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Could a man who delivered such a passionate declaration of love just go behind my back?
Yes, he could, blast him!
But maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t. And if he betrayed me, if he ignored my feelings and tried to entrap me against my will, I’d cut off his bollocks and dye his precious tailcoat orange!
‘Shall we go?’ Mr Ambrose extended his arm to me, and I took it like a perfect lady.
‘Yes, we shall.’
Accompanied by sobbing (from Lady Samantha) mad waving (from Adaira) and lots of bows and curtsies (from the servants), we climbed into our coach. I immediately stuck my head out of the window and started waving, and when Mr Ambrose just sat stiffly in his seat, I grabbed his hand, stuck it out of the window and waved it for him.
‘Miss Linton!’
‘Oh, don’t be a stick-in-the-mud! Wave goodbye to your sister and mother!’
‘They are perfectly well aware that we are leaving. We do not need to indicate the matter via hand signals.’
‘Sir?’
‘Yes, Miss Linton?’
‘Shut up and wave.’
Up on the box, Karim cracked his whip, and the carriage took off, rolling down the driveway. As soon
as we reached the road, Karim gave Mr Ambrose’s mean old coach horses free rein, and we raced along the highway, slush and dirt spraying up around us.
As we travelled south, the weather became warmer and the remnants of snow began to disappear. The warmer climate, however, did not appear to have an impact on Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He sat in a corner, brooding silently over some papers from his briefcase. Not that this was unusual behaviour for him, but still…it felt different. He didn’t order me around, or utter threats against the Royal tax collectors, or any of the other things he normally did. I got a feeling that he was waiting for something.
But what?
I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
‘Why are we slowing down?’
I had been gazing out of the window at the passing trees - when, suddenly, they ceased to pass. The coach rolled to a halt and an earth-shattering thud came from outside, the kind of noise only caused by a mountain collapsing, or by Karim jumping off the box.
‘Karim?’ Mr Ambrose demanded, putting his papers aside. ‘What is the matter? Why have we stopped?’
‘There’s a rider approaching, Sahib. He’s hailing us.’
Mr Ambrose’s hand slipped into his tailcoat, to the bulge I very much suspected was his revolver. ‘Does he look hostile?’
‘No, Sahib, I don’t think so. He…he seems familiar. I’m not sure, but-’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Kenward, Sahib! It’s Kenward!’
‘Who is Kenward?’ Leaning forward, I tried to peek out of the window, but to judge by the approaching hoof beats, I was on the wrong side of the coach.
‘One of my agents, Miss Linton. I usually send him to businesses who have not been performing as they should. He’s a quick rider. If he’s here…’
Not bothering to finish the ominous sentence, Mr Ambrose pushed open the door and jumped out of the carriage. Quickly, I gathered up my skirts and, cursing the fact that I wasn’t wearing trousers, I followed him outside, where I took up a position beside him. Standing straight, my hand close to my gun, just in case, I fixed my eyes on the rapidly approaching rider.
The man reined in his mount a few yards away and leapt down. His face was drawn as if he hadn’t slept for days, and his knees were shaking from exhaustion. The horse didn’t seem to be in much better shape.
‘Thank God I spotted your coach, Sir,’ the man panted. ‘I thought you were still at Battlewood! I would have ridden straight there if-’
