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The Mohammedan met my eyes for a long moment. Then, without a word, he nodded and left the room.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered into the empty air as I sank onto the bed beside Mr Ambrose.
I don’t know how many of you have ever lain beside the man you love while he was unconscious, on the brink of death. The advantage with Mr Ambrose was that, as long as I closed my eyes and just held him tightly, I hardly noticed the difference to the waking version. Well… maybe that wasn’t entirely true. He probably was a little less chatty while he was awake.
Still, lying there, not knowing whether he would ever wake up again…
‘Please.’ Grasping his hand and lifting it to my lips, I pressed a light kiss on its back. ‘Please wake up.’
Silence.
Just in case, I peeked up to check if his eyes were open. With him, you never knew. But they were still firmly closed.
And even if he woke up, what then? It didn’t mean he was out of danger. I had heard plenty of horror stories of people returning with a wound from the colonies, or from a simple hunting accident, and dying a miserable death weeks later when it started to fester.
Don’t worry. Mr Ambrose would never waste that much time. If he kicks the bucket, it’ll be quick.
‘Shut up!’ I told my inner voice and hugged him to me even more tightly.
‘You’re not allowed to leave me, understood? I forbid you!’
Silence.
Bloody stubborn son of a bachelor!
Slipping under the quilt, I snuggled up to him. I lay there as time slowly drifted by
, unable to close my eyes for even a moment. Outside of the opera house, the first glimmer of dawn began to appear at the horizon. Paris awoke as the sun began to rise over the city. The noise of people and wagons starting to move through the streets drifted in through the thin glass panes. Church bells rang out, telling everyone who hadn’t caught on yet that it was time to get up.
Still, Mr Ambrose did not wake.
Don’t panic, Lilly. Don’t you dare lose your head! He’ll wake up in just a minute and start ordering you around. He has to!
But what if he didn’t?
I’ll have lost him. And I would have never really had him in the first place.
Why hadn’t I grabbed fate by the balls? After all our adventures together, after knowing how I felt deep down for so long, why hadn’t I just told him how I felt ages ago? We could have been…
The images flitting past my inner eye made me want to cry.
Yes, and of course that would accomplish so much. Pull yourself together, Lillian Linton! It’s no use crying over spilled milk.
True.
But making sure I wouldn’t spill any in the future? That was an entirely different matter.
Raising my chin, I gazed up at Mr Ambrose’s stony face, memorizing its every edge and line. From now on, there would be no more hesitation. If I got him back, I wouldn’t hide, wouldn’t hold back anything. I was his, and he was mine, basta. The time for sneaking around behind other people’s backs was over. I was going to stand up for him, stand up for us, and anyone who objected could go bugger themselves with a banana!
Which might actually be an interesting sight.
I’m going to marry this man. I’m going to give him all my heart. And then I’m going to browbeat him into funding a campaign for women’s suffrage.
Smiling, I stroked a finger down his cheek.
But maybe I’ll only tell him about that last part after we were married.
His eyelids fluttered.
