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 her 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.

Adaira, who had been watching the whole discussion with dark, thoughtful eyes, now too extended her hand.

'Welcome, Miss Linton. If you're anything like your brother, I already know I'm going to like you.'

'Oh, trust me, the two of us are very much alike.'

She frowned, glancing around. 'Where is your brother, by the way?'

'Oh, he had to take care of something. Don't worry. He'll be back.'

The two ladies lapsed into silence for a while, concentrating on that ladylike art of not speaking with your mouth full which I had never entirely mastered. Mister Ambrose took the opportunity to lean over towards me and hiss, in a voice hardly audible over the clatter of knives and forks: 'What are you doing here?'

'Whatever do you mean?' I blinked up at him in the manner of the perfectly innocent little maiden. 'I've been here all along.'

Lightning flashed in his storm-coloured eyes. 'What are you doing here...like that?'

'Eating breakfast, you mean?'

'Mr Linton, I–!'

'Say, Miss Linton,' the marchioness said, unaware that she was interrupting, 'I didn't hear your carriage arrive. Did you arrive on horseback, in this cold weather?'

'Oh no.' I gave her a bright smile. 'I walked.'

The eyes of the two women went wide. 'Walked?'

'Oh yes.' My smile widening, I gestured out over the white wasteland, stretching as far as the eye could see beyond the windows of the winter garden. 'A nice little walk is just the thing to warm one up, isn't it?'

Under the table, Mr Ambrose stomped on my foot. Or at least he tried to. I was prepared now, evaded him easily and kicked right back. This was fun!

'Um...Miss Linton?' The marchioness regarded me with a mixture of awe and doubt. In the eyes of her young daughter, however, I could see the beginning glimmers of hero worship. 'Where exactly do you live?'

I reached for a piece of toast and started to butter it. 'London. Why?'

'Um...nothing.' She regarded me, then her son, and the way he was still leaning towards me. Immediately, Mr Ambrose jerked back into a ramrod straight position. 'Where exactly do you know my son from, Miss Linton? Through your brother?'

'No.' I glanced at Mr Ambrose out of the corner of my eyes and sent him a brief smile that made him sit even straighter. 'I was fortunate enough to be at a ball at Lady Metcalf's one evening, when your son arrived and demanded my hand for the next dance.'

'Demanded?'

'Oh yes. I declined at first, but he insisted.'

Adaira's eyes went wide. 'You said no to my brother?'

'Oh yes.'

Her eyes gleamed – definitely hero worship!

'But he simply wouldn't give up so, in the end...' I shrugged. 'I gave him a chance. It would have been a bit cruel, letting him beg.'

'He was that interested, was he?' Lady Samantha's eyes gleamed as they gazed at me. I knew that expression. It was the same my aunt had on her face every time she caught sight of an eligible bachelor. She beamed. 'You know, I'm really so very glad you came, Miss Linton! You must stay for the whole holiday season.'

'Could I really? Oh, I would be delighted.'

Under the table, Mr Ambrose's foot found mine, and pressed down, hard. Out of the corner of his mouth, he growled, too low for anybody else to hear: 'You will pay for this later.'

'Will I?' I batted my eyelashes up at him. 'In pounds sterling?'

Quick as a flash, so quick that even the eagle's eye of a mother could not detect it, his hand darted under the table and took hold of my thigh possessively. His finger were like iron vices wrapped in velvet. 'Oh no. I had another currency in mind.'

The marchioness cleared her throat. 'You know, Adaira...I think I forgot something up in my room.'

'Really, Mother? What?'

'I can't remember what exactly, but it's something really, really important.' Rising swiftly to her feet, she started backing towards the door, her eyes never leaving me and Mr Ambrose. 'Yes, really, really important. I hope you don't mind, Miss Linton. I'll just have to leave you alone with my son here a little bit, while I go fetch...whatever it is I have to fetch.'

'Well, you go and get it, then,' Adaira told her mother, not moving an inch. She was watching me and Mr Ambrose, too, with quite a lot of interest gleaming in her eyes. 'I'll stay here.'

'But, Adaira, my dear, I think I need you to come with me. I might need help carrying the...the...'

'...the thing that you have to fetch but can't remember at the moment?'

'Exactly! I seem to remember it is very heavy.'

'Oh, don't worry.' Adaira gave her mother a bright smile and slid closer to Mr Ambrose and me. 'I distinctly remember you telling me earlier it is very light. Very light indeed. Besides, I think I'd really like to stay here. I have a feeling the conversation is going to get interesting.'

'Still, I'll need you. I...I...might need your help remembering the thing I have to fetch and that I can't remember right now.'

'Don't worry. If I remember I'll send a servant with a note.'

'Adaira Louise Jannet Melanie Georgette Ambrose, get to your feet and come with me right now!'

'All right, all right...' With a sigh of disappointment that would have melted any heart but that of a mother, Adaira got to her feet and let herself be dragged out of the room, leaving Mr Ambrose and me alone on the winter garden bench.

