At first, I couldn't see anything at all. Apparently, a love of money wasn't the only thing Uncle Bufford and Mr Ambrose had in common: a penchant for muted lighting was also on the list. Probably they thought it was wasteful, letting all that light into a room without enough eyes present to properly utilize it.

So I waited for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. And waited. And waited longer, while silence surrounded me.

Ah. So that would be three things they had in common: stinginess, darkness and taciturnity. I supposed I could expect as much from a man who had spoken to me and my sisters about three times in total since he adopted us over ten years ago.

So I waited some more. And more. The first thing I noticed when my eyes slowly got used to the dark was gold. Piles of it. Coins were heaped on the desk, on chairs, on and inside chests, even on top of the lamp in the corner. Bits of paper were almost as numerous as coins: they littered everything, everywhere, mixing with the coins into an ordered chaos that only one man's mind, I was sure, could understand.

'Step forward, girl!'

I flinched. The voice had come from a high-backed arm chair that stood facing away from the door. Over the backrest I could just see what seemed to be the top of an oddly coloured cannonball. After a moment, I realized it was a man's bald head.

'I step forward! By that I meant around the chair, so I can bloody see you!'

Ah. Another shared characteristic with Mr Ambrose: impatience. Maybe the two knew each other, after all.

Hurrying around the chair, I made a hurried curtsy in front of the sitting figure. It wasn't until I straightened again that I got a good look at Uncle Bufford for the first time in years.

He wasn't a particular beauty, by conventional standards. His bald head was covered with brownish age marks, and so was the over-large beak of a nose protruding from his face. The deep-set eyes that were fixed on me flashed threateningly. His chin might have been firm and manly, but it was hidden behind a gigantic white beard that hung from his chin like an overgrown bush of white spirea. His bushy eyebrows were so large and his forehead so wrinkled that it seemed to be home to a permanent frown, and his bulky form was clad in a cheap tailcoat of a dirty grey-black colour. In short, he looked like Father Christmas after a very bad day full of blocked chimneys.

'Finished with your examination girl?' he growled.

I flinched, and reflexively folded my arms in front of my chest. On both sides of my head, I could feel my ears burning.

'Um... yes.'

Blast you! Don't sound so brazen! You may not like it, but this man could turn you out on the street with a flick of his finger! This isn't some adventure where you boldly stand up to any man you come across! This is real life!

'Sit down!'

Quickly, I sat on the only free chair in the room. There were other chairs besides that, but they were all covered in paper and coins.

Uncle Bufford fixed his penetrating gaze on me. It could not compete with Mr Ambrose in the category of utter, cool, dispassionate power, but had a way of winding around you like gnarled roots and holding you in place that was no less effective.

'You know why you're here, girl?'

'Yes.'

'My wife informs me you left this house recently.'

I swallowed, and nodded. 'Yes.' Then, remembering his similarities to Mr Ambrose, I corrected: 'Yes, Sir.'

One of Uncle Bufford's bushy eyebrows rose. He showed no other reaction.

'She also tells me that you were gone for quite a long time. An entire week, in fact.'

'Yes, Sir.'

Uncle Bufford grunted into his beard. 'I suppose that is unusual for girls? How long are the free runs you're usually given? Do they take off your leashes at all?'

I blinked. Was he joking? He didn't seem to be.

'Um... we don't wear leashes, Sir.'

He shook his head. 'Pity. Education nowadays could learn a lot from dog training.'

Still, I was not sure whether he was joking. That gnarled old face gave away about as much as the trunk of an oak tree. Finally, I decided to assume for my own sanity's sake that he was, but outwardly, I had better act as if he wasn't. Just to be sure.

'I think leashes are not very fashionable, Sir,' I told him, demurely. 'They would clash with ball gowns.'

My Uncle gave a derisive snort. 'Fashion! As if that counts for anything!'

Suddenly, in spite of the leash talk, he seemed a lot more likeable.

'I quite agree, Sir,' I told him, perfectly honest this time.

'Oh, you do, do you?' He studied me with those sharp eyes of his, and I couldn't help it. I raised my chin and met his eyes defiantly. Blast it! Why couldn't I be meek for all of five minutes? This man could throw me out on the street if I didn't behave!

'How would you liked to be leashed?' he asked, cocking his bald, bearded head.

'Not at all, Sir.'

One side of his mouth twitched up. 'Because it's not fashionable?'

'No, Sir! Because I want to be free.'

'Is that so...' His eyes got even sharper. He was silent for a moment. Finally, he asked: 'Why?'

'Why what, Sir?'

'Don't play dumb with me, girl! Why did you run away?'

I swallowed. 'I cannot tell you, Sir. But it was important.'

His bushy eyebrows rose again. 'You cannot tell me?'

'Yes.'

'Cannot, or will not?'

'Both.'

'Was it a man?'

I nearly choked. 'No! No, no! It wasn't! It most definitely wasn't!'

His gaze wondered over my face for a moment. 'No, I didn't think so. So... what was it, then?'

'I cannot tell you, Sir. I'm sorry.'

His eyes narrowed. 'If this is all some sort of tantrum, a ploy to get me to give you more pocket money, you can forget it. I took you in for my sister's sake, God rest her soul, but I will not indulge your female extravagances!'

Female extravagances? My eyes blazed.

'No,' I told him, flatly. 'It is not a ploy to get you to raise my allowance. In fact, since I'm already here, I want to use the opportunity to tell you that you can reduce it, if you want to.'

This time both of his eyebrows shot so high up, it nearly looked as if the bald top of his head had suddenly grown hair again.

'Reduce it?'

'Or forget about it altogether.' I made a dismissive gesture. 'From next week onward, I won't need it anymore.'

If he had been giving me searching looks before, it was nothing to how his eyes probed me now. There wasn't just determination in those eyes now. This time, there was genuine interest.

'You know, girl... my whole life I've had to deal with people badgering me to give them my money. But I believe you're the first one to ask to receive less of it than they're already getting.'

'I'm unique.' I gave him my brightest smile. 'Like a snowflake.'

That corner of his mouth twitched again. 'I think you're a little too fiery for a snowflake.' Then, suddenly, his mouth flattened into a grim line, and similar lines spread across his forehead. 'But we still haven't discussed that matter of you running away – and more specifically, how you are to be punished!'

Blast! And there I thought I would get off easily. As inconspicuously as possible, I looked around the room for carpet beaters and horse whips. True, I hadn't seen or heard from Uncle Bufford in ten years, but I had heard stories...

'Your punishment,' he proclaimed, his face sterner than ever, 'is to have your allowance cut. Not another penny you'll get out of me for dresses, or jewellery or whatever frivolous things you girls buy nowadays, do you hear me? Not another penny!' Maybe I was mistaken, I mean, this was the terrible uncle after all, the figure that had hunted mine and my sister's nightmares as little children, but I could have sworn he gave me a small smile. 'I hope this terribly harsh punishment will be a lesson to you.'

I shot up from my seat and almost saluted. Instead, I gave a hurried curtsy. 'Yes, Sir! It definitely will, Sir!'

'Good! Now off with you, and don't bother me again unless the house burns down. I'm a busy man!'

'Yes, Sir! Just as you say, Sir!'

I hurried towards the door. Just in time before opening it, I remembered to let my shoulders sag and my lips quiver. When I stepped outside, and my Aunt hurriedly straightened from where she had been trying unsuccessfully to listen at the thick oak door, she took in my woeful face with a nod of satisfaction.

'There! You see? That's what happens when you display lack of respect for your elders.'

I nodded, meekly. 'Yes, Aunt. I'll remember, Aunt.'

'What did he say to you?'

'He... he said...' Making my lower lip tremble expressively, I trailed off into a sob-like noise. Now that was good acting!

My aunt gave another satisfied nod. 'There! I told you that you would regret what you did. Now, off to your room with you, and stay there until I call you.'

'Yes, Aunt. As you wish, Aunt.'

Hurrying off down the corridor, I manage to disguise my giggle as another sob. That must have been the best punishment ever! Reaching the door to my room, I pushed it open and sauntered in.

The room was just as I remembered it – except for one thing. My little sister Ella, the only one of my five sisters with whom I really got along and who by God's good grace happened to be my roommate, was lying on my bed, crying her eyes out.

