Silence No More

38. Nightmares and Dreams

I stared down at the paper in my hand. The paper that pretty much spelled Adaira's doom.

A gentleman must possess many skills. Above all, the duty of an English gentleman and a husband is to protect and provide for his family. As such, during the third challenge, the contestants will provide a detailed accounting of their income.

Great. Splendid. Stupendous. Because I, the secretary who got her "generous salary" from Mr Rikkard Tightfist Ambrose, would naturally be able to compete in wealth with one of the richest men of the French Empire. And if that wasn't enough...

However, money is not everything. More than anything else, a gentleman must know how to fend for himself and defend his and his family's honour. After having their incomes and possessions assessed, the competitors will therefore be tested on their shooting skills with the duelling pistol, the weapon of a man on the field of honour. Whoever emerges victorious in both disciplines shall win the contest in its entirety.

"Well," I stated, eyes narrowed at the missive before me, "your father really is a bastard."

"Indeed."

Money and marksmanship. Two areas where a humble little city secretary could not hope to compete with a rich nobleman who had received a gentleman's education. Clearly, the marquess was the very soul of impartiality. (Note the sarcasm.) He probably also didn't believe the dozens of pheasants I got a hold of during the hunting contest were entirely due to my stellar shooting kills.

And he isn't completely wrong, is he?

However...

A smirk flashed across my face.

He was completely wrong about one thing: me being an average secretary. As various dead bandits and desperados across the world could attest, I was anything but. The Marquess Ambrose wanted to challenge my shooting skills?

Bring it on!

The other part about the wealth, though...

I turned to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, my face solemn.

"You know what that means, don't you?"

"Indeed. We will have to exercise your marksmanship skills."

"Oh, not just that." Grimly, I shook my head and tapped on the first point on the piece of paper. "I'm talking about this. Do you know what this means?"

"What?"

I tried my very best to keep my solemn expression on my face. Somehow, I managed despite my urge to cackle. "You will have to increase my salary. Massively."

It was impressive how, even after all those years of constant ice exposure, he could still give me the shivers with his arctic glare.

***

The rest of the day was mostly spent in ceaseless, unrelenting training of my marksmanship. Not that I minded working my butt off, really. Once I had painted a picture of the marquess's face onto the target, my time at the shooting range actually turned out to be quite enjoyable. And as for my skills? I was still as good a shot as ever.

Still...

I was under no delusions that this would be enough. It isn't really simple to win a contest if the one organising and judging it wants you to lose.

Doesn't mean I'm going to make it easy for him, though, I thought grimly as I took another shot at the bastard's mug. After all, if you can't win the game, just circumvent the rules.

So, with that in mind, I finally put an end to my practise and made my way to the library, where I found Ella and some of the others pouring over books on British nobility.