Silence reigned when the door had closed behind mother and daughter. Long, cold, intense silence. Dark, sea-coloured eyes bored into me, wandering up and down my figure, taking in my female attire.

'What are you playing at, Mr Linton?'

I raised an eyebrow. 'I told you before, Sir – I'm not playing. Not anymore.'

'You made it sound like...like the two of us were...'

'Yes?'

He opened his mouth – and pounced on me. One moment he was sitting there, fighting with his words, the next, he pulled me towards him and his lips claimed mine, fighting another battle and winning fast. A groan rose from his chest. For a moment, I melted into him – then my hands gripped his shoulders, and I pushed hard, sending him flying backwards. He hit the padded bench with a thunk.

'I'm not playing,' I repeated, my eyes ablaze as I gazed down at him. 'We've sailed the seas together, hunted outlaws in the desert, hacked our way through the South American jungle and always, always we've had each other's back! I'm not going to stand by while your mother plans your married life, and you're snatched up by some good-for-nothing ninny of a girl. Not while I still have breath in my body!'

And then I leant down to claim his mouth again and demonstrate that yes, indeed, I did still have breath in my body. Quite a lot of it. And I knew how to use it, too.

'Don't you think I know what my mother is up to?' he breathed against my mouth. 'I have won victories over kings, queens and sultans! I'm not about to succumb to the matchmaking plans of my mother.'

'I don't care!' Reaching down, I gripped his face fiercely, refusing to let go. 'I refuse to pretend anymore! There's something between us. I don't know what it is, and I don't know what will come of it, but it's there, and I want it. I want you.'

I saw the ripple in his eyes, like a wave in the Arctic Ocean, causing an iceberg to crack.

'Lillian, I...'

He suddenly broke off, and a moment later, I knew why. Footsteps could be heard from outside, fast approaching.

'Up!' he hissed, and moved. In a wink, we were sitting upright. A shove from him, and suddenly I was sitting at a respectable distance. I was just reaching up to try and finger-comb the wild tangles of my hair, when the door the winter garden burst open and Adaira stormed in.

'They're here!' she crowed, dancing around, too excited to even glance at us – thank God! 'They're coming!'

'W-who?

'The first guests of course! Come and see!' And she was outside again, rushing down the corridor. Slowly I managed to get my trembling knees under control and rose to follow. Behind me, I could hear Mr Ambrose do the same. I didn't look back. I didn't speak. I didn't dare just yet. Unspoken words hung in the air between us, heavy with the power to crush my heart, or make it soar.

What had he been about to say before his sister had burst in?

Damn those guests! If it's pretty little Lady Caroline Elaine Sambridge, I am going to skewer her with my parasol!

Luckily, I still had the one I had purchased earlier with me. And it seemed to have a pretty sharp tip.

I caught up with Adaira just before she reached the big arched windows next to the front door. Stretching up on my tiptoes, I peeked over her shoulder. Behind me, I could feel Mr Ambrose approaching.

'Who is it?' I demanded.

All I could see was a coach rolling down the driveway. There was no coat of arms on the door, no emblem of any kind. Either whoever was in there was not of noble blood, or it was a rented coach.

Please let it be a nobody! Someone thoroughly ineligible, unmarriageable, and if possible, male, old and ugly!

'Well? Who is it? Who is coming?'

'I don't know yet! Come! Let's go and greet them!'

I took a tighter grip on my parasol. 'Yes...that might not be a bad idea.'

Behind me, Mr Ambrose's hand shot out and plucked the parasol from my fingers. I only had time for a brief glare before Adaira flung open the door. Lady Samantha appeared beside us, not tall at all, but nevertheless as regal as any queen, her blue eyes shining with warmth and welcome.

Please don't let it be the first load of ladies! The thought repeated in my head over and over, a fervent prayer. Please! Let it be anybody, anything else!

Which just goes to show – you should be careful what you wish for.

The coach slowed, rolling in a circle around the frozen fountain until it came to a halt in front of the portico. I could see figures shifting inside, and breathed a sigh of relief. These were not ladies – unless young ladies had, in time since I'd last checked, developed big, broad shoulders, beards and a penchant for red and golden uniforms.

We were standing on the portico steps and watched as the first of the men climbed out of the coach. The marchioness stepped forward, a broad smile on her face.

'Welcome, gentlemen. Welcome to Battlewood. I am Samantha Genevieve Ambrose, The Marchioness Ambrose.'

'A pleasure, Your Ladyship.' The foremost of the officers, whose big bulk hid most of the others, made a deep bow that nearly toppled him over. 'May I say how much I and my comrades in arms appreciate your kind invitation?'

'Oh, you're very kind, Major...?'

'Strickland, Your Ladyship. Major Anthony Strickland. May I introduce my fellow officers?'

'By all means do so.'