My eyebrows rose. Even for Ella, who could be a bit sentimental and romantic sometimes, this was going far. Usually, she lay in her own bed, and went without the crying. In fact, at this hour of the day, she mostly didn't lie in bed at all, but was in the garden, conducting a supposedly secret and insufferably sappy romance with the neighbour's son.

It was only then that I noticed she was holding something. Curious, I stepped closer.

'Oh, Lill!' Ella said. Or to be precise, she didn't say it. She whaled it. Rather a curious way to say hello, but shrugging, I opened my mouth to respond with an 'Oh, Ella,' when I noticed what the thing she was holding was: a picture of me!

'Oh, my dear, dear sister!' Covering her eyes with one hand, Ella let her forehead slump forward onto the picture frame. 'Oh, my dearest Lill!'

I closed my mouth. A picture? Where the heck did she get a picture of me? Had I ever sat down to have my portrait taken? Not since Mother and Father had died, surely! Uncle Bufford wouldn't waste a penny on something like that!

'Oh, Lill! Where can you be?'

I opened my mouth to say 'right behind you' – but Ella continued before I could get a word out. She seemed to be doing the dialogue fine without my help: 'Staying with relatives? No, no, we would have heard something by now. It has to be something else. Something sinister. Could it be... that man! That man she mentioned! He has abducted her and is having his wicked way with her!'

My mouth was already open, but that didn't prevent my chin from dropping down farther. Images flashed past my inner eye – images of Rikkard Ambrose having his 'wicked way' with me, whatever that meant exactly. They were highly elicit images not suitable for a young lady at all.

'Or... or someone has abducted her! To demand ransom!'

My eyebrows shot up. Demand ransom? From Uncle Bufford? Well, if something like that ever happened, the kidnappers had another thing coming. But I had to admire Ella's imagination, at least.

'Or she's been killed by a serial killer! Oh, Lill! No! Please! Please come back alive and well!'

I felt this was the right time to announce my presence.

'Of course,' I told her, striding forward and patting her on the shoulder. 'Always happy to oblige.'

Ella stiffened. Then, very, very, very, very slowly, she turned around to look at me. I smiled at her. 'Hello, little sister? How have you been?'

Ella screamed. It was a high-pitched scream, almost worthy of a prima donna. Then the picture of yours truly slipped out of her fingers, and she fainted, falling back onto my bed. The bed I had been planning to use within the not too distant future!

I heaved a sigh. Really, did nobody in this house know how to give you a proper welcome home?

*~*~**~*~*

Apparently, my aunt did. Only, she had her own ideas of what constituted a 'proper welcome home'. It seemed that about two minutes after she had found out I was back, she had hurried over to Mrs Fields, the wife of a rich merchant who often did business with Uncle Bufford, and told her some tale of how I had returned home after a long journey abroad. It only took a little skilful prodding to make Mrs Fields suggest: 'Why, we should give a ball to welcome her back home!'

My aunt reluctantly let herself be persuaded, and before you could say Jack Robinson, the invitations for a surprise ball the very next night were sent to out. A ball! In my honour! Torture like that should be prohibited by law!

'Don't you dare try to worm your way out of this,' my Aunt hissed into my ear as she tightened the straps of my corset, caging me in as if she were putting full-body-manacles on me. 'You promised!'

'I know,' I wheezed.

That in itself wouldn't have stopped me. I was really talented at breaking promises I had never meant to keep. But my aunt watched me with the eyes of a hawk and the determination of a starved hyena. If I managed to disappear, it would be a miracle.

'You will go to this ball and you will spend your evening smiling and dancing if I have to drag you to it!'

'Yes, Aunt.'

'The coach is outside! You get into it right now, and don't stir from your seat unless I tell you too.'

'Yes, Aunt.'

'That goes for you, too,' my Aunt snapped at Ella, who was helping to tie Elsebeth's laces. 'I want all of you out there in five minutes. It took a great deal of effort to arrange a ball at such short notice, and I won't have you being late!'

She rushed out, and I managed, in spite of my suffocatingly tight corset, to bend far enough down to pick up my dress from the bed.

'Here. Let me help you with that.' Slender white hands took the dress out of my rounder, tanned ones and slipped it over my head. When my head came free of the linen, I saw Ella, smiling at me with a smile full of sisterly affection.

