Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,244

were not. She liked going to the museum or to art galleries, and not to look at potatoes.

I hated seeing her like this, anxious and uncertain. I wanted her to be carefree and happy. I wanted him out of her life. And yet… a tiny part of me suspected that having him out of her life would not exactly contribute to her happiness. She cared for him, and he for her, probably. It was the one thing that had prevented me from going to him and threatening him with exposure, or just disclosing his conduct to his parents. They had to be together to be happy. Yet I couldn’t just let them run off together. I knew Ella, knew the value she placed on honour and propriety. The scandal would follow her everywhere, it would ruin her life.

Still, the alternative… her marrying that nincompoop Sir Philip…

I shuddered from head to toe. She would drown in flower bouquets and be forced to look at that silly grin and over-large nose for the rest of her life. What a hideous prospect.

‘It is a beautiful day, today, girls,’ my aunt initiated the conversation with a glance out of the window, her voice cheerful, which probably meant that she had momentarily forgotten both me and the plate of potatoes in front of her. ‘The sun is shining, for a change. Do you have any special plans?’

‘Maria and I planned to go out for a picnic with the Hendersons,’ Anne piped up. She shot a sideways glance at Gertrude. ‘Want to come? Young Master Charles Henderson will be there, and I’m sure he would be enchanted to meet you.’

She giggled, and not in a nice way. I knew it, because I prided myself on having brought the art of nasty giggling to perfection.

‘No, thank you,’ Gertrude replied quietly, not looking up from her plate. ‘He is five years younger than I, if I am correct. And I would much prefer to stay at home and work some more on my needlework.’

‘I’d like to come,’ Lisbeth put in, her eyes shining eagerly.

Anne chose to ignore that.

‘And the rest of you?’ My aunt’s eyes went from the window, through which sunshine streamed into the room, to me. Her expression soured. ‘What do you plan to do, Lillian?’

My hand, in the act of piercing a piece of potato with my fork, froze in mid-air.

Hell’s whiskers!

What did I plan to do? Up until a second ago, I had planned absolutely nothing. But in the back of my mind, I knew what I had to do, whether I planned it or not. It was a weekday. A workday. If I wanted to keep my position as Mr Ambrose’s private secretary, I would have to go to work. I would have to face him, after everything that happened last night.

But… nothing happened last night, right? It was all just my imagination. The more… intimate parts, anyway. Not real. Imagination. Only imagination.

Ha! Really?

‘Lilly?’ For the first time this morning, my aunt didn’t sound like a shark out for blood when talking to me. ‘Lilly, are you all right? You look pale.’

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ella quickly glance up from her meal. She looked down again so fast that I couldn’t read anything in her expression except her concern - concern for me.

She thinks I’m going back to the man who has me in his hold, it shot through my head. And the fact is: I am.

I shook my head. No! Mr Ambrose didn’t have me in his hold. Not in any sense, and certainly not a romantic one! I had chosen to work for him of my own free will. I could quit any time I wished to. I could quit today. I could stay at home and not leave the house, and… and… and never find out if last night had really only been a dream.

Angrily, I speared the potato and shoved it into my mouth.

‘I’m fine,’ I lied gruffly. ‘Perfectly fine. I think I’ll take a walk in the park. As you said, it’s fine weather. There ought to be a lot of potential suitors hiding in the bushes, waiting to pounce on the first likely girl to come along.’

‘Very good, girl, very good indeed. But suitors don't hide in bushes. They ride carriages or horses. The good ones, anyway.’

‘I would never have guessed. What would I do without your wise advice, Aunt.’

‘You would be destitute, of course, child. Don’t ask such silly questions.’

‘Yes, Aunt.’

I