When I returned to the manor house about an hour later, a tall, dark figure was standing outside, atop the steps, legs spread, arms crossed, in front of the manor. I didn't need to see the icy glitter in his eyes to know for whom he was waiting.

'Hello there.' Alighting from the coach, I waved at him. 'Wonderful morning for a little drive, isn't it?'

His granite face didn't so much as twitch. 'Where have you been?'

'Oh, just on a little visit to the village.' Reaching up, I turned the red bonnet on my head until it sat askew, allowing some stubborn strands of hair to peek out. 'Why?' I grinned. 'Did you want me to buy you something?'

'Most definitely,' he said, enunciating each word slowly and distinctly, 'not.'

'What a surprise.'

Eyes narrowing infinitesimally, he took a step forward. 'Why did you go to the village? What did you want there?'

'I bought a few little things, like this.' I tapped the fire-red bonnet. 'How do you like it?'

His eyes narrowed further. 'Was it expensive?'

'No. And besides, I paid with my own money.'

'Well, in that case, I like it very much.'

'Thank you so much for the compliment, Sir.'

'You're welcome, Miss Linton.' He took another step forward, his intense eyes not straying from me for an instant. 'And that is all you did?'

'Yes.'

'Well...' For the first time, his pose relaxed just a little bit. 'If that's the case...'

'Oh!' I snapped my finger. 'Except for hiring three dozen people.'

'What?'

'Or maybe four dozen. I kind of lost count halfway through.'

Silence.

Icy silence.

The kind of silence insomniac bears wish for during hibernation.

But below the surface of the silence, I could feel the coming explosion building. His eyes started burning with cold fire. His mouth opened. Any moment now...

'You did what?'

I blinked.

The voice hadn't come from Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Who...?

I stepped to the side, just in time to see Lady Samantha come rushing down the front steps. Completely ignoring her son, she rushed past him and, a moment later, threw her arms around me to hug me close.

'Did I hear right? You took care of hiring some reliable people? Oh, Lilly, you're wonderful! I searched and searched, but haven't been able to find a single servant in the entire house! I have no idea where all my son's staff ran off to, but whoever they were, they certainly can't be relied upon if they vanish at the first hint of guests arriving! And neither,' she added, with a meaningful look at her son, 'can the man who hired them. Aren't you glad you have such a caring fiancée with so much foresight?'

'Glad. Foresight.' Mr Ambrose swallowed. I saw a certain muscle in his cheek twitch. 'Yes. So glad. Very...glad...indeed.'

'Aww! That's so sweet of you, Darling.' Reaching up, I cupped his face and batted my eyelashes at him. 'You're always so sweet to me.'

That muscle twitched again.

'Perhaps you could let go of her, Mother. I'd like to show Miss Linton in private how "glad" exactly I am about all the things she has done.'

'No need.' Slipping out of his mother's embrace, I stood up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his cheek. 'I know just how much you appreciate me.'

'Indeed?' His eyes glittered frostily. 'I'm quite certain you fail to understand the full scope of what I feel in this moment.'

'Oh, isn't this sweet!' Clutching her hands together, Lady Samantha gazed at us with pink hearts blinking in her eyes. 'I can just see that nothing will keep the two of you apart. I'll go down to the church and visit the vicar, to make sure that everything is ready for—'

She was interrupted by a low rumbling. We all turned, just in time to see a coach and a curricle come up the driveway.

'Who's that?' Mr Ambrose demanded.

'That,' I told him, beaming, 'must be the vicar.'

Lady Samantha jumped with joy. 'Lilly! You really do think of everything!'

'Oh,' I tagged on and pointed at the large coach, 'and, of course, some of the servants we hired.'

Mr Ambrose did not jump with joy.

'We?'

'Yes. After all, that's the whole point with this idea of marriage, isn't it? What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine.'

For the first time since I had met him all those years and months ago, I saw a flash of genuine fear in Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes. His little left finger twitched.

'Do. Not. Remind. Me.'

Leaning over towards him, I reached behind him, slid my hand under the tails of his tailcoat—and squeezed.

He jerked.

'What's yours is mine,' I whispered—then glanced down at myself, and then up at him with a meaningful look. 'And what's mine is yours.'

A croak issued from the back of his throat.

'See? All of a sudden it doesn't sound so bad anymore, does it?'

'Miss Linton?'

'Yes, Sir?'