So, my little sister had finally forgiven me – 'I was so worried!' – and decided that – 'I thought you were dead!' – she no longer needed to pelt me with recriminations – 'You could have given me some warning at least!' – every single minute of the day, had she? I did a quick calculation in my head. It had taken her nine full hours to forgive me. For her angelic nature, that was the equivalent of a year-long, festering grudge.

'You're talking to me again, I see?'

Ella's cheeks turned red. The look I had given her wasn't really that reproving, but Ellla blushed at any and every opportunity she got.

'I never stopped talking to you!'

'Talking to me without trying to bite my head off, I mean.'

Ella's blush deepened, and she mumbled something about not knowing what I could possibly mean. With a wink and a sigh, I took her by the arm.

'We'd better go! If we aren't in the coach soon, Aunt Brank will have our heads on spikes.'

The coach ride to the ballroom Mrs Fields had rented for the night was quiet and uncomfortable. Being about as miserly as my Uncle, her desire to save money only matched by her desire to gain social status, my Aunt had rented a coach in which all seven of us would just about fit – if we were stacked on top of each other and holding our breath. By the time we reached our destination, I was already grumbling mutinously.

'Come on,' Ella said, encouragingly, gently manoeuvring me towards the entrance. 'Let's go in. Who knows, it might even be fun.'

They were waiting for us at the door. The moment Ella and I stepped into the ballroom, three figures sprang out at us, barring my way. They were my best friends, Patsy, Flora and Eve. Though from the thunderous expression on Patsy's brick wall of a face, you might not have guessed the 'best friends' part.

'Where were you?' she demanded, waving a sausage-thick finger in my face. 'We don't see you for seven days, and then, out of the blue, Mrs Fields brings us the invitation to this ball and says it's to celebrate your safe return! What the devil have you been doing this last week?'

'Were you off on a Caribbean island, having a romantic adventure with some handsome, dashing hero?' Flora sighed.

For a moment I was tempted to say 'No, the Island was on the French Coast, actually' – then I remembered that as much as I might want to, I couldn't tell them anything about what had happened. Besides, even if I did have adventures they were most certainly not romantic, and Mr Ambrose not handsome or heroic! Not in the least, the blasted son of a bachelor!

'Tell us right now,' Patsy growled, 'or I'll go through the ballroom telling every single gentleman here what a wonderful dancing partner and charming young lady you are!'

'You wouldn't!'

'Try me!'

I met Ella's eyes. 'Yes, I see what you mean,' I told her, my voice dripping with sarcasm. 'This will be very great fun indeed.'

Patsy was true to her threats. Two hours later, I had danced with more men than I cared to remember, and my feet felt about ready to fall off. Plus, I was aching all over from the tightly laced corset. I should never have let my Aunt lace me up! My only consolation was that all the men I had danced with were surely nursing their wounded feet right now, suffering just as much pain as yours truly. I had made good use of the heels on my shoes in an honest attempt to produce a ballroom full of foot-puree. But that didn't stop new men from pestering me with invitations to dance.

Finally, I found a hidden spot behind some floor-length window curtains. As long as the bulge in the curtains, caused by my rather generous derriere, didn't betray my presence, no passing gentlemen suffering from sudden bouts of dancing mania could find me here. Taking a deep breath, I leaned against the wall.

'Finally!' I muttered 'Safe!'

The words had hardly left my mouth when the curtain on the other side of the window jerked aside, revealing a man who had been hiding there, just like me, gazing out into the night. He stood there, staring at me. I stared back, in startled recognition.

'Miss Linton! Is that you?'

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Once more into the breech, as Shakespeare said! We've got to battle on a little longer to emerge victorious from the "Story of the Year Award" 2015. Wattpad has suddenly extended the voting deadline, and Lilly & Mr Ambrose need a last spurt of support to help them secure first place!

Oh, and incidentally..do you by any chance remember the little surprise I hinted that I was working on for you inside my last author's note? Do you already have an idea what it might be?

Yes, you guessed correctly: am currently working on a SPECIAL EXTRA CHAPTER for when we win this fabulous award!

I say WHEN, not IF, for I know I can rely on all of you 100%! Let's go and win the big award for Lilly & Mr Ambrose! :-)

You will find the link to the voting page at the very top of my wattpad bio. Let's go and win this! :-)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob