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‘I hate you!’
And I love you, too!
‘Indeed.’
‘Go to hell!’
And before he could say ‘indeed’ again and give me reason to strangle him, I stormed out of the room.
*~*~**~*~*
The days that followed were definitely not the happiest of my life. The tension crackling between Mr Ambrose and me was nearly unbearable. Every time I looked at him, I couldn’t help thinking about Captain Carter hacking through the South American jungle. Mr Ambrose might have sent him to his death!
And, whispered a treacherous little voice in a hidden corner of my heart, he did it for you.
And then I felt warm inside.
Warm!
That damnable son of a bachelor actually managed to make me feel good about having sent someone into deadly danger because of me! If that wasn’t a sign that he was dangerous for my sanity, I didn’t know what else it could be.
I avoided him as much as possible. When we did have to enter the same room, I avoided his eyes, his voice, his touch and any other part of him I could evade. It didn’t go unnoticed. The hyenas sent smug smiles my way, and Lady Samantha and Adaira exchanged anxious glances. I couldn’t bring myself to care about either.
It got progressively worse as Christmas drew nearer. With everybody coming together to put up more decorations, practice carols, and generally be merry to a mind-numbingly maddening degree, I seemed hardly able to look at Mr Ambrose anymore. The season of love and good cheer? Ha! Not where we were concerned.
More than once, Lady Samantha threw me questioning glances, as if burning to ask what was wrong, but not daring to. Then, slowly, her intent looks changed to sad ones. Even she thought things between Mr Ambrose and me were heading downhill fast - and I couldn’t blame her. In my despera
tion, I switched from female to male costume. Miss Linton had several bad migraines during those days, and Mr Victor Linton sat in her place, blessedly unmolested by the sad looks of the lady of the house and the scathing stares of her guests.
Only…he didn’t look at me either. He was silent and cold as the grave.
At least there was one positive aspect to the whole disastrous situation: things couldn’t possibly get worse.
‘Pardon, Your Ladyship?’
It was a few days later. The whole company was sitting at lunch, discussing such marvellously interesting subjects as whether to put a star or a golden-winged angel on top of the Christmas tree, when the butler entered and alerted everyone to his presence with those words.
Lady Samantha cocked her head. ‘Yes, Hastings?’
‘A coach is approaching, Your Ladyship?’
‘Now?’ Lady Samantha’s eyebrows rose. ‘So late?’
‘Are we expecting any more guests?’ Adaira asked with a little frown.
‘No. No, I’m quite sure of it.’
The butler cleared his throat in that dry, delicate manner that only butlers know to perfection. ‘Begging your pardon, My Lady, but it appears that the approaching carriage bears the coat of arms of the Howard family.’
‘The Howards?’ A broad smile spread over Lady Samantha’s face. ‘They said they couldn’t come because Sir Howard was sick. But maybe he has recuperated enough to join our festivities.’
‘Let’s welcome them.’ A jolly gentleman in pinstriped trousers and a too-tight tailcoat rose to his feet with a smile, holding the door open for Lady Samantha and her daughter. ‘Shall we?’
‘Oh yes.’ Getting up, Lady Samantha stepped outside, and the rest of the company followed, eagerly chattering about the newcomers, with two glaring exceptions. The first was me, and the second…
Well, you can probably guess.
I trudged after the rest of them, not really interested in any Lady Holland or Howler or whatever her name was, but too indifferent to my meal to want to continue. Hastings hurried ahead and opened the front door as the ladies and gentlemen stepped into the entrance hall. Cold air rushed into the house, and through the open doorway, I saw a beautiful coach approach in the late afternoon light, drawn by a team of fine white horses.
