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Poor dears! Life was frustrating sometimes, wasn’t it?
Lady Samantha was a little more problematic. Apparently, the grandmotherly old lady had decided to take Miss Lillian Linton under her wing. And when she couldn’t find her for hours on end, she became nearly hysterical. I - that is, the male I - had to stop her several times from sending Captain Carter off to his regiment, to gather a search party and turn the whole county upside down.
As for the good captain himself - he didn’t make any more overt attempts to capture my attention, like the riding lesson. It made me hope, for just a moment, that he’d given up. But then I would walk past him in my lady clothes, and his eyes would follow me intently, and I realised I’d been wrong.
He hadn’t given up. And, for the first time in my life, I found myself wondering how to let down a man gently. Up until now, I had been more interested in ramming them head-first into the ground. How did one do it? Was it possible?
Note to self: think about this in greater detail when you aren’t having this much fun.
I was on another morning ride with Mr Ambrose when it happened. We had just passed a little hunting cottage that looked charming with its roof and chimney all covered in sparkling snow, and were about to turn back, when Mr Ambrose pulled on the reins and brought his stallion to an abrupt halt.
‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Do you-’
His hand shot up, silencing me in one single, swift motion. And then I heard it: soft thuds in the distance. Hoof beats. Hoof beats that were approaching fast.
‘What’s the trouble?’ I whispered. ‘It’s probably just one of the other guests.’
A minute shake of the head. ‘No. None of the others were out when we left. We rode hard, and in a straight line. No one could have overtaken us. Whoever it is, it’s a stranger.’
In a flash, his hand darted into his tailcoat. When it came out again, it was holding a gleaming gun, cocked and ready for action. With enviable ease, he turned around his horse one-handed and, cantering off the path, hid behind a clump of trees. Following, I hissed: ‘Don’t you think you’re being a little over-cautious? We’re on your own family’s land. Why wouldn’t you be safe with your family?’
‘As Brutus said to Caesar on the Ides of March.’
I stared at the back of Mr Ambrose’s head. Brutus stabbed Caesar to death. He couldn’t honestly mean that…No, that wasn’t…
Was it?
Good Lord, what had happened between him and his father? What could possibly cut any family in half like this?
The question was driven from my mind a moment later when the hoof beats came around a bend, and a figure appeared in front of us that more than justified Mr Ambrose’s precaution. I gasped.
The man was a wreck. His clothes might have been good quality once, but that was before a factory chimney had vomited all over them. That’s what it looked like, anyway. He was covered from head to toe in soot. Several places were charred and bloody - and not from a fall or other accidents. I’d been with Mr Ambrose long enough to recognise the signs of punches and knife cuts. A slash went down all the way over the left side of his face to his chin, narrowly missing his eye.
In his left hand, the man clutched a rifle.
Maybe - just maybe - Mr Ambrose hadn’t been overreacting after all. I supposed we were about to find out.
‘Stay here,’ Mr Ambrose commanded in an icy whisper. Raising his revolver, he took a firm grip on the reins.
‘Gee-up!’
In a swirl of white, he darted out onto the forest path, gun already aimed and ready to fire. The stranger’s horse shied and nearly hurled him to the ground. With a yelp, he grabbed onto his horse’s neck, desperately holding on. The rifle in his hand came up.
‘Drop that. Now.’
There was no room for debate in Mr Ambrose’s icy voice - and no room for doubt about what would happen if he wasn’t obeyed. The man’s hand froze, rifle half-raised.
‘I don’t like to repeat myself. Drop. Now.’
The rifle clattered to the ground.
His revolver aimed directly at the man’s heart, Mr Ambrose slowly directed his horse forward, until he was only a few yards away from the stranger. ‘Who are you, and what is your business here?’
The stranger licked his dry, dirt-encrusted lips. Wild eyes flickered from Mr Ambrose to me, and back to Mr Ambrose.
‘I’m looking for someone.’
‘Indeed?’ Mr Ambrose cocked his head. ‘And who might that be?’
