"Mademoiselle Ambrose."

The vicomte performed a sweeping bow which he somehow managed to make seem genuine, despite the way one corner of his mouth curled up in a mocking smile.

Adaira scrutinised him for a moment. He was now leisurely leaning against the wall, his glossy black hair casually tied back, his long-limbed body thrumming with power, even in this casual pose. No matter how much she didn't want to, she had to admit: he looked good.

Though not nearly as good as Captain Car—

She cut that thought off quickly.

He isn't here! He left, and he isn't coming back!

"In fact," the vicomte continued, not knowing the path her thoughts had taken, "if I didn't know better, I would say you seem so disinclined to be engaged to me, I might even get the idea you do not not, in fact, wish to marry me."

Adaira snorted. "Don't take it personally. I just don't like smarmy self-important frogs with too much power for their own good."

"Oui." He gave a considering nod. "I can see how very much not personal it is."

Adaira herself didn't know why she disliked the man so much. He was rich. Rich beyond anyone's wildest dreams. He was good-looking. The gaggle of giggling village girls who threw him coquettish looks whenever he went out was proof enough of that. He was even well-spoken and had something that was sorely lacking in her family: a sense of humour.

Yet still...

She couldn't help the cold tingle she felt whenever he looked at her. As if he was looking not because he loved or even desired her, but because she was a tool. A means to an end.

She was fairly certain she could identify that look. After all, it was the same one her brother gave practically everyone except her and her mother.

On second thoughts...

He was rich, like her brother.

Black-haired, like her brother.

Powerful, like her brother.

Yep...maybe it wasn't so strange that she didn't want to marry him. Besides...there was one other reason.

An image flashed past her inner eye: dark, devilishly handsome brown eyes, and a smirk that made her heart twinge.

Don't think about him, Adaira! Don't think about him! He was sent on a mission to God-only-knows-where.

But even if he hadn't been, even if he were here...what good would it do? It was not like someone like her father would deign to take her preferences into consideration when making decisions for her.

"Oh, Mademoiselle!" A broad smile spread over the vicomte's face. "From that delightfully murderous look on your face, may I deduce that you are thinking about me? I'm touched!"

Adaira's eyes narrowed. "Yes, you are. In the head."

"You wound me, ma chérie."

"Not yet." One hand threateningly slid into her dress. Of course, the only weapon she kept there was a particularly dangerously decorated handkerchief, but he didn't need to know that, now, did he? "But it could be arranged."

"No." His brilliant blue eyes met hers, and there was not a trace of amusement in them. "No, it could not."

A shiver went down her back.

"Why are you here, really?" she demanded. "What do you want with me?"

"Why, to win your heart of course, ma chérie." Suddenly, the faint amusement was back again. "And if any other benefits should arise from my endeavour, well..." He shrugged. "Who am I to say no to unexpected boons?"

And with that, he turned and strolled off down the corridor, leaving Adaira with a sense of growing unease.

***

The first time the sun set on our journey, it was not an easy thing to watch. Not that I disliked sunsets or something. Far from it—sunsets could be amazingly romantic. And this one might have been as well, had it not been for the fact that the sinking sun meant we had to stop for the night. Stop and wait.

"It's going to be all right," I told him as, in the dim light of dusk, our carriage rolled to a stop in front of an inn. "It's just a few hours. You know how stuffy your father is. Do you really think he'll host a wedding without posting the banns three weeks in advance and sending invites to half the nobility in Britain?"

"Unlikely, agreed." His fist clenched. "But..."

...but that doesn't make it easier.

It was amazing how well I could read minds these days, wasn't it?

"Come on." Taking him by the hand, I decided on a strategy. "The quicker you go to sleep, the quicker we can get up in the morning."

He gave me an arctic look. "That is what parents tell their unruly children the night before Christmas, Mrs Ambrose."

Oh. Um. He noticed that?

Dang!

"Doesn't mean it isn't true," I waved off his objections, trying to ignore the way my ears were turning red. "Besides, I'm hungry. You wouldn't want to starve your poor wife who only just gave birth, would you?"

He sent me another look, this time a prodigiously dirty one. His experience with dirty things must have increased recently. I wonder why that was?

Cough, cough, diapers, cough cough.

"No," he finally concurred. "No, I would not. Let's go."

We left the coach to Karim and the four dozen heavily armed minions in the other coaches. Three dozen more minions, even more heavily armed, were escorting us.

"Don't you think you overdid it just a little bit?" I hissed at my dear husband out of the corner of my mouth.

"Mrs Ambrose, do you know how many men DeMordaunt has under his command?"

"I didn't mean in general! I meant right here, right now! You're going to give the poor innkeeper a heart attack!"

"In which case we would not have to pay the bill, correct?"

One of my eyebrows twitched. Right then and there, I promised myself I would double my reading time with Berty. More knowledge of Mr Scrooge could only be good for him.

"I'm serious!" I hissed. "I don't think there's even enough room in the inn for this many people!"

"It'll be fine. At this time of the year, there won't...be...anybody..."

His voice trailed off as the door opened and we stepped into utter chaos. The entire common room of the inn was filled to the gills. Filled with people, with luggage, and with piles of countless packages!

"What is going on?" I whispered. "Did we enter the wrong house?"

"I don't know, Mrs Ambrose." Eyes narrowing infinitesimally, Mr Ambrose stepped forward. "But I intend to find out."

***

"Aaaaand here we are! Back with more supplies!"

The door to the room flew open, revealing a gaggle of females carrying mountains of diapers, colouring books, toys and other baby supplies while smiling widely at the...empty room?

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then...

"Eve?"

