Silence Breaking (Storm and Silence Saga Book 4)

by Robert Thier

  ‘So, my dear Miss Linton…’ Lady Eveline glanced up from her embroidery and gave me a smile that was just as fake as her needlework. She was stitching daisies on a field of green. My corpse pierced with three dozen needles would have been a much more honest representation of her true artistic vision. ‘What excuse will you give for not attending the Christmas ball?’

  I returned her smile with one just as insincere. Years spent in the company of my aunt had made me an expert. ‘Whatever makes you think that I’m not going?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, it’s just…’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I met a few gentlemen in London who had the “honour” of dancing with you at a ball or two. Let’s just say they found the experience quite memorable. The bruises on their feet especially impressed themselves quite firmly on their recollection.’

  Blasted, blood-sucking little witch! If I ever meet you in a dark alley…!

  ‘Is that so?’ My smile widened. ‘I myself met quite a lot of gentlemen in London, but strangely enough none of them ever mentioned you. I suppose you must be easy to forget.’

  Her hand jerked and she stabbed a needle into her finger.

  Bingo! Score one for you, Lilly!

  Now, if I could only make her stab herself in the heart instead…

  ‘Tell me, Miss Linton,’ came a sugary-sweet voice from behind me. ‘How do you manage to be so plain and ordinary, and yet so self-assured? I really admire that about you. How do you do it?’

  …there would still be two dozen more just like her left.

  ‘Oh, it’s quite easy.’ With a beaming smile, I turned towards Lady Caroline. ‘I stand in front of the mirror every day and tell myself “I shall not behave like a horrible hag today.” You should try the method some time. It might do you a world of good.’

  The friendly smile bled from Lady Caroline’s face.

  ‘You don’t actually think you have a chance, do you?’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘A chance with what?’

  ‘Not what. Whom.’ Her eyes narrowed to slits. And hers weren’t the only ones. All around, gazes turned predatory. Guess who was the prey? ‘You can’t honestly think he’ll pick you!’

  He already has, you witch! In more ways than you can imagine.

  I shrugged. ‘Well, you never know. As they say in Spain ¡Vete a freír espárragos!’[19]

  Her brow furrowed. ‘What?’

  I only smiled.

  ‘Don’t fool yourself.’ That was Lady Caroline again, her voice like venom. ‘A girl like you, with no title, no money, no nothing - he won’t go near you with a ten-foot pole at that ball. Leave now, and spare yourself the humiliation of standing alone in a corner all night.’

  ‘Excellent advice. Why don’t you take it yourself?’

  Blood rushed to her cheeks. Huzzah! My comeback reflex was still working as well as ever.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t do much good. They started to encircle me, approaching slowly, their fans drawn as if they were weapons.

  ‘We are only concerned for your feelings and your reputation,’ another lady told me with a smile you could have used as a bone saw. ‘Wouldn’t it be better for you to leave this place now, before you completely embarrass yourself?’

  ‘To be honest…’ Leaning forward, I slid my hand under the coffee table that stood between us. Invisible, it shot forward under the table top, grabbed her hand and bent back her forefinger. A quick twist was all it needed.

  Her face paled.

  ‘I think I’d rather stay. I can handle anything that comes at me. Don’t you agree?’

  Sweat appeared on her forehead. She gave a jerky nod. All her friends stared at her as if her hair had suddenly turned into spaghetti.

  ‘Well, this has been fun, ladies.’ Rising to my feet, I let go, and the hyena collapsed back in her chair, staring up at me with wide eyes. ‘But I’ve got to run. Goodbye, or as they say in Spain, ¡Vete a la mierda!’

  And I walked away with my head held high. Dear me… my recently gained Spanish vocabulary was really proving useful.

  *~*~**~*~*

  My boost of confidence had disappeared by lunchtime. True, I could hold my own against the hyenas. If I wanted to, I could lie in wait for Lady Caroline, hold her at gunpoint, tie her up and take her to the nearest farmer who needed a new scarecrow. But what good would that do?

  Well, it would be tremendous fun.

