ambrose? Mr Rikkard I’m-made-of-granite-harder-than-your-chisel Ambrose?

All right, maybe you didn’t imagine - There! Look, he did it again!

Yes. He had indeed. His hand had moved a fraction of an inch closer to mine. And, to my horror, I felt my own hand starting to move. What was this? After my eyes, was I now losing control over my hands, too? This was intolerable!

But my hand didn’t seem to care about my feelings. It stubbornly inched closer towards those long, elegant fingers. Fingers chiselled from cool, smooth stone.

‘…which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union…’

My hand shifted another inch closer. Damn! Why did that bloody priest have to use all those words like ‘join together’ and ‘union’?’ Couldn’t he say ‘division’ instead, damn him?

‘…that is betwixt Christ and his Church…’

Oh. Well, I suppose not. A mystical division between Christ and his church would not be convenient, from a religious point of view.

Mr Ambrose’s hand moved another fraction of an inch closer.

I glanced up at his face. It showed no emotion whatsoever.

‘…which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee; and is commended of Saint Paul to be honourable among all men: and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men's carnal lusts…’

At that very moment, both our hands twitched towards each other two whole inches. My cheeks started to burn, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t even know why our hands were doing this…this moving towards each other! Why was this happening? How was it happening? And what did it bloody mean?

I’ve got a better question, said that little voice in the back of my mind. Why are you still thinking about the phrase ‘carnal lusts’?

‘Shut up!’ I growled, too low for anybody to hear.