Damn and blast! Damn it all to hell, straight to Lucifer's personal funhouse!

Somehow gaining control over my facial muscles, I quickly plastered a smile onto my face instead of the homicidal expression that wanted to form there in response to Adaira's smirk, With a deep breath, I turned towards the newcomers—which just so happened to bring me face-to-face with Lady Samantha Genevieve Ambrose and, joy oh joy, my little sister Ella. Behind her, Eve, Flora, Patsy and Amy were gathered 'round, watching the whole scene with unholy glee.

Judging by their expressions, it wasn't hard to guess who had steered my little sister over here.

Just you wait! I'll get you all for this!

"Why, hello, Your Ladyship." I inclined my head. "What may I do for you and your companion this fine eve—mmph!"

"Victor!" A pair of slender arms clamped around me like a vice. I tried to say something, anything, but her grip tightened with a power those flimsy little sticks really shouldn't contain, stealing my breath. "Finally, I get to meet you!"

"M-miss?" I squeezed out through my constricted throat, doing my best to sound as if I didn't know her while simultaneously trