It was beautiful. Bloody beautiful! No, beautiful wasn't a strong enough word. It was amazing. Awe-inspiring. Probably larger than Battlewood and Buckingham Palace put together, and certainly more magnificent. Battlewood was a manor house. This...this was a palace among palaces. A bloody marvel! And I had thought...I had...

And the son of a bachelor had let me think that!

Eyes on fire, I turned to Mr Rikkard Ambrose. 'Why didn't you tell me that it was like this?'

'Like what?' Cocking his head, he gave me a calm look. 'Different from a crumbling ruin in which no self-respecting gentleman would marry the woman he plans to spend the rest of his life with?'

'Well...um...err...'

Damn him! He had a point.

Fuming, I gestured out of the window. 'You might at least have warned me that you have a bloody fountain in your front yard! And a golden sundial! And a statue garden! A bloody statue garden, for heaven's sake!'

'My apologies, Miss Linton. Next time, I shall take into account your aversion to sculptural decorations.'

'I...I don't...I mean...Arg! You are so...!'

Not knowing what to say, I exchanged a look with Adaira. But she just sat there, staring open-mouthed at the palatial mansion in front of us, obviously feeling the same urge as me to grab the nearest calendar and check whether it was April 1. Even Lady Samantha looked as if she couldn't quite believe her eyes, although she really, really wanted to.

As we rolled up the driveway, the front doors opened and the butler, who, to my intense relief, was not a semi-transparent ghost, stepped out into the sunlight. A butler! Mr Rikkard Ambrose employed an actual butler? Someone pinch me!

Slowly, the coaches rolled up the driveway and came to a stop. It took me a few moments to realize that Karim had jumped down from the box and was holding the door open for me. Overlooking Karim? That feat alone should tell you something about my level of shock.

'Sahiba?'

He extended his hand, and I was so focused on staring at the palatial manor that I forgot every single feminist instinct I'd ever had and took it, allowing him to help me out of the coach. At least I wasn't the only one. Behind me, Flora, Ella, Eve and even Patsy were being led down the coach steps, awe-struck expressions on their faces. Even Uncle Bufford's beard twitched in a slightly impressed manner when he stepped out into the open. I couldn't blame him. The massive manor house was four stories tall, its façade decorated with statues painted in gold and silver. Tall, elegant windows allowed a glimpse into rooms so opulent they might have belonged in the Palace of Versailles, if Louis XIV had been twice as rich as the poor bugger actually was.

But the surprises of the day weren't yet over. Oh no.

From behind the house suddenly came a fast, rhythmic thudding noise followed by panting and...

Heck! Was that a bark?

My question was answered a moment later when two ginormous dogs rushed around the corner. Long and sleek with steel-grey coats, they looked just about as deadly as a pair of freshly sharpened swords. Growling and panting, they rushed towards our little group. I took a step back and raised my parasol.

'Err...nice doggies. Good doggies.'

They didn't stop or even slow down. Hunger flickered in their eyes as they rushed towards us.

'Barb! Wire! Heel!'

The two monstrous beasts stopped as if someone had frozen them in place. And, really, that was what had happened. Mr Rikkard Ambrose's command chilled the courtyard like an arctic breeze. A moment later, they turned their heads in his direction and dashed forward again, only to come to an abrupt halt at Mr Ambrose's feet. Reaching out with one leisurely hand to scratch them behind the ears, Mr Ambrose regarded the canines with something dangerously close to affection. 'Adequate boy.'

From behind Mr Ambrose came a noise. It sounded like a desperate attempt not to choke on a giggle. Half-turning Mr Ambrose cocked his head.

'Did you say something, Adaira?'

'N-no, nothing! Absolutely nothing. Please, do continue.'

When he turned back, Mr Ambrose's eyes found mine and held them. I felt surges of warmth, then cold shivers, then warmth again, flood through my body. A ridiculous grin spread over my face.

We had arrived. We had arrived at my future home, and...this wasn't going to be a nightmare. Somehow, miraculously, it had turned into a beautiful dream. He had turned it into a dream.

Rushing forward, I flung my arms around Mr Ambrose's neck. 'Oh! You...you...!'

From behind me came a growl, and a set of strong jaws fastened on my dress, tugging, clearly indicating that if I wanted dog treats, I had better get in line. I didn't care. Laughing out loud, I kissed him.

'Miss Linton! You forget yourself.'

'Yes I do! But only because all my brain cells are needed for this!' Standing up on my tiptoes, I pressed another kiss on his cheek. Half turning, I gestured at the palatial manor, at the beautiful grounds, at...everything. 'This is wonderful! Did you do all this just for me?'

Cupping my cheek in one hand he gazed down at me with dark eyes deep enough to drown in. 'What do you think?'

Hugging him tight, I smiled into his chest and spoke the one sentence I had never thought to utter in relation to Rikkard Ambrose. 'You're a wonderfully generous man.'

'Affirmative. Now will you please let go of me?'

'Definitely!' Jumping back with a wide grin on my face, I whirled towards the house. 'I have to explore this place!'

'No, Miss Linton, wait! You can't yet—'

But I wasn't listening. I was already rushing towards the entrance, eyes wide with wonder. Next to the butler I came to a screeching halt.

'Excuse me...I just have to check something.'

And I gently poked him in the side. Yay! Solid! No ectoplasm whatsoever!

'Err...Miss?' The venerable old gentleman lifted an eyebrow. 'Can I help you?'

'You already have.' Grinning from ear to ear, I turned fully towards him. 'Tell me, what is your name, oh most wonderful employee to ever walk this earth?'

'Err...Benson, Miss.'

'And do you have a first name, Benson?'

'Apparently, Miss. My sister persists in using it for some obscure reason I cannot fathom.' He cleared his throat. 'May I enquire what your business here is, Miss? The master of the house does not really encourage visitors. Besides. He is not currently at home, I'm afraid.'

I glanced back at the coaches, behind which Mr Rikkard Ambrose was currently hidden, out of sight.

'What, didn't he send a telegram ahead to—' I cut off, answering my own question before I was even finished asking. This was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Of course he hadn't wasted three shillings on a telegram to announce his return home.

Just then, the man in question stepped around the coach, the big grey beasts trotting at his heel, looking ready to devour anyone who laid as much as a finger on their master. Benson's eyes widened, and then then flicked from Mr Ambrose to me. To my ring-finger to be exact. His eyes went even wider.

'You...you...' Abruptly, his mouth snapped shut, and he stood to attention as if someone had strapped a board to his back. 'Apologies for my impertinent questions, Miss. I am at your complete and utter disposal, Miss.'

'Thank you.' Peeking past him, I tried to catch a glimpse of the inside of the house. 'May I take a look at my new home?'

'Your new home? Err...Miss...' He hesitated, and I glanced at him. He had a funny expression on his face. It wasn't judgemental or anything like that. There wasn't a hint of disapproval. No, by the look on his face, I would have said Benson would appreciate having a buffer between the staff and the iceberg on collision course that was Rickard Ambrose.

But there was something in his eyes...as if he were desperately trying to think of an excuse. Behind his back, I caught him gesturing to Mr Ambrose, who instantly sped up his strides.

'Didn't have time to dust off the curtains yet, did you?' I patted his shoulder. 'That's all right. I don't mind. I'll show myself in.'

'No, Miss, wait! I—'

But I was already stepping through the entryway.

I had to blink a time or two before my eyes believed what they were seeing. Somewhere in my suspicious little mind, despite the gigantic, opulent façade of the house, a part of me had still expected the interior somehow to be a tiny little hovel with holes in the walls and rainwater dropping from the ceiling. Well, I had at least been partially right. There was a hole in the ceiling. A huge hole, covered by a glittering dome of glass. Light streamed in through the magnificent edifice, shining upon a scene that was enough to take my breath away.

Tiny little hovel?

Ha.

Ha. Ha.

I was standing at one end of a colossal hall, bigger even than the entrance hall at Empire House. But it wasn't its gigantic size that made me feel as if I had stepped into a strange dream where I was Cinderella, and Mr Ambrose the prince's smarter, more handsome minister of finance. It was the opulence. The whole hall was glittering in decorations of gold and silver. Portraits, landscapes and God only knew what else filled the walls, and statues were scattered all around, raising their arms towards the heavens.

You don't spend more than two years riding the tailcoats of Rikkard Ambrose without learning a thing or three about valuable things. My gaze swept the room, hardly able to believe what met my eyes. Painting after painting by famous artists, from Renaissance to modern. There had to be a fortune in art inside this room! Between the paintings, weapons from all ages were hanging from the walls, their blades glinting as if they'd been forged just yesterday. Below were scattered innumerable pieces of furniture, fashioned from precious woods and inlaid with gold and mother of pearl. All in all, the room was a feast of splendour. No, not a feast, a jungle. There was so much to see.

So much, it took me a few moments to notice the other people in the room.

'That's a really nice one, don't you think, Herbert?'

My gaze flicked to the origin of the voice—and my eyes went even wider than they had already been. While the presence of precious paintings, statues and various other expensive fripperies in Mr Ambrose's home were staggering enough, this was on a whole other level.

'Hm.' The stocky woman in the over-fancy dress looked up critically at a painting on the wall. 'What do you think of this one? Do you think it would look well in the drawing room?'

'Yes, Darling,' said her husband while he stared in the opposite direction, distractedly following the movement of a fly on the wall.

'Herbert! Are you paying attention?'

'Of course I am, Darling.'

'Then what was I just talking about?'

The husband's eyes abruptly jerked away from the fly, suddenly on the desperate search for answers, or at least a distraction—and landed on me.

'Oh!' he blurted out, relief spreading over his face. Not exactly the reaction I'd expect from the average burglar. But if they weren't burglars, then what the heck— 'Hello there.'

Hello there yourself, strange person invading my home. Would you like a cup of tea?

'Err...hello.' I raised my hand and waved, feeling that curtsy wasn't entirely appropriate under the circumstances. But, hell, what would be the right approach? Offering a biscuit? Rolling out the red carpet?

'Oh, hello there!' Turning, the woman gave me a broad, motherly smile. 'I didn't notice anyone else was here. Wonderful place this is, isn't it.'

'Err...yes.'

'Well, I can see what you've got your eye on.' The woman winked. 'But I'm afraid I saw it first. And I think I really like it. Herbert, get it down, will you?'

With a sigh, the poor, put-upon husband ceased his observation of the fly on the wall once more. He stepped forward and plucked the painting his wife had been admiring straight off the wall.

My mouth dropped open.

'Yes.' The Lady nodded, smiling brightly. 'This really will fit splendidly into the living room.' She waved at me. 'Good bye, dearie. I hope you find what you're looking for.'

And she marched outside, her husband close behind, somehow trying to balance the painting on his shoulder. I stared after them, unable to quite grasp what I had just witnessed. What in the name of all self-respecting burglars was that?

'Out of the way, lady! Admiral coming through!'

Jumping, I whirled around just in time to see a group of three men in brown working shirts and caps coming towards me. Between them they were carrying the big, marble bust of Admiral Nelson. Before I could even open my mouth, they were past me and out the door. For a moment or two, I just stared—then I rushed after them. At the door, I came to a stop and watched as the three men loaded the marble bust onto a wagon that was already stuffed full of furniture, knickknacks and valuables, including a purple sofa, three tables and a still ticking grandfather clock.

All right...either burglars had become a lot bolder recently, or something wasn't quite right here.

I received a slight indication towards the latter when the three burglars marched back in through the front door and grabbed a cabinet standing in the corner, lifting it off the ground.

'Hey, you!' Marching after them, I waved a finger in the air, devoutly wishing I had my parasol handy. If only Patsy were already in here. 'What the heck do you think you're doing?'

The three men exchanged glances.

'Err...lifting that cabinet?' one of them suggested.

'Out!' I jabbed a finger at the open door. 'Out! All of you!'

'That's where we're going, lady,' the oldest of the three pointed out, giving his friends a 'don't mind the hysterical female'-look.

'Without the cabinet,' I clarified.

'Really?' Taking a bite off his chewing tobacco, he chewed and gave me look that told me exactly how distinctly unimpressed he was. 'And what the 'eck gives you the right to be orderin' us about, eh?'

'This!' I told him, thrusting the hand with my engagement ring under his nose.

He regarded it for a moment—then furrowed his brow. 'A curtain ring?'

All right.

That was it.

I was a patient woman, as anyone who had met me and didn't want their arm twisted could attest. I could take a lot before hitting back. But this? In my own future home? Just before my wedding?

Cracking my knuckles, I took a step towards the man. 'Pardon me. What did you just say?'

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

After receiving your great feedback the other day, I am now slowly but surely starting to work on plans for the next big project after this book. Can't say much about it yet, but fans of Storm and Silence will definitely not be dissapointed... ;)

Yours Truly (rubbing his hands)

Sir Rob