"Marriage, whatever may be said against it, is an excellent remedy for love sickness."

Charles Perrault

Shaking in the carriage — I borrowed one of Mireya's to travel to Torenhall — I spend some time pondering how to explain my visit to the owners of the mansion. After all I couldn't just state from the doorway: "I hear you have a ghost around here, do you mind if I have a chat with him for a bit?" Likely the best case scenario at that point would be a visit to a doctor for the mentally ill at the expense of the hosts. But the far more likely scenario is that I would not even be allowed beyond the threshold.

After weighing a few options in my mind, I settle on the one that seems the least far-fetched. I will say that I'm touring the local nobility in pursuit of a noble goal, which is to organize a charity ball. I only need to think in whose honor it will be. But I can solve this minor problem further on. It is likely that after my initial acquaintance with the owners it would be easier to understand what strings I should pull in order to soften their hearts. My objective is to make sure that they agree to let me stay the night. In this case, I should be able to calmly speak with the Baron's ghost and head home in the morning with a clear conscience.

The rest of the way I mostly spend my time envying men. Not good naturedly, either. The reason is that the carriage is, as it commonly happens, shaking mercilessly. It jumps at every bump, swaying to the right and to the left and almost collapsing on its side at every turn. Do not think that men often prefer to ride out of chivalry, or to give more room to the ladies in the "cozy" carriage. You should not attribute the whole affair to their excessive love of exercise. Even the laziest would prefer horseback riding to the extremely unpleasant rocking and the consequent feeling of nausea that accompany traveling in a carriage. Anyone would choose horse riding over that — except women. Because we, damn it, have to seriously care about our appearance. Because the female attire which is considered suitable for horse riding is deemed unacceptable to wear when you are visiting someone. Because the clothes will certainly crumple and the hair will become messed up. In addition, most likely it will spoil the makeup. In short, I now more than ever agree with Ilona, who passionately hates these conventions, and often shocks high society by choosing to ride and therefore appearing in public looking rather improper.

Unsurprisingly, I hurry to jump out of the carriage as soon as we drive up to the house, leaving the driver to his own devices to deal with finding a place for the horses, and head to the porch on foot. The mansion is quite impressive. It could be hardly called a mansion: rather, it looks like a castle, albeit relatively small. But I soon have to give up the contemplation of architectural beauty, opting for another spectacle: another carriage is parked at the porch. Another guest has managed to arrive only a minute ahead of me. I am quite curious: who could that be?

Either way, the presence of another visitor is more likely to thwart my game than to help me along. My story is far from being perfect as it is, and now is far more likely to fall flat. People receiving guests are certainly not likely to care about unfamiliar ladies obsessed with a charity cause.

Nevertheless I hurry, in order to have a chance at least to catch a fleeting glance at the unexpected guest before we meet the owners of the house. I catch up with him on the second step — by the way, there are twelve steps leading up to the threshold.

"Lord Cameron?!"

"Lady Inessa?"

Estley's voice sounds more relaxed, but from his highly arched eyebrows and astonished look, I conclude that my appearance has surprised him.

"What are you doing here?" I gasp, almost making it sound like an accusation.

"Me?" It looks like my question amuses him. "I came at the invitation of my distant relatives. What are you doing here?"

"I… have an important matter to attend here." I lose my confidence at once.

After all, what could I tell him? I am dropping in at the request of a friendly ghost? No way! I could already imagine the evil look he would give me after such a declaration! No, I'd rather cut off my own arm.

The only problem is that in Estley's presence my story about the charity ball would also go down the drain! He would instantly see through my charade! What should I do? I could turn around and go back to my carriage. But retreating in such a manner is against my principles. Especially considering that doing so in front of Estley is not really possible either!

Meanwhile, we are already at the top step. We are greeted at the door by a servant dressed in blue livery.

"Lord Estley," he says decorously, bowing deeply: "very glad to welcome you to Torenhall."

"Hello, Brice," Estley kindly responds, from which I conclude that this is not his first visit to the mansion. "Is Mr. Grondezh home?"

"Oh, yes, he is looking forward to your visit very much. And the lady?.."

The servant gives me a polite but questioning look. He thereby does not violate the rules of conduct: it is his duty to present visitors to his employers. In these mansions the servant acts both as a doorkeeper and usher.

Well, should I give the version about the charity ball? Or retreat in shame before I am thrown out in a manner no less humiliating? Or should I state my name and only that, delaying further clarifications until I meet the hosts?