'Move. Your. Hand.'

'My apologies.' I batted my eyelashes up at him. 'Where would you like me to move it to?'

Just then, the coach and the curricle came to a halt in front of the manor, and the vicar, followed by a gaggle of curious females, alighted.

'Away.'

I raised an eyebrow. 'Pardon?'

'Your hand. You asked where you should move it.' Mr Ambrose's eyes flicked from the vicar, to his mother, and last, but definitely not least, to the place where my hand was currently residing. 'Move it away. Now!'

'Miss Linton!' With outstretched arms, the vicar approached and bowed deeply. 'Thank you so much for your kind invitation. It was very thoughtful, particularly since you're still settling in, yourself.'

'Don't mention it.' Particularly not in the presence of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. If he hears the words 'generous' one more time, I won't answer for the consequences.

'Don't mention it? But I have to! I have to praise all your generosity. If your invitation was already generous, I don't even know what to say about the church steeple.' He turned his gaze on Mr Rikkard Ambrose and, before my dear fiancé had the chance to freeze him to the spot with an icy glare, had grabbed him by the hand and started shaking. 'Mr Rikkard Ambrose, I presume? I don't know what to say, Sir. I can only say that your reputation has been grossly misrepresented to me. You are one of the most generous men I have ever encountered in my life. So generous I can hardly believe it.'

Mr Ambrose didn't explode.

He didn't squash the vicar into a pancake.

He simply uttered two short, icy words.

'Church steeple?'

Karim slid down from the box of the coach and, clearing his throat, stepped closer.

'The Sahiba, after observing the poor state of repair the church steeple was in, told the vicar all about how you offered to have it fixed before the wedding, Sahib.'

'She did, did she?'

'Yes, I did.' Turning to lovingly gaze up to him, I touched his cheek. 'After all, you wouldn't want the church to collapse and squash me, would you?'

I expected a barb. Something like 'I wouldn't be too sure about that!' I expected a cold look. What I didn't expect was a look so dark, so long, so silent I felt it to my bones. His sea-coloured eyes drew me in like inescapable maelstroms. Reaching towards me, he cupped my face.

'No. No, I would not.'

Holy Moly...

'And, it seems,' he continued fluidly, his cool gaze raking over the men and women clambering out of the newly arrived coach, 'I have plenty of spare hands available in any case.' His hand flew forward, pointing. 'You! Yes, you three females over there! Get into the house, ready the kitchens and prepare some food.' His eyes zeroed in on the vicar and his entourage. 'It appears that we have guests. And as for you, men, go get some tools from the shed, and get yourselves to the church! You have repair work to do!'

'Err...' One of the villagers who had climbed out of the coach dared to raise a hand. 'B-but, sir, we can't fix a church staple! We're no builders, we're just servants, and...and...'

Under the icy force of Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes, his voice slowly drained away.

My dear fiancé cocked his head. 'You were saying?'

'N-nothing, Sir! Absolutely nothing! It is a pleasure to be working for you. An absolute pleasure!'

And they dashed off.

Grinning like an idiot, I leaned against Mr Ambrose's side.

'Is it wrong that I like it when you act like a bastard cheapskate?'

'No.'

'Excellent.' I snuggled against his firm arm. Never had there been a comfier granite cushion. 'Because I like it. I like it very much.'

'Indeed?'

'Oh yes, indeed, Sir.' Extending my arm, I linked it with his. 'Let's go inside. We have guests to welcome.'

'True.' His eyes glittered. 'And once I've gotten rid of them, we two will have a little chat about headstrong fiancées who decide matters of importance without their groom's approval.'

I said nothing, but simply followed him in. I could have said many things. I could have given a smart comeback. I could have said something about how I was a strong, independent woman who doesn't need to confer with a man before making decisions. Last, but definitely not least, I could have told him about the little room I had found while searching for the non-existent servants of the manor, earlier. But I didn't say anything—for good reason.

The room I had found was a room nearly like all the others. It had crates in one corner, dead flies, dust and cobwebs galore.

Only, there was one major difference...

***

Again, empty. How many of these rooms would I have to check before I found those dratted servants?

I was just about to turn and leave the room when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something peeking out from behind the pile of crates. Something suspiciously un-crate-like.

Peeking my head around the corner, I saw what it was.

A mattress.

The thing was lumpy, old, and stuffed with simple straw, but undeniably a mattress.

Someone had lived here.

It was quite evident that, whoever they were, they hadn't been here for some time. But the thin mattress was undeniably right in front of me, as was the blanket. A blanket which, although appeared to be at least ten years old, looked still to be in mint condition. Beyond the mattress was an overturned cardboard box on which sat a chipped old mug and a cheap earthenware pot. Both were empty and covered in thick sheets of dust. If I'd needed any more evidence that there were no servants in these rooms, here it was. But their absence wasn't what I was focused on right now.

Instead, my eyes zeroed in on a dark sliver between two floorboards. Something looked...off.

Taking a step forward, I cautiously brought down my foot on the floorboard in question.

It creaked, and shifted.

Gathering up my skirts, I knelt, slid my fingers between the two boards and pulled. Nothing moved.

'Come on you stupid thing! Nnng! Move!'

I pulled again, harder, and—

Crack!

The floorboard came loose, sending me sailing back onto my derrière. For the very first time in my life, I was grateful for how well-padded I was in a certain area. Groaning, I pushed myself forward to inspect what I had unveiled. In the dark hole beneath the floorboard, I could see something. Objects, some angular, some round. All were covered in copious amounts of dust and cobwebs.

Oh my God. If this was what I thought it was...maybe I shouldn't do this.

Or maybe you should. Maybe you really, definitely should.

I reached down into the hole.

Promptly, a cloud of dust, fly poo and dead spiders' legs erupted upwards. Coughing and hacking, I rolled to the side. Leave it to Rikkard Ambrose to install the world's cheapest burglar protection in the world! Once I had cleared my sinuses of any and all dust bunnies, I returned to the hole in the floor and once again stuck out my hand. My fingers touched something round and smooth. I pulled it out.

It was a stone. A round, smooth, almost ordinary stone—if it hadn't been for the colour. It was an odd, reddish-grey kind of brown that I had only ever seen once before. On the driveway of a certain estate in the utmost north of England, near the Scottish border.

My heart starting to pound faster, What was a stone from the driveway of Battlewood doing here? I once again reached into the hole. One after another, I retrieved a silver pin with a familiar coat of arms, a moth-eaten handkerchief, a strange old pan with holes in it, a few faded pieces of paper, and lastly...it.

The miniature.

It wasn't the usual kind of miniature. Usually, these tiny paintings only showed one person. This one, however, showed four. A family. I wasn't exactly able to recognize the little girl held by the woman. But her mother seemed very familiar, as did the woman's husband. And as for the teenage boy...

My eyes fixed themselves to his face. A bit narrower than I was used to, and definitely less cold and hard. So much less cold and hard that it tugged at my heart to see. But there wasn't really any doubt. It was him.

Tearing my eyes away from him, they slid to the woman. No, not 'the woman'. Lady Samantha Genevieve Ambrose. A much younger and less troubled Lady Samantha. There was a serene happiness in her face that I had never seen before. Well...except maybe recently. Sometimes, I saw glimpses of it when she looked at Mr Ambrose and me.

But looking at her wasn't nearly as painful as looking at the face of a young, innocent Mr Rikkard Ambrose. His wide, sea-coloured eyes, a bit too big for his young face, lacked all the ice and darkness that I had grown so used to. He stood relaxed, as if the weight of the entire world for once wasn't resting on his shoulders, and he looked...

What was the word I was looking for?

Happy.

He looked happy.

He looked at home.

Feeling a painful tug at my heart, I glanced around the little room, for the first time realizing something. There was a reason he had bought this place. He could have used any old building in the country to store his artefacts. A barn. A lighthouse. A castle ruin. Instead, he had bought one of the most beautiful manor houses I had ever seen in my life—and then he brought me here.

For all his talk of cheap storage space in the country, what he really wanted, what he really needed, was a home. And I was going to make bloody damn sure he got one!

***

'What are you thinking about, Miss Linton?'

'Hm?' I was abruptly torn from my memories. Blinking, I looked up at Mr Rikkard Ambrose—grown up, stern, hard, cold. Just like I loved him.

'I asked,' he repeated, cocking his head, 'what are you thinking about. I know that look. Are you planning something?'

'Me?' I batted my eyelashes up at him, innocently. 'Whyever would you think that?'

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My dear Lords, Ladies & Gentlemen,

How do you like that little peek into Mr Ambrose's past? Was it intriguing?

Yours Truly

Sir Rob