Things went very, very fast. One moment I was standing in front of Mr Ambrose, a bundle of clothes in my bare arms, the next, the man who had sworn eternal love to me pushed me over onto the carpet–

Thud!

'Ouch!'

–and shoved me under the bed.

'Nng!'

Who said gentlemanly chivalry was dead? You simply had to admire a gentleman who assisted a lady with such swiftness. And the moment I was out from under this bed, I would show him my admiration with a swift kick in the butt!

Right now, however, the only things in sight were his feet, and the rather smelly, dusty carpet. God, how long had it been since this thing had been cleaned? I would have to have a word with the chambermaid.

Click.

The door opened and another pair of feet, this one wearing pink shoes, entered the room.

'Ah. Good morning, Mother.'

All right – butt kicking postponed.

'Rick! Are you all right, my son?'

'Certainly. Why wouldn't I be?'

'Well, you didn't show up for breakfast, and now I find you here looking all flushed and hot. Do you have a fever?'

I glanced down at my lack of ladylike – or indeed any – attire. Yes, he definitely has. But not the kind you are probably referring to, Your Ladyship.

'No.'

'Are you sure? Let me feel your forehead. Lie down on the bed for a minute and–'

'No! The bed is perfectly fine! And so am I.'

'Oh. Um...very well.'

'Stop beating around the bush, Mother. We both know you are not here because I missed breakfast. It wouldn't be the first time, and it won't be the last. What do you really want?'

There was a pause.

'Very well. You're right. I did have another reason for coming here.' Another pause. 'I noticed you danced with Miss Linton last night.'

Oh, yes, he danced with me all right! We danced fandango the pokum quite a lot...

'Correct.'

'The two of you...get along well?'

'As well as an employer can get along with the immature younger sibling of his secretary.'

My mouth dropped open.

Oh? So I was an immature younger sibling, was I? I'd show him immature!

Snaking my arm out from under the bed, I tickled the back of his knee. He flinched and shifted to shield me from his mother.

'So you have no – how should I put this – plans with regard to Miss Linton?'

'Plans?' Reaching a bit higher, I pinched him in the butt. He flinched again, then gave the bed a kick so a blanket fell down and shut me in. Damn him! 'I have no idea what you mean, Mother!'

In that moment, I was so very tempted to lift the blanket, wave at Lady Samantha and chirp 'Good morning, Your Ladyship.' So very, very tempted. But if I did that, there probably wouldn't be any way to get around the marriage thing. Mr Ambrose would drag me to the altar with a lasso, if necessary.

'Oh. No plans at all?' There was no way I could miss the humongous mass of disappointment in Lady Samantha's voice. I almost felt bad for not throwing away my feminist principles and tying myself to a dictatorial chauvinist for the rest of my life. Almost. 'Are you sure?'

'Absolutely. Miss Lillian Linton is nothing but a silly, immature girl with a tendency towards temper tantrums.'

Bloody hell, he was a master dissembler! He sounded so convincing, you would never guess he didn't believe what he said.

Wait a moment...he didn't believe what he just said, right?

If he actually meant that, if he...oh, just you wait until I get my hands on you, Rikkard Ambrose!

'I have no plans to be married in the foreseeable future, Mother. It would take a rare woman indeed to change my mind.'

Oh. All right, maybe I wouldn't strangle him after all.

'Since you are here, Mother, I might as well take this opportunity to tell you–'

Oh, really? You think right now is the best opportunity to talk to your mother, do you?

'–I'm leaving Battlewood.'

What?

'What?'

'Adaira requested–'

Ordered, more like.

'–that I come for Christmas. I have done so. Christmas has passed. The ball is over. I'm returning to London. I have business to take care of.'

'But...you...your father–'

He cut her off brutally. 'If you thought that this little invitation would suffice to make me forgive him, think again. He hasn't earned my forgiveness, and neither have you. You want to know why?' Beyond the blanket, I could see the shadowy outline of his feet shift, taking a step towards her that would have had princes and kings quaking in their boots. 'Ask my employees. I make people work for what they earn. Hard.'

Yep. I can attest to that.

'Rick...I'm sorry. So sorry. Your father and I...we...'

'Don't bother. I have heard enough excuses to last me a lifetime.'

'Please, will you stay just a little bit longer? Stay and talk to him? Once? That's all I'm asking, please. Just once.'

There was a long moment of silence.

And another one.

And a third one, that lasted even longer.

Finally...

'Perhaps.'

*~*~**~*~*

The last days at Battlewood Hall flew by. I – or should I say Mr Linton – spent most of it with Adaira, taking long walks in the garden, planning vendettas against Adaira's enemies in the neighbourhood and exchanging embarrassing details about her brother. We stood beside Lady Samantha as she saw off one guest after another, and gave marks on which disappointed girl made the sourest faces at Mr Ambrose. And all the while, Mr Ambrose didn't give a single hint that he intended to go upstairs to see his father. And his father most certainly did not seem willing to come downstairs to see his son.

Maybe they would get to talk to each other if the house collapsed?

Finally, the day of departure dawned. Rolling over in my (Ambrose-free) bed, I gazed out of the window. The sun was shining bright through the window. Snow still covered the landscape, but it had slowly begun to melt. And maybe, I thought as I felt a twinge in my heart, the snow isn't the only thing that's melting away.

We were leaving this place. Times were changing.

'Mr Linton! The sun is up! Why are you lazing about? Let's go! Knowledge is power is time is money!'

I smiled. Well, maybe not too much.

Sliding out of bed, I dressed in women's clothes and grabbed my parasol. My 'brother' Mr Victor Linton had already left yesterday, after a tearful goodbye from Lady Samantha and lots of barely suppressed giggling from her daughter, to prepare for Mr Ambrose's arrival in London. His journey hadn't been very long, and had only consisted of a three-mile circle back to the rear of Battlewood Hall. Lilly Linton's journey would be a little bit longer. The road to London would be tough this time of the year.

Breakfast passed in a friendly mood with lots of lively chatter (between Lady Samantha, Adaira and me) and icy silence (between Mr Ambrose and Mr Ambrose). It was really quite impressive how he managed to give himself the cold shoulder, as well as everyone else in the room. I didn't let myself be offended, though. I knew exactly what was behind his especially arctic mood.

Breakfast came to an end and the servants rushed in to clear the plates.

'Darling?' Lady Samantha cleared her throat. 'If you want to before you leave...It's time to go see your father.'

Mr Ambrose raised his eyes from his plate and speared his mother with the glacial gaze that was reserved for debtors and people calling him 'darling'.

'Please,' she said, giving him big, blue puppy dog eyes.

Still, his gaze remained ice-cold and unmoved.

I kicked him under the table.

'Aargh!'

'Yes?' Lady Samantha, whose hearing was apparently optimistic enough to mistake 'aargh' for 'yes', perked up. 'You'll do it?'

My dear employer threw me a look that told me I would be paying for this later. I didn't particularly mind. I had recently discovered a rather interesting way of clearing debts with him.

'Yes. Yes, I will.'

'Oh, Rick! Thank you! Thank–'

'Have the coach readied for departure,' he cut her off. 'This won't take long. I'll be back in a few minutes.'

And, rising to his feet, he marched off towards the grand staircase leading up to his father's chambers.

For a moment, the three of us sat in silence. Then Lady Samantha folded her napkin and rose with a worried little sigh.

'Well, I think I'd better go and make sure that the carriage is ready.'

I waited until the door had closed behind her, then quickly jumped to my feet, too.

'Well, I think I'd better go and–'

'–listen at the keyhole to find out what my brother is saying to Father?' Adaira finished with a small, innocent smile.

I grinned at her. 'If I didn't already have six of them who're nothing like me, sometimes I'd think you could be my sister.'

Like a pair of dust devils, we raced off towards the staircase. Except for my short foray up the stairs when I'd needed a good vantage point to shoot at Lady Samantha's latest guest, I'd never been upstairs before. It was a different world. Whereas the lower levels of the house clearly bore signs of Lady Samantha's influence, with pink cushions, pink flowered wallpaper and vases that held roses which were – surprises, surprise – pink, the upstairs was dominated by paintings and busts of austere-looking gentlemen, massive dark wood furniture and a general air of impending doom that proclaimed 'Danger! Male Ambrose in residence!'

Clearly, this was the domain of The Most Honourable The Marquess Ambrose.

'What now?' I whispered.

'Father's study is over there.' Adaira pointed down a corridor lined with portraits of noble ancestors giving us disapproving looks.

'How welcoming.'

'Yes, Father is really warm and fuzzy.'

We proceeded through several majestic rooms and down high hallways. Finally, Adaira raised her finger to her lips – which either meant I still had some breakfast stuck on my lip, or we were approaching our goal and I should keep quiet. I went with the latter. Cautiously, I stuck my head around the last corner – and instantly pulled it back.

'There are two goons in livery standing in front of the door!'

'Drat!' Adaira bit her lip, thinking. 'Maybe...no, that won't work. But perhaps...yes!' She snapped her fingers. 'Come with me!'

And she drew me through a door leading off to the side, into a small salon with the ugliest turquoise-beige flower-pattern wallpaper I had ever seen in my life.

'What are we doing in here?' I enquired. 'Planning emergency redecorating?'

'No, of course not! Although, now that you mention it, that would actually be a great idea. No, we're here for this.'

And she pointed to a set of French doors opening on a balcony.

I needed no further explanation. In an instant, I was at the doors and outside in the fresh air. The balcony – praise the architect – had a solid stone railing, perfect for hiding two curious girls. And as luck would have it, the window to the neighbouring room stood open a crack. Fate clearly approved of eavesdropping.

Unfortunately, the wind didn't seem to share fate's opinion. It was blowing hard, making both of us shiver and, more importantly, drowning out half of the words that came from next door. But the other half, the words that we heard...

Oh boy.