I drag my feet, and the butler looks at the Estley, as if silently referring the question to him. I suddenly realize: he thinks we've arrived together.

"Lady Inessa Antego" I introduce myself, confidently taking the Count's arm — to the surprise of the latter. "Lord Estley's fiancé."

I carefully avoid looking at the Count's face. The servant bows respectfully once more.

"Allow me to congratulate you. Please: after you."

He gestures for us to come into the house. The ceiling in the first floor hall is very high. A narrow strip of light falls in through the high gothic windows. Brice solemnly marches in front, showing the way."

"I must say it was the hastiest engagement that I have ever attended," Estley says sarcastically, bending to my ear.

"You should be grateful that is not a wedding," I retort. It is known that the best method of defense is offense. "Because I could've claimed to be your wife."

"Yes, really, thank you very much that you didn't claim to be my widow," the Count continues with alacrity, taking me by the elbow. "I hope you do not mind that did not bring a ring with me? Somehow, you know, I had not foreseen such an occasion."

I allow myself an almost guilty look.

"Do not worry, it's not for long. I know how much all men are afraid of marriage. So you can be absolutely calm. Just give me time until tomorrow morning. In the morning, we will break off our engagement just as quickly. You can tell your relatives the truth, or if you want you can say that you changed your mind about marriage. You can even come up with a reason — be my guest. For example, declaring that you caught me with another man. I will not be offended."

"Your generosity knows no bounds!" For some reason, he laughs.

"Sh-sh-sh!" I unceremoniously shush Estley, seeing the servant turn his head slightly, as if listening to our conversation. "Let's discuss this later, in private."

"You meant to say 'in the family'?" the Count retorts, openly making fun of me.

I have no time to respond. Brice walks into the living room first, to inform the owner of the arrival of guests, but we do not wait outside for long. The doors open and we are greeted by the owner of the house.

More precisely, it is the younger brother of the current mistress, Alexander Grondezh. Twenty-four years old, blonde, of medium height with a nice open face. He immediately takes a step towards us and stretches out his hand to Estley for a handshake.

"Lord Cameron, I am very glad to see you," he says, as far as I could tell, quite honestly. "Lady Antego, it's nice to meet you. Congratulations. In difficult times it always nice to hear good news."

"Thank you," I smile frostily.

"Unfortunately, my sister cannot greet you right now: she is feeling a little under the weather," Alexander apologizes. "But she will come down and join us for dinner."

"What has happened to her?"

Estley's voice sounds quite indifferent, as if he is just asking a question out of a sense of duty, standard in such cases. But something in his appearance – his posture, the turn of his head, the way his eyebrows are drawn together — makes me feel he is very interested in the answer.

"It's mostly nerves," Alexander says with a grim smile. "Recently, she does not sleep well at night. But let's not discuss the bad news right now," he continues, turning to me and smiling warmly. "I'm sure you're tired of the road and prefer to relax and not to listen to stories about our troubles. Ricardo will take you upstairs. Dinner will be served at seven o'clock in the evening.

Ricardo, unlike Brice, is not dressed in livery, but in ordinary clothes, of a relatively strict style. The dark tone goes well with his pitch black hair. I estimate he is no more than thirty, and this despite the fact that his serious, even cold expression certainly makes him appear older. He makes sure to keep a distance between himself and the guests, acting and speaking with detached politeness.

"Here are your quarters, Lord Estley," he says, opening the door to one of the rooms on the second floor. "All the bedrooms are located here."

Cameron goes inside. Ricardo stands there, apparently waiting for me to go inside as well.

"Oh… do you expect me to share the room with him?" I ask tensely.

"We did not know that Mr. Estley would not be traveling alone, and did not have time to prepare," Ricardo responds. "Please accept my apologies. Mr. Alexander assumed you'd agree to take a rest from the journey in the room prepared for Lord Estley. By the end of dinner we will have prepared some quarters for you. But, of course, if you would prefer not to, we will try to find a solution immediately."

"No, this is fine," I shake my head. I do not feel the slightest hint of enthusiasm about sharing a room with Estley. Especially considering that the latter is smirking evilly, which Ricardo fails to notice, but which is very obvious to me. But of course I cannot throw a tantrum over it in an unfamiliar house, especially considering they believe us to be bride and groom. We live in liberal times, and no one expects chastity from people at that stage of their relationship. "It's fine."

The servant bows.

"When you need a maid or valet ring this bell."

