Silence Breaking (Storm and Silence Saga Book 4)

by Robert Thier

  ‘You…you’re shooting?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes. Would you like to try?’

  If possible, her eyes grew even wider.

  ‘You would let me try?’

  I stared back at her, taken aback - then I remembered that to her, I was Mr Victor Linton, a man, part of the chauvinistic machinery that prohibited young ladies like her from doing almost anything. Anything interesting, anyway. Time for a little progressive manliness.

  ‘Certainly, why not?’ Putting the safety on the gun, I held it out to her, grip first. She approached it as if it were a snake that could strike out at any moment.

  ‘I…I don’t know whether I should…Father would never allow…’

  ‘Your father is currently cooped up in his study, refusing to come down to breakfast because he’s too stubborn to welcome home a son who has returned after over a decade abroad. Does that sound like someone you should be taking advice from?’

  ‘Well…if you put it like that…’

  Licking her lips, she tentatively reached out, let her fingers slip around the handle - then suddenly flinched back again. I worked hard not to laugh.

  ‘Go on, take it. It won’t bite. Well, at least not while you’ve got the safety on.’

  ‘Safety?’

  ‘That little lever there. As long as it’s up, the gun won’t fire. Pull it down, and you’re ready to unleash your wrath upon unsuspecting passers-by.’

  Adaira gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Mr Linton…You’re unlike any man I’ve ever met!’

  ‘You have no idea how right you are about that, My Lady.’ Stepping behind her, I took hold of her arms. ‘Now, first the stance. Face the target squarely, legs apart…’

  ‘Mr Linton!’

  The voice was like a knife of ice, cutting through the air with the threat of violence. Jumping back, I whirled around, and came face to face with Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He was striding across the snowy yard, his face set into an immovable mask, a storm of cold fury roiling in his eyes.

  ‘What,’ he whispered in a way that made me shiver even through five layers of clothes, ‘do you think you’re doing?’

  Adaira stepped forward. ‘It was my fault. I just wanted to learn-’

  ‘Silence.’

  The word wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even angry. But it shut Adaira up quicker than a gag in the mouth. Her eyes, though… her eyes screamed murder and rebellion.

  Mr Ambrose met her gaze head-on. ‘Go to your room.’

  ‘You can’t - !’

  ‘Go. To. Your. Room. Now.’

  The last word was like a whiplash. And once more, I witnessed the miracle of Mr Ambrose’s ice cold voice, a voice that could strike terror into the hearts of kings, scatter armies, and make a little sister obey her big brother. Fuming, Adaira turned and marched off towards the house.

  Which left only one target for Mr Ambrose’s freezing gaze: me.

  ‘What,’ he whispered, his voice even lower and more dangerous than before, ‘was that?’

  I shrugged, desperately flicking through any ways I might know to disappear into thin air. None came to mind.

  ‘Err…well…’

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘She, um…wanted to learn how to shoot. So I thought I’d teach her.’

  ‘You? Teach my little sister how to use a firearm?’

  I raised my chin defiantly. ‘Hey, I’m pretty good at it! I bet I could-’

  He moved so fast I didn’t even have time to blink. From one moment to the next, he was in front of me, grabbing the gun I still held half-raised, twisting it out of my grasp and around, until the muzzle pointed directly at me.

  He cocked his head.

  ‘You were saying?’

  I swallowed. The safety was on. I knew that. And I told myself that over and over again. But the black hole of that muzzle, right underneath the two ice-cold orbs that were his eyes…

  He dropped the gun. It landed in the snow with a soft thud.

  ‘Listen to me.’ His voice sent a renewed shiver through me - and not one of cold, nor of fear. ‘My sister is a young lady. The only stance a young lady needs to learn is a graceful one. The only firearm a lady ever needs to touch is none at all. Especially if that young lady is my sister.’

  ‘Indeed?’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘And what would you think of a girl who flouts those rules? A girl who does what she wants, when she wants?’

  His mouth opened, preparing to condemn that girl, to fling curses at her and everything she did - and then his mouth closed again. And opened. And closed again. All that came out was silence.

