Silence No More

47. Having Words and Giving Words

The drenched Marquess Ambrose stood in the entryway, glaring at us as if we were another vat full of smelly water.

"What do you want?" he barked. "I have things to do!"

Things that involved siccing the local constable on Patsy and Amy, no doubt. Hm... As a loyal friend, I couldn't allow that, now, could I?

"Well, since you ask, Your Lordship..." Smirking, I produced a certain tattered piece of paper and thrust it under his nose.

"What the blazes is that?"

"Read it and find out."

With a dissatisfied grunt, the marquess snatched the paper and started to peruse it. As he read, it didn't take long for his face to darken and his hands to clench into fists. Growling, he thrust the paper towards me and my husband.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"This," Mr Rikkard Ambrose stated in a voice cold enough to freeze a volcano, "is the end of your machinations." Was it just my imagination, or was there a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice? "Read it again, and then think about what it really means—especially for you."

Throwing a suspicious look at his son, the marquess did as requested, then stiffened, and abruptly looked up to glare at my dear husband again.

"I suppose your meaning is that women can inherit certain titles. So what if they can? It doesn't matter. You are my oldest son and heir."

"Not," Mr Ambrose shot back immediately, "if I refuse my inheritance."

The marquess froze. "You would not dare."

"Indeed?"

Knowing my husband as I did, that was probably Ambrosian language for "Go frig yourself, old bastard!"

I smiled.

"You!" Overcome with rage, the older man took two steps forward. "Have you forgotten what I told you before? If you do not do your duty as my heir, Adaira and the vicomte—"

"Really?" Mr Ambrose cut him off without hesitation and pointed at the paper. "If I were you, I would think about that very carefully. Or do you want your heiress to marry a Frenchman, and your lands and titles to be subsumed by his?"

All colour fled from the marquess's face. It was clear he had never even considered that possibility.

"That...that would be the end of the family!"

"Do I look like I care?"

"You would truly do a heinous thing such as this?"

I almost snorted. That question, coming from a man who tried to sell his daughter to blackmail his son? I could hardly keep myself from laughing out loud. Looking at the arctic storm in Mr Ambrose's eyes, however, he did not appreciate the humour of the situation. Not at all.

"You and I clearly have very different definitions of the word 'heinous', father. Now, if you excuse me, I have better things to do."

"Such as?" the marquess growled.

"Packing." Levelling a last, arctic gaze at his father, Mr Ambrose whirled around. "For some reason, I do not feel like spending much more time in this house."

I couldn't help but smirk.

My husband wasn't the most loquacious of men. But when he did open his mouth, his words were worth their weight in gold.

"Mr Linton! Wipe that grin off your face and come."

"Yessir! Right away, Sir!"

Smirking even wider, I skipped after him and towards the stairs. Ah, how I was looking forward to seeing Berty again! I hadn't gotten my daily dose of cuddly cuteness yet. And now that everything was going to be all right, I could indulge all I wanted. But before I had taken two steps, from behind me, came an all too familiar voice.