He retires with another bow. I look at Estley warily. And immediately realize that my concerns are not unfounded.

"Well, Lady Inessa, don't you want to rest before dinner?" he asks, sitting down on the bed and quite brazenly pointing to a spot next to him.

I grit my teeth. No, it's not that Estley's actions embarrass me. I am not that easy to embarrass or scare. Rather, I am simply angered by the fact that I am being forced to endure his ridicule. What is especially galling is that I only have myself to blame for the situation.

"Do not forget, Lord Cameron," I say, trying hard not to show my discomfort. "We are a bride and groom, not a husband and wife."

"Oh, come now, who cares nowadays about such conventions?"

He is absolutely right, which makes me once again grit my teeth.

"Well, you do whatever you want; I personally intend to change for dinner."

Rising from the bed, he takes off his coat and begins to deliberately casually unbutton his waistcoat buttons. I glumly watch this process.

"Are you going to change your pants too?" I ask acidly, when the vest falls on the bed following the doublet and the top three buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned.

I do not know what angers me most: the obscenity of the process or the fact that I am starting to enjoy watching it.

"Of course!" Estley is surprised at my question. "Do you take me for a bumpkin who would offend his hosts by coming to the table in his road trousers? Okay, okay," he feigns compassion, seeing as I begin to move my lips in silent indignation. "So be it, I will continue changing in the bathroom."

Trunks with our things have already been delivered to the room at this point. When Estley leaves, I sigh with relief, and secretly wipe my forehead. Then I sit in a chair and stretch out my legs with a sigh of pleasure. After all, the road was tiring. But I do not have long time to relax: Estley is surprisingly quick. Looking through my eyelashes at his white shirt, light gray jacket, matching trousers and new neckerchief, I can only wonder how quickly he managed without the help of a valet.

"So," Estley sits down in the chair and crosses his legs "will you now deign to tell me what you could possibly need in this house?"

"I will not," I reply laconically.

The Count's gaze becomes predatory and his face shows signs of discontent.

"Lady Inessa, I strongly advise you to re-think the answer to my question."

To say that I feel silly would be an understatement. At least if I had plotted something nefarious or devious! Then I certainly would be able to answer any questions. But no, I was planning to do nothing of the sort, and I still cannot tell him the reason for my visit!

"Look, I just can't tell you!" I cry out, wringing my hands in despair. Then I fold my hands pleadingly. "Lord Cameron, how about this: I will not answer your question, but instead I will owe you a favor."

Estley cocks his head.

"Sounds tempting." he admits in a tone that promises no good.

I feel my skin crawl.

"A small favor," I correct.

Estley nods.

"Now I see you have regained at least some of your sanity. Owing a favor to a man like me is extremely dangerous."

"Why are you talking to me as if I were a child?!" I explode. "I know very well what sorts of nasty tricks you can pull!"

The Count laughs.

"This is rich, coming from the woman who lied her way into someone's house and refuses to come clean about her plans."

"Lord Cameron," I put my hand over my heart and give him my most honest and open look (by the way, a gaze which I have very carefully practiced in front of the mirror). "I'm willing to swear on whatever you want that I'm not plotting anything untoward! My visit isn't connected in any way to Mireya or the Duke, and will not cause the Grondezh family any harm. Even in the worst case it will not damage their lives. At best I will solve one of their problems. That's all. Look, I just cannot tell you what the goal of my visit is!" I exclaim, seeing in his eyes that he is still searching for a response.

"Can you at least tell me why?"

I hear notes of irritation in Estley's voice caused by the fact that he is unable to understand my behavior. People like the Count strive to always understand everything.

"Very well." I give him a look no less annoyed than his own. "The reason is that you will not believe me."

I think right now I was able to surprise him for real. However, the surprise does not last long.

"Try me," suggests Estley, showing that he is prepared to listen.

"I will not," I snap.

At this point, fortunately, the footman knocks in order to announce that dinner is served. Estley leaves the room, giving me an opportunity to quietly change with the help of a maid, and then we both go down to the dining hall.

The people who join us for dinner are already familiar: Alexander, his sister, their aunt of seventy years once or twice removed, and Marko, Alexander's one year-old son and his nanny. Yolanda is a very pretty girl, blonde, like her brother, with a round face, blue eyes and dimples. I do not notice any signs of a nervous breakdown, except for the dark circles under her eyes, which, however, are properly disguised with the help of cosmetics. The other people attending are a footman and a young servant girl who wait on the table, and Ricardo, who stands to the side making sure that both of the junior servants perform their duties satisfactorily.

"So, Lord Cameron, my brother and I are intrigued," Yolanda says smiling, after we have eaten a delicious vegetable soup, and the servants begin to change the dishes. "We have not heard anything about your engagement. Of course, we live here in the country, away from the city, and it takes time for gossip to reach us. Still it is surprising that we have not heard anything about such an important event."

She is of course hinting at the fact that Estley should have notified his relatives, although distant, of this development, and, furthermore, should have invited them to the engagement. It is easy to understand the girl: living far from the center of social life is surely boring, and an invitation to such an event, especially if held at the ducal palace, would be a real treat for her.

"The thing is that this engagement was quite unconventional," Estley hurries to explain, glancing at me very sarcastically. "You can say it was very sudden. It was also very recent. Strictly speaking, almost no one knows, not even in the palace. You can say that you are the first."

"Oh, what a great honor for us!" Yolanda beams. "Isn't it, Alexander? So, it turns out it was a secret engagement? How romantic!"

"Indeed," responds Estley, again glancing at me with a smirk. "As romantic as could be."

"So, how did you propose to Lady Inessa?" Yolanda leans forward, completely ignoring the delicious piece of meat which the servant has placed on a plate in front of her.

"Yolanda," Alexander grimaces "that's a very intimate question."

"But it is interesting!" his sister retorts unabashed. "Can I be interested in something besides..." a shadow runs across her face and the dark circles beneath her eyes suddenly seem much more prominent. "Never mind." She forces a smile. "Besides, if Lord Cameron does not want to answer, he'll say so."

"Well, why, I am very pleased to answer," beams Estley. "The thing is that Lady Inessa was the one who proposed to me."

A piece of chicken, no matter how delicious it was, seems to lodge itself in my throat. I raise a hand to my neck, vainly trying to swallow it.

"Lady Inessa?" Yolanda clasps her hands in admiration." That is so brave! I admire you! Honestly, I'm not kidding."

"Tha... thank you," I say grimly, finally having conquered the chicken, which seemed to have come back to life and gone crazy right in my throat. Now, I reach for a glass to wash down the consequences of the struggle.

"How did you have the courage to do such a thing?"

Yolanda is the only one who has asked about this delicate topic, but I notice that the others are also eagerly awaiting my answer. It seems that even the one year old baby curiously cocks his head. The level of curiosity written on Estley's face I cannot even describe.

"What choice did I have?" I respond, putting the empty glass down on the table. The footman approaches silently to pour me more wine. "These men are so indecisive. You know," I lean towards Yolanda to confide. "Lord Cameron comes across as a brave man, and even a tough one, but when it comes to love, it would be hard to find a creature more reticent. So I had to take matters into my own hands."

I look triumphantly at Estley, just in time to see the biting smile leave his face.

"We all behave unusually when we fall in love," thoughtfully comments Yolanda.

"Indeed!" Estley seconds with suspicious enthusiasm. "For example, it is difficult to decide to propose to Lady Inessa, given that three grooms have already left her at the altar."

"Really?" Yolanda breathed. "Why is that?"

"Because of her penchant for initiative," responds Estley. "And her excessive love of rabbits."

"Of rabbits?" The young woman asks in surprise, for some reason throwing a glance at the dish. "What do they have to do with anything?"

I open my mouth to take revenge, but at that moment a loud sound breaks, as though someone has slammed a window. Followed by a lingering, melancholy howl.

Yolanda pales abruptly, Alexander frowns, the aunt whispers words of prayer, and the frightened nanny puts her hand to her chest.

"It's probably just the wind," says Alexander.

"I'd like to believe that." Yolanda sounds uncertain. .

"May the gods have mercy on our souls!" mutters the nanny.

"Could it be anything other than the wind?" asks Estley.

Everybody shrugs and exchanges furtive glances. Finally, Alexander breaks the general silence.

"Recently, some kind of nonsense has been happening around the house," he explains, frowning. "Strange noises, especially at night. It sounds like howling wind, groans, creaks: it almost seems like..."

“The house is haunted!” cries the aunt.

Alexander seems happy that he didn't have to say those words.

“I do not believe in ghosts,” he sighs, “but it does look like it. Anyway, in our house we never had drafts like this. Besides, even when all the windows are tightly shut, it goes on just the same.”

“When did it start?” I ask.

I glance at Estley with displeasure. Of course, my interest has not been lost on the Count, who is now looking at me with his familiar attentive and grasping gaze.

“Recently,” Alexander responds. “About two weeks ago.”

“Fifteen days ago,” dully specifies Yolanda. “I remember.”

“So, did anything unusual happen fifteen days ago that could provoke such a situation?” Estley asks.

This time, his interest attracts my notice, and my gaze too becomes attentive and focused.

“I don’t think so.” Yolanda looks helplessly at her brother.

“I do not remember anything out of the ordinary,” Alexander confirms, though it seems to me that he is keeping something to himself.

“It's my late cousin.” confidently says his aunt.

“You mean Baron Grondezh?” Estley clarifies.

“Of course, who else? He died six weeks ago, and now roams the house as a restless ghost.”

The woman's voice sounds solemn.

“My father died six weeks ago.” With irritation Alexander reminds her, and I realize that we are witnessing the continuation of a fight that has been going on for quite a while.

“That's right,” calmly responds the aunt. “First, he had to appear before the gods. Recall his past life. Then, a month later, after the memorial ceremony, he returned to the house.”

Alexander rolls his eyes in frustration, but does not add any fuel to the fire.

“All this must probably seem terribly foolish to you,” he says apologetically to Estley. “I would not pay much attention to it, but this ghost business already has twice nearly cost my sister her life.”

“Twice?” Estley and I ask simultaneously.

I bite my lip and modestly lower my hands to my lap, as if to say: you hold all the cards, my lord. I just sit quietly on the sidelines. But I'm listening very carefully.

“Twice,” Alexander confirms.

“Come on, brother, that's enough.” Yolanda is obviously uncomfortable. “Everything is just a result of coincidence and my own clumsiness.”

“Previously, clumsiness was not among your qualities,” says Alexander.

Yolanda shrugs, hiding her eyes.

“Maybe it's all the upheaval. Since my father’s death my nerves have been shot.”

“What exactly happened?” Estley hurries to guide the conversation in the desired direction.

How clever of him — perhaps he deserves a kiss. No, after all, I've already kissed him. He'll have to do without.

Yolanda forces a smile.

“I twice nearly fell down the stairs,” she admits, studiously examining the tablecloth. “You've seen the stairs leading to the second floor. They're pretty steep. We even wanted to break them down and build new ones, but we never got around to it. Besides, then my father was against it — he would not change anything in this house.”

“In short: one night my sister was scared by all the moans and howls.” Alexander intervenes, realizing that if we let Yolanda go on she would just continue to beat around the bush. “She ran out of her room and almost fell down the stairs.”

“Not right away,” she corrects him. “First I stopped at the top step. Outside, I immediately calmed down a little and thought I must have imagined it all. Maybe it was a dream, and I mistook it for reality. You know, it happens. But when I was about to go back into the bedroom, I heard a very loud sound — I do not know... not a creak — more like a rasp... right behind me. I was startled and lost my balance. I even slipped down a couple of steps, but I managed to hold on to the railing and stop. Lucky me.”

She takes a sip of wine and stares at the tablecloth again.

“What about the second time?” gently asks Estley.

“Almost the exact same thing happened,” admits Yolanda. “I heard the noises, became frightened, and ran out of my room. My bedroom is the closest to the stairs. But ... that time I felt like someone was pushing me.”

“Pushing?” repeated Estley.

“At least it seemed so. I felt a shove from the back, and would have fallen for sure if not for Ricardo." For the first time since the beginning of dinner, we turn our attention to the servant. He has listened attentively to the conversation, but did not intervene. Even now, when his name came up, he just cocked his head slightly. "He ran out at the noise and managed to catch me. Otherwise I probably wouldn't be sitting here with you.” Yolanda pauses, and then looks up at Estley. “Do you know if a ghost can push a person?”

“It can't," I reply, instead of Estley — and everyone looks at me in surprise. “A ghost can neither push a person, nor even cause them physical harm. He can severely frighten them if he tries hard enough. But no more than that.”

“How do you know?” Alexander asks sharply.

I vaguely shrug.

“Just a little versed in this matter.”

I think my words calm Yolanda.

“Let's talk about something more cheerful,” suggests the girl.

She smiles pleadingly and that smile betrays such a vulnerability that it is impossible to refuse. Perhaps Yolanda belongs to the type of woman that men want to protect. The thought makes me feel a light prick of completely irrational jealousy. Girls like me tend to protect themselves, and arouse more of a combative instinct in men.

