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Or at least most of them.
‘Come in.’
*~*~**~*~*
I had to admit, breakfast in bed was a treat. But as for the rest of the day…
Did it go any better than the last one? Did it lead to a big, happy family reunion?
Well, not exactly.
Imagine the biblical story of the prodigal son: the son, who has broken with his father and foolishly ventured out into the world, returns, and the father prepares to hear his son’s desperate pleas for help - only to discover that his son has come back with a buttload of cash, is now richer and more important than his father ever was, and knows it, too.
This, apparently, was a rough description of the problem that existed between Mr Ambrose and his father. The marquess was waiting for his son to ask for forgiveness, and Mr Ambrose - well, he wasn’t in the habit of asking for anything. If anyone wanted him, they had better come to him, or get stuffed.
So the marquess remained up there in his study, waiting for his son to come up, and Mr Ambrose remained in the guest chamber, waiting for his father to come down. Whenever I thought about it, I had to fight to keep a straight face. Especially in the company of the marchioness, who was clearly upset by this unexpected development.
Luckily, there was more than enough going on to distract her: preparations for the ball were turning the entire household upside down. All rooms were cleaned and aired, the windows polished, the winter garden filled with new plants brought especially from the South, and, and, and. I thought it was all a bit much for just one ball, and mentioned this to the marchioness - who blushed a deep, guilty pink.
‘Marchioness?’
‘Well, Mr Linton…’ She cleared her throat. ‘I might not have been entirely honest when I said we were holding a ball.’
I raised an eyebrow. She blushed even deeper.
‘Promise me this won’t go any further? Promise me you won’t tell anyone?’
‘Trust me,’ I told her, my voice deadpan. ‘I’m very good at keeping secrets.’
She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘All right. I’ll tell you. Maybe it will be a relief, letting someone else in on my plans. But please don’t tell anyone - especially not my son!’
My, my, this was getting interesting. ‘I promise. Go on.’
‘Well…what I am planning…it might be slightly more than just a ball.’
‘Indeed?’
‘In fact…maybe a lot more than that.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘There’ll be extended festivities stretching over several days, with hunting and dancing and picnics in the winter garden. I’m going to invite all the family’s old friends and neighbours, and the officers of an army regiment quartered nearby for the winter, and, um…’
‘Yes?’
‘…and all the eligible young ladies of the county.’
My eyes went wide. ‘You mean…’
‘Yes.’
‘Dear me! There really is going to be hunting, isn’t there? It’ll be open season!’
Lady Samantha’s cheeks turned pink. Her eyes shone with moisture. ‘My son has been alone for so long, Mr Linton. Too long.’
Fire rose inside me.
He’s not alone! He has me!