  Slowly, my defiant expression melted away, and a grin spread over my face. He couldn’t. He could not condemn me. Not anymore.

  With a growl that sounded as if it were ripped from his very soul, Mr Ambrose grabbed me by the shoulders. I was lifted up off the ground, flung backwards until we were in the shadow of a colonnade. Whirling me around, he pushed me up against the closest column and his mouth came crashing down on mine, demanding, devouring, devastating.

  ‘You,’ he breathed against my mouth, ‘are the most infuriating female I have ever met in my entire life!’

  ‘Thanks so much for the compliment, Sir.’

  With another growl, he plunged his hands into my hair and pressed into me until he had stolen my breath and I didn’t even want to try and get it back.

  *~*~**~*~*

  The invitations arrived that evening. I was tempted to burn a couple with certain female names on them, but I knew the marchioness would notice and just order new ones. At least I managed, with a bit of water, to smudge the ink on several envelopes addressed to eligible ladies. With luck, they’d get lost in the post.

  ‘So!’ Breathing a sigh, Lady Samantha gazed after the servant who was riding off on a grey mare, the invitations stashed in his saddlebags. ‘It’s done! Now all we can do is wait and hope.’

  ‘Yes,’ I mumbled. ‘That the invitations get lost in the mail.’

  ‘Pardon? What did you say, Mr Linton?’

  ‘Nothing, Your Ladyship. I was just talking to myself.’

  Unfortunately, the post was not obliging enough to mislay our invitations. The replies started coming in the very next day, starting with a beautifully handwritten note from Lady Dorothea Asquith saying that yes, she would be delighted to attend the festivities, and would it be agreeable to the marchioness if she brought her three cousins as well? All three were, of course, very beautiful and agreeable young ladies.

  Lady Samantha nearly broke into a spontaneous dance at the reply. And that was only the beginning. Acceptance letters and notes flooded in from all sides, showering the marchioness with thanks and expressing their eager interest in seeing her son, returned to his ancestral seat after so many years abroad. Among the most vocal in their thanks were the officers of the local regiment, who, in this snowy, solitary place, had about as much entertainment as a polar bear floating on an arctic ice floe, and were ravenous for some pretty girls to dance with.

  But they’re not nearly enough to keep all the girls occupied! Besides, what potbellied corporal can compare with the most powerful, heartbreakingly handsome man of the British Empire?

  None. Which was why acceptances from ladies kept pouring in.

  Finally, I’d had enough. It was time to prepare for battle. A battle not just for Mr Ambrose, but for the approval of his mother and sister. And that was a battle I couldn’t win as Mr Victor Linton. I needed to unsheathe different weapons.

  Time to give Mr Ambrose and his mother a little surprise.

  ‘Your Ladyship?’

  The Marchioness looked up from the pile of acceptance letters she was studying and beamed. ‘Yes, Mr Linton?’

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘There’s something…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I wonder whether I could ask…but no.’ Quickly, I shook my head and took a step back. ‘Forget it.’

  The marchioness lowered the pile of letters. ‘What is on your
mind?’

  ‘I…was going to ask a favour. But it’s too big a thing to ask. I couldn’t impose on you like that.’

  ‘Please, ask!’ Letting go of the letters completely, the marchioness captured my hands in hers and squeezed. ‘You, young man, have been a godsend to this family. Anything that is in my power to give you will be yours.’

  ‘Well…’ I bit my lip in fake hesitation. Dear me, I was quite the accomplished little actress. ‘I was wondering whether I could possibly invite my sister to your Christmas festivities. Mr Ambrose and I have been travelling around the world, and I haven’t seen her in a long time. Besides, she would love the chance to attend an affair like this. But I see now it’s too much. Forget I ever mentioned it.’

  ‘Nonsense! I shall do nothing of the kind.’ A broad, motherly smile spread over Lady Samantha’s wrinkled face. ‘Your sister shall be as welcome here as you are! But…’ A frown marred her brow. ‘Won’t it be too late for her to attend? The festivities will start soon, and if she has to travel here all the way up from London-’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ I answered her smile with one of my own. ‘She’ll be here. I have a feeling she’s already quite close.’

  Selfsame Siblings

  Ding-dong…

  The elderly tailor looked up from his books with a distracted little smile and nodded at me. ‘Welcome, Sir.’

  ‘Hello.’ I smiled back. ‘Are you the proprietor of this lovely little shop?’

  ‘Yes. Are you a customer?’ He chuckled. ‘Sorry for asking, but at this time of year, practically no one comes by here. I might get an occasional order for winter gloves from Battlewood Hall, but new faces are rare.’

  ‘I’m a guest at Battlewood. Linton is the name.’

  ‘Ah, that explains it.’ He gave a little arthritic bow. ‘Welcome to my humble shop, Mr Linton. Is there anything I might show you? Tailcoats? Top hats with a warm lining for the winter weather?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’d like to take a look at your dresses.’

  The little man blinked. ‘Err…dresses? For women?’

  ‘I’ve yet to see ones for orang-utans. Oh, and I would also like to see your selection of bonnets, ribbons and parasols, if you have them.’

  ‘Um…well, yes, of course, Sir. May I enquire what the measurements of the lady in question are?’

  I smiled brightly at him. ‘Mine.’

  If the little man had been off-kilter before, this really did him in. ‘Yours, um…Sir?’

  ‘Oh yes. Hurry up a little and bring out what you have, will you? I’d like to be back at Battlewood in time for breakfast.’

  Mumbling to himself, he hurried off into the back room, and not long after was back with several dresses slung over one arm and a selection of bonnets, ribbons and parasols in the other.

  ‘I must commend you,’ I said, smiling as I studied a magnificent red silk dress. ‘For such a small shop out in the country, you are amazingly well stocked. Just look at the detail in the hem! I’ve never worn a finer dress in my life!’

  ‘Err…worn, Sir?’

  Instead of answering, I gifted him with another bright smile. ‘Where is the changing room, please?’

  With a trembling hand, the little man pointed to a curtained-off area at the back of the room.

  ‘Thank you.’

  I disappeared.

  Twing.

  Twong.

  ‘Crap! Bloody corset!’

  Twang!

  ‘Crap, crap, crap! Fit already!’

  A few moments and curses later, I pulled aside the curtain and beamed at the little tailor, who was supporting himself by holding on to the corner of his counter.

  ‘And? How do I look?’

  ‘Um…magnificent, err…Sir?’

  I took a long, critical look at myself in the full-length mirror on the wall. ‘Hm…I agree, not bad. Red is a nice colour on me. But there’s a certain something missing.’

  I disappeared back behind the curtain.

  Snap!

  Twong!

  ‘Bloody stinking Hell!

  Twang!

  ‘Blast, blast, blast!’

  Once more, I reappeared.

  ‘And? What do you say?’

  ‘Grgsfgl.’

  Since that was not very constructive criticism, I stepped in front of the mirror again to give myself a once-over - and a broad smile broke over my face. The dark green-blue dress was magnificent. Every inch of the shimmering fabric seemed to hover just between the deep blue of a still pool and the green of the deep forest, making me look like some wild goddess, freshly returned from the hunt. Or, better yet, about to embark on one.

  ‘Perfect! I’ll take it, the red one, and those accessories there. How much?’

  ‘Nnnfgdl.’

  ‘How much is that in pounds sterling?’

  ‘Um…err…three pounds two shillings, please, Si- um…Mada…’

  I placed the money on the counter. ‘Here you go. Thank you, Sir. You’ve been a great help.’

  Whistling, I stepped outside, my purchases partly under my arm, partly fitting very comfortably on my body. The air was still cold outside, but it had stopped snowing, and the wind had calmed down to a breeze. So I set out towards Battlewood the same way I had come: on my own two feet.

  I reached the hall just in time for breakfast. My first instinct was to enter the main house and direct my steps to the little pink breakfast room, where the four of us usually consumed the first meal of the day. But then I saw movements through the glass panes of one of the winter gardens and stopped, squinting through the foliage.

  Yes, there they were! Adaira, Lady Samantha and Mr Ambrose sitting around a small table amidst the greenery, chatting amiably over their breakfast. Or at least the two women were chatting amiably, while Mr Ambrose was sitting in silence morosely. Well…time to liven things up a bit.