“Suzanne!” Yolanda suddenly turns to the girl serving the table. “You do not look well. Are you all right?”

For the first time I take a closer look at the maid. However, even after a second glance she still seems unremarkable. Thin, in a simple dress, sparse blond hair gathered in a ponytail. She really does look very pale.

“I... may I be excused?” she asks quietly, casting a cautious glance at Ricardo, who steps forward.

“Of course." Yolanda looks at her quite sympathetically, it seems to me. “You are off for the rest of the day.”

Now she, too, looks at Ricardo and nods as if to confirm her words in this way.

Suzanne curtsies awkwardly and slips out the door.

“Poor girl,” Yolanda sighs, turning back to us. “Her mother died recently. She survived our father by barely three weeks. Apparently his death crippled her. She was very devoted to him. She had served as a cook in our house for more than thirty years.”

I listen more and more closely. It turns out that Baron Grondezh was not the only one who died in this house in the last six weeks. It seems to me that these two deaths may very well be linked. Moreover, I would not be surprised if the connection between them is not that the death of the Baron undermined the health of the cook.

“Could you tell us a little about court life?” Yolanda asks us. “It is so true that news has a hard time reaching us!”

“With pleasure.”

I take the initiative into my hands, and for a while entertain Yolanda, as well as others present, with amusing gossip about our court, trying to avoid stories that are directly related to the Duke or our numerous confrontations with Estley. After all there is no need to test the patience of my "groom" any further.

My babbling is interrupted by the rustling noise caused by a rather large terrier which runs into the room. The dog, which has, by its appearance, a cheerful and restless temperament, dashes back and forth across the room, rubbing lightly against our feet, checking to see whether something tasty has fallen from the table, finally lets out a bark and rushes to the second door.

“Oggy!” enthusiastically cries out the child, who has been silent until now.

Stretching out his hand in the direction of the terrier, he excitedly opens his mouth. The nanny, who has been having little success in feeding the baby until now, immediately takes advantage of this chance. All her previous attempts have ended the same way: the child's lips stretch into a mischievous smile, and close up tightly. Now the nurse, with considerable sleight of hand, shoves a spoon into the gaping mouth. After realizing how shamelessly he has been deceived, the boy looks at the nurse with genuine reproach, but still swallows the mashed potatoes. Nanny becomes still again, in a deceptively relaxed posture.

“Is the dog's name Oggy?" I ask in surprise.

The siblings laugh.

“No,” said Alexander. “In his baby language Oggy means "dog". The dog is actually named Jack.”

Yolanda's lips stretch into a sad nostalgic smile.

“I was reminded of Norrey,” she explains to Alexander. “At about that age he had a toy poodle, which he called Udi. For a long time he called all animals that.

Alexander shakes his head and covered Yolanda's hand with his.”

“Norrey? A relative of yours?” I decide to ask.

“He was our brother,” says the girl. “He was a year older than Alexander. He died a few years ago.”

“Oh, please forgive me, I'm very sorry.”

Another death? However, perhaps it happened too long ago to be relevant to today's strange events. But who knows? Sometimes these stories drag on for many years. Meticulously hidden skeletons sit quietly for a long time in their closets, only to suddenly break out.

Dinner is coming to an end. Some are still finishing dessert; the others, having set aside the empty dish, are engaging in leisurely conversation. All participants carefully try to avoid difficult topics from that point on. I decide that it is now time to prepare to actually meet the ghost.

“If you do not mind, I'll leave you, gentlemen.” I smile apologetically. “I'm a little tired from the road. I assume Ricardo will be able to show me my room?”

“Oh no.” Alexander's lips stretch into a mischievous smile. “From the manner of your communication with Lord Cameron, my sister and I realized what a close relationship you have. So we decided not to create any inconvenience for you, imposing unnecessary moral standards. So we ordered that your belongings be left in the same room as before.”

“So you're saying that Lord Cameron and I will spend the night in the same room?" I babble for some reason, clarifying the obvious.

“That's right,” Yolanda confirms, obviously pleased. “You shouldn't separate lovers, even for a short while.” Then, leaning close to my ear, she adds: “Believe me, Lady Inessa; I'm just in awe of your relationship.”

I could only swallow convulsively. Coming out of the dining room, I feel Estley biting back a grin.

----------------

24-hour discount! On July 7, 2016 Half a Step Away from Love by Olga Kuno for only 0.99$

https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B01GGEWA88