"Yes, Patsy?"

"Do you ever get the feeling that we're underappreciated?"

"Yes, Patsy."

"Oy, what's goin' on here? Let me 'ave a look!"

Shouldering the others aside, Amy made her way to the front. In her arms, she was carrying a big book, on the cover of which was emblazoned the title A Thousand Disgusting Child Maladies and How to Treat Them – A Guide for Loving Fathers, by Prof. Dr. Dire Rear.

"Dey're gone!"

"We've noticed."

"Dey're both gone! Where the 'ell did the two of dem run off to?"

"More importantly, why did they run off?" Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Patsy stepped forward to peek under the bed, as if she suspected her best friend might be hiding there. "I mean, she just gave birth! And she was right here with us, her wonderful and kind friends who were ready to gently guide and support her in these trying times." Gently, she waved her steel-reinforced parasol through the air. "Why would she run away from that?"

"Um..." Flora cleared her throat. "Well, Patsy—"

"Don't!" Patsy stabbed the parasol in her direction. "Don't!"

"Shutting up now."

"You two, stop arguing!" Eve interrupted. "I don't think it was because of us."

Everyone turned towards her.

"You don't?" Ella enquired in a hopeful tone of voice.

"No. Think about it. If they wanted to avoid us, why would they invite us over in the first place?"

"Oh. That's true. But..." Ella looked around. "If that's the case, why leave? Where could they have disappeared to?"

"Something is fishy here," Amy added.

"Enough chit chat, everyone! Rather than waste time talking, we should be looking for them. Let's get going!" General Patsy ordered. "We're searching this whole place, top to bottom, and we won't stop till we've found them, understood?"

"Aye aye!"

"Yes!"

"Right away!"

And thus, the poor employees of Empire House, who had just breathed a sigh of relief at having survived the wrath of the monster that was a first-time father on the prowl, were swarmed by the feminist horde. Soon, various ladies started popping up in all manner of places: under desks, in hidden corners and alcoves, as well as in the odd broom closet. However, no matter how much they searched, none of them found any sign of Lilly or The Accursed Granite Man, as Patsy so kindly called him. Not until Eve came storming down a set of stairs none of the others had noticed so far.

"Everyone, look! Look at what I've found!"

"What?"

Everyone gathered round, trying to catch a glimpse of the crumpled piece of paper in Eve's hand.

"What is that?"

"Is it about Lilly?"

"Does it say where she is?"

"Did Mr Stone Statue kidnap her and imprison her in a tower somewhere?"

"You read too many bloody fairy tales!"

"Everyone, shut up! And you, give that here." Snatching the telegram, Patsy studied the thing with narrowed eyes. "Hm. Hm, hm, hm."

"Adaira?" demanded Eve who was peeking over Patsy's shoulder. "Isn't that the name of that young lady we met at the wedding? The one who was really nice despite being related to...that man?"

"Aye. Aye, dat's 'er!"

All the girls exchanged glances. "What do you think? If she's in trouble...did Lilly go to help her?"

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Do bears shit in the woods?"

"I don't know." Flora, the born-and-raised London girl, cocked her head. "Do they?"

Patsy thumped her on the head with the butt of her parasol. "What she meant to say is yes. Yes, Lilly went to help her. So...what do you think we should do now?"

Once more, the girls exchanged glances—then, suddenly, grins started spreading over their faces.

"I don't know why," Eve said, "but I suddenly feel like taking a holiday in the country."

"It's the off-season for piano tuning," Ella added. "I think Edmund can spare me for a few weeks."

"Aye, sounds good."

"Me, too."

"It's decided, then. Eve, you've got a relative in the telegraph office, don't you?"

"Yes! A cousin of mine."

"Good." Patsy held out the crumpled paper. "Find out where this came from. The rest of you, head home and pack." She rubbed her hands. "We have a trip to prepare for, and friends to protect!"

***

Strange...

I blinked. Why did I just feel a cold tingle down my spine, as if warning me of impending doom?

Shrugging, I refocused on the here and now. Mr Rikkard Ambrose, for his part, didn't seem to have noticed anything strange. With a determined set to his shoulders, he was currently striding towards the counter of the inn. He came to a stop in front of the innkeeper who was currently rifling through his guest book and opened his mouth—only for the other man to raise a hand and dash away.

"'xcuse me! Excuse me for just a minute, Sir! I'll be right back!"

And with that, the innkeeper was off, distributing keys among the various people stuffed into the common room. Most of them seemed to be carrying really heavy suitcases for some reason, not to speak of the huge crates stacked up against the wall. The proprietor was just rushing towards a back room, probably to fetch more keys for his innumerable guests, when a hand lashed out and grabbed him by the lapels.

"You. Explain. Now."

"E-explain?" The older man gulped, only now really noticing the human iceberg that was towering over him.

"Yes. Explain. What is going on here?"

"Ehem, well." A broad smile spread over the innkeeper's face. I deduced that something really amazing must have happened to him. Because unless it was the best day of their life, no way could anyone smile right into Mr Rikkard Ambrose's patented glacial glare. "I don't rightly know either. All these gents here just showed up out of the blue. Normally, there ain't nobody around on the road in this cold weather, but who am I to say no to some good business." Without really noticing, Mr Ambrose gave an approving nod at this—only to instantly freeze at the man's next words. "Can you believe the lot of them are just delivery men? Said they're taking lots of stuff up north. Seems like some real fancy toff from the continent is gonna get married, and they're delivering the wedding presents for his future wife. Ain't that sweet?"

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

I woke up at six am today and am not really awake enough to write an author's note yet. Please pardon my empty brain ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob