Page 51 of Storm of Bells
‘Does it have to be extravagant?’
I pounced on the crack in his armour. ‘Not atall! You know your mother. She doesn’t really care about pomp. Allshe wants is something beautiful. Something meaningful. Somethinghappy, for everyone she cares about to share in.’
He gave a curt nod. ‘Yes. She is strange likethat.’
‘She won’t mind if the wedding happens atWestminster Cathedral or in a pretty country church somewhere inYonderdingleshire. All she wants is a beautiful day she canremember forever.’
And we can, as well.
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized:maybe a tiny part of me wanted this kind of wedding, too. Maybe atiny part of me dreamt of pretty dresses and flowers, and ofshowing off the man I had caught to all world.
I lowered my head.
Thank you, Lady Samantha. Thank you.
‘Hm…’ Mr Ambrose stroked a finger over hischin, deep in thought. I stared at him, trying to figure out whatthoughts were stirring in that stony head of his. ‘A countrychurch, you say? Rural? Moss-covered, with most irregularlycoloured windows and decorations? What some irrational people mightcall “picturesque”?’
‘Yes! Yes, that would be just the thing.’Cocking my head, I tried to read his face. I might as well havetried to read the Oxford Dictionary of Undeciphered Languages.
‘With a charming vicar? Parishioners thatwould dance attendance on us? Flowers galore to be picked from thefields for free?’
‘That sounds wonderful. But how on earth areyou going to find such a place without spending huge amounts ofmoney? It sounds as if you plan on renting a whole manorhouse!’
‘Oh no.’ Taking my right hand in both of his,he took a step towards me. ‘There’s no need to rent one. We cansimply go to my own.’
I stared at him, not quite sure I had heardcorrectly.
‘You have a manor house.’
‘Yes.’
‘A manor house. A big one, in the country,with servants, and lands and actual rooms for living and sleepingand other things besides working?’
His cool, sea-coloured eyes pierced me.‘Certainly, Miss Linton. I told you I wanted you to take charge ofmy household, didn’t I?’
‘I…I just thought you meant the people atEmpire House.’
‘I did not.’
‘But…I don’t understand! Why would you of allpeople have a manor house?’
‘Isn’t the manor house essential for being anEnglish Gentleman, Miss Linton?’
‘Well, yes, but…’
I closed my mouth.
‘Yes?’
I had just about to say‘but you’re aboutas far from a gentleman as a ladybug from an actual lady.’
That might not be the best idea.
‘But, um…manor houses are, well…big! They’rehuge, expensive piles of stone, full of servants who do jobs youdon’t need them to do, horses you won’t ride, coaches you won’t useand hounds you won’t hunt with! Believe me, I know! My father ownedone of those things. I might not remember much from those days, butI do remember how he groaned about the amounts of money to keep itup.’
He lifted both shoulders exactly half amillimetre—Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s version of a nonchalant shrug.
‘Well, I found a way to make itprofitable.’