  All right, it would, but apart from that what good would it do? What did she or Lady Dorothea Asquith or Lady Eveline Maria Westwood or any one of those women really matter? After all, tonight, and every night after that, there would only be one person whose decision would count. And he was not wearing a dress or pelting me with snide little remarks. In fact, he hadn’t spoken a word to me since Dalgliesh had left. And right now at the dinner table, he seemed determined to continue this policy.

  Lady Samantha - bless her optimistic soul - had seated the two of us next to each other. It felt like sitting next to an undertaker’s cold storage room - except that corpses would probably have been a lot more chatty. The arctic, ear-piercing silence radiating off of him was enough to make my bones shiver. If I needed an answer to the question whether he’d forgiven me for saying no to him - here it was.

  Once or twice I glanced up at him, trying to catch his eye. I might as well have tried to catch a Siberian tiger with my bare hands. He didn’t even seem to notice I was there.

  But I knew better.

  He noticed. He just didn’t care to do anything about it.

  Bloody hell! This can’t be happening! Is he really that angry? Is he really going to ask someone else?

  I couldn’t bear to imagine him with any of these women. Dancing, holding hands, their bodies so close…

  Swiftly, I sat down the glass I’d been holding. Another moment and I would have shattered it, so tight had my grip become.

  Control yourself, Lilly! This isn’t helping. You’re next to him. Use the time. Find out what’s going on in that stony head of his.

  ‘Well, Mr Ambrose…’ Putting on my best and most polished social smile, I turned towards him. ‘I’m so looking forward to the Christmas ball. It’s going to be so much fun.’

  Silence.

  Cold, hard, unforgiving silence.

  All right. Another approach. What about a direct question? He’d be forced to answer then.

  ‘Your mother has done a wonderful job decorating the house and making everything perfect for Christmas so far, don’t you agree?’

  A moment of silence, then…

  ‘Indeed.’

  Hooray! An answer.

  Only not one that was particularly helpful.

  ‘Do you think the ball tonight will be equally splendid?’

  He made a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a ‘yes’, a ‘no’ and a ‘go boil your head in vinegar’.

  ‘By the way, since we’re on the subject…’

  I paused with bated breath, waiting to see if he’d pick up the bait.

  He didn’t. Damn!

  ‘Since we’re on the subject, have you made any plans yet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My heart made a leap. ‘Really?’ Too eager, bloody hell! You sound too eager, Lilly! ‘What are they?’

  ‘Building a boot factory in Sunderland.’

  I blinked. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Boots, Mr Linton. Attire for feet generally made from leather.’

  ‘I know what boots are!’

  ‘Indeed? You never cease to amaze me.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about your business plans for the next quarter! I meant what are your plans for tonight?’

  Please say they involve me. Please, please, please.

  ‘Well…’ Spearing a piece of roast lamb on his fork, Mr Ambrose raised it to his lips and took a deliberate bite. I was seized by a sudden, slightly disturbing envy for roasted lambs. ‘I suppose I will have to attend that ball of my mother’s.’

  Yes, yes yes! But with whom? With whom, damn you?
/>   ‘Are you looking forward to it?’ I asked, more as a way of keeping the conversation going than as an actual question. I knew his answer would be something like ‘as much as I enjoy being stabbed repeatedly in the eye with a rusty pitchfork.’

  ‘Very much indeed, Miss Linton.’

  I nearly choked on a bite of Yorkshire Pudding. ‘W-what?’

  ‘I believe I spoke perfectly audibly, Miss Linton.’

  ‘Did I hear correctly? You are looking forward to a ball? An evening festivity that involves lots of dancing with females and no making money?’

  ‘Indeed. You cannot spend all your time making money.’

  Oh God. Was the world going mad?

  ‘Besides…there will be a lovely young lady at the ball with whom I intend to dance the first dance.’

  My heart nearly stopped.

  You had better bet talking about me, Mister, or I’ll…I’ll…

  ‘When do you intend to ask her?’ I enquired, my voice no more than a whisper.

  Nonchalantly, he sliced off another bit of roasted lamb and popped it into his mouth. ‘Oh, I already have.’

  What?

  Slowly, my boiling hot mind followed the logical steps. He had already asked someone. He had not asked me yet. Ergo: he had asked somebody else.

  Breathe, Lilly! Breathe! And above all, do not stab him through the heart with your pastry fork, no matter how tempting it may be!

  ‘You…have, have you?’

  ‘Indeed, Miss Linton.’

  Indeed! If I hear that blasted word one more time…!

  My hand tightened around the fork. Who was she? Who was the little witch who was trying to steal him away from me? I burned to ask him, burned to torture it out of him - but I couldn’t. Doing so would mean admitting that I cared, in a bone-deep, heart-wrenching, soul-torturing way. And no way in hell was I prepared to admit that.

  But I couldn’t just sit there and say nothing!

  ‘Do I know the lady?’ I asked with the admirable nonchalance of a charging rhinoceros.

  ‘Oh yes.’

  Tell me her name! Tell me her name! Tell me her name, blast you!

  Of course he didn’t.

  But he did say something else.

  ‘And I must admit, Miss Linton, I’m quite fascinated by her. I’ve known her for quite a while, but since arriving here at Battlewood she has impressed me with her charm, her fiery spirit and her intelligence.’

  Did he have a death wish?

  ‘Oh, and it’s generally thought that she is quite beautiful, too.’

  Yes, he did. A big one.

  I rammed my fork into a piece of Yorkshire Pudding, imagining that it was the head of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. I would have liked to imagine it as her head, but unfortunately, I didn’t know what she looked like. Not yet. When I found out…

  ‘Congratulations,’ I ground out between clenched teeth. ‘It sounds like you have found a very fitting lady for the first dance.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to spend a lot more time with her than just one dance.’ Taking another deliberate bite of roast lamb, Mr Ambrose gazed coolly out of the window as if I weren’t even there. His face was a hard, impassive mask of stone. ‘She’s going to play a big role in my future life - one far beyond that of dance partner.’

  My fork fell on the plate with a clatter.

  What. Did. He. Just. Say?

  First or Foremost

  I tried everything to find out who it was. Everything. Questioning. Cajoling. Blackmail. Pleading. Death threats. Beard-removal threats. Nothing worked. Not even the latter on Karim. Nobody seemed to know who this mysterious lady was who had conquered Mr Ambrose’s affections in one swoop, or if they knew, they weren’t telling me.

  The little witch certainly knew how to be sneaky! How could she do this, whoever she was, without me hearing a single word about it? Not a whisper even! I had no suspects. None of the hyenas had behaved out of the ordinary. In vain did I look for a smug smile or self-satisfied strut. Whoever she was, she knew how to keep a secret.

  Well, she would have to, Lilly, wouldn’t she? After all, she managed to steal the heart of the man you love right under your nose.

  I just couldn’t understand! How could he? Only this morning he had proposed marriage to me, for heaven’s sake! And now he was already after somebody else? Weren’t rejected romantic heroes supposed to brood and stew and pine for their one true love? But he probably considered that a waste of time. The Rikkard Ambrose new efficient romance method: one proposal per day until an accepting target is found. Ha!

  ‘Worthless, faithless, fickle son of a bloody bachelor!’ I growled, punctuating each word with a gunshot - not at him, mind you, but unfortunately only at the shooting targets in the range behind the house. Thick snow covered the targets and, with the sun setting, there was hardly enough light left to shoot properly, but right now I didn’t care. I just needed something to shoot at. Whether I actually hit the intended target was secondary.

  ‘Blasted, block-headed bastard! Feeble-headed flapdoodle! How could he? This isn’t how it’s supposed to go! He’s supposed to love me!’

  Which might have been a little easier if you’d accepted his offer of marriage, don’t you think?

  ‘Shut up!’

  Sometimes, an inner voice of reason was really, really annoying. Especially when she had a point. I could have accepted his offer of marriage, and I could have been happy. But…could I have been me?

  I didn’t think so.

  ‘Damn him! He’s supposed to understand this! He’s supposed to love me!’

  Bam! Bam!

  Two shots went off, and two holes appeared in the snow-covered target to the left of the one I’d been aiming at.

  Damn him! Now he was even affecting my aim. Was there no part of me he would leave untouched?