  Quickly and silently, I crossed the distance to the winter garden’s outside door. With cautious fingers, I gripped the doorknob, twisted and pushed. The door swung open without a noise.

  ‘…first guests are going to start arriving soon. I’ve already received letters from many of our old friends and neighbours - and from ladies, oh, such charming young ladies - saying they’d all be delighted to come. Isn’t that wonderful?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And the Pearsons say their daughter is now ready for her coming out, and they asked whether she might have her debut at our ball. Little Philomela has grown into quite a charming young lady, apparently.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  I give everyone three guesses which part of this conversation was Mr Ambrose and which his mother. Smirking at the suffering non-expression on my employer’s face, I slowly crept closer in the shadow of the plants. He thought this was bad? He had no idea. Things were going to get a whole lot more interesting.

  ‘And the Garringtons are coming, too,’ Lady Samantha started a last attempt. ‘They have such a lovely young daughter, and-’

  ‘Hello there.’ Stepping out from behind the bushes, I did my best imitation of a curtsey. ‘Good morning everyone.’

  ‘Mr Linton.’ Mr Ambrose started to turn around. ‘Where have you b-’

  The remainder of the sentence got lost in a sort of gurgling noise. Lady Samantha and Lady Adaira turned, too, and when they caught sight of me their eyes went wide.

  ‘May I?’ Not waiting for a response, I pulled out a chair and settled myself down next to Mr Ambrose. He made another indistinct noise. ‘What a lovely winter garden you have here. It’s so nice to meet you all - well, except for Mr Ambrose, of course. The two of us are already quite well acquainted.’

  ‘You are?’ Lady Samantha’s eyes lit up at the prospect of her son actually knowing a female that wasn’t related to him, dead, or cleaning his room wearing a chambermaid’s uniform. Reaching over, she gave Mr Ambrose’s hand a decisive squeeze. ‘Then why don’t you introduce us to this lovely young lady, dear? Although-’ her eyes wandered over my face, and warmth lit h
er eyes. ‘-to judge by her familiar features, I can already guess who she might be.’

  I could nearly hear the sound of Mr Ambrose’s teeth grinding.

  ‘This,’ he somehow managed to get out, ‘Is Miss Lillian Linton, Mr Linton’s-’

  ‘ - sister,’ I finished and piled mushrooms on top of my toast. ‘Twin sister, actually.’

  ‘I thought as much!’ Both women’s eyes were on me, wonderingly. ‘The two of you really have the most amazing resemblance.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been told so.’

  ‘How did you get here so quickly? Your brother only asked me to invite you yesterday.’

  ‘He did, did he?’ Mr Ambrose’s cold gaze speared me. I ignored it and took a bite of toast. ‘I wonder why Mr Linton neglected to mention this to me.’

  I smiled at him. ‘How would I know? You’d better ask him.’

  ‘Oh, rest assured, I’ll do that.’

  ‘Miss Linton?’ The marchioness’s eyes were gleaming with curiosity. They were flicking between Mr Ambrose and me, betraying intrigue at our little exchange. ‘Well? How did you get here so quickly?’

  I winked. ‘I have my ways. Besides…I don’t approve of tardiness.’

  She clapped her hands. ‘Neither does my son! How wonderful! The two of you already have things in common.’

  Under the table, Mr Ambrose gave me a kick, and I kicked back, promptly. Ah, the sweet exchanges of romance…

  ‘Why, pray,’ he demanded of his mother, ‘is that wonderful?’

  ‘Oh, well, you know.’ The marchioness cleared her throat. ‘It’s nice to have a friendly and happy atmosphere at breakfast. That’s all.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She cleared her throat again and, quickly evading her son’s gaze, extended her hand across the table for me to shake. ‘Well, anyway, welcome to Battlewood Hall, Miss Linton. I’m sorry my husband is not down here to greet you but he is…indisposed. I hope we can make your stay an enjoyable one.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure of it,’ I said, smiling at her and giving Mr Ambrose another kick under the table, just for the fun of it.