  A bit redundant, that question, Lilly, don’t you think? If there were any part of you untouched by him, would you be standing out here in the snow while everyone’s inside preparing for the big dance? Would you be shooting at targets you can’t even properly see? And would that little bit of moisture that you’re not prepared to call a tear be running down your cheek?

  Swiftly, I reached up, wiping the moisture from my face. Then, as if drawn by seductive magic, I turned my head to glance back at the house. Lights were starting to appear in all the windows. Music began playing. I wanted to stay out here in the cold, stay alone and safe, away from Mr Rikkard Ambrose - but I couldn’t. I couldn’t resist his pull, and I couldn’t resist seeing the girl he had chosen instead of me.

  Damn my curiosity! And double-damn my love!

  Firing a last shot, I whirled away from the targets and started towards the house. Within minutes, I had changed into my new ball gown - what a waste of money! - and collected my dance card. The gloves I had worn against the cold outside I discarded. The revolver I kept. Just in case I’d come face-to-face with her. Plus, I was not so overtaken by mindless jealousy as to forget that Lord Dalgliesh might still have spies among the staff. Safe was better than sorry.

  I glanced at myself in the mirror just once. It was bittersweet. I’d chosen the gown with hope in my heart. Now that there was only despair there, the sight hurt. But I had never been the sort to shy away from pain. Particularly not the kind for which I had only myself to blame. Straightening my spine, I stepped out of my room and started down the corridor. The sweet, discordant sound of musicians tuning their instruments drifted up the hallway towards me, and I let it lead me to my destination.

  Lady Samantha was waiting at the entrance to the ballroom, officially greeting a few lady friends. When she looked up and saw me, her eyes widened slightly. I knew why, but I resisted the temptation to hug myself and hide as much of my dress from the world as I could. I would not be ashamed of myself or my choices.

  ‘Hello, dear.’ Lady Samantha’s voice was softer even than usual. She reached out and grasped my hand. ‘I’m so glad you came. You look…beautiful.’

  Her eyes slid up
and down, taking me and my dress in once again - but she said nothing more. In that moment, I loved the little old lady.

  ‘Thank you.’ If only your opinion were the one that really mattered. I gave her a sad smile. ‘But not beautiful enough, I think.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean, my dear?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear?’ One corner of my mouth curled up in a sad little smile. ‘He picked someone else for the first dance.’

  The marchioness gave me an odd look. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say she was amused. But that couldn’t be, surely.

  ‘Um…why don’t you go in, dear? The ball will start soon, and I am quite certain that you shouldn’t miss a minute of it.’

  With that strange statement, she gave me a gentle push towards the door. Shaking my head in confusion, I entered. What had all that been about?

  The moment I stepped into the ballroom, Lady Samantha’s odd behaviour was driven out of my mind. The place was magnificent. There was no other word for it. Magnificent. Hundreds upon hundreds of candles on majestic chandeliers illuminated the gigantic hall, casting it into a golden light that really wasn’t even necessary, because the place was already golden. Golden and white and silver and every other pure and precious colour you could think of. Exquisite paintings covered the walls and ceiling where they weren’t gilded, depicting gods and titans and ancient heroes. Images which should have clashed with the occasion - but somehow they didn’t. Somehow, that mystical scenery of ages past dancing in the shadows created the perfect contrast to the giant tree rising in the middle of the room, in the centre of the light.

  The tree he had put there.

  The thought was like a dagger through my heart. Except that a dagger would have ended all of this. The blasted thought just hurt like hell. Damn!

  But if I was still alive, at least that meant I would still get a look at her. My curiosity was stronger even than my desire to crawl away into a corner and die.

  Quickly, I let my gaze drift around the room - but he wasn’t here yet. And if he wasn’t, she wouldn’t be either. Ladies almost always entered the ballroom on the arm of their escort - if they had one. And whoever this girl was, she would most certainly be walking in on the arm of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. None would be stupid enough to miss that chance. Quickly, I let my gaze slide over the faces of the ladies who were already here. I spotted Lady Caroline, Lady Dorothea and Lady Eveline and felt a surge of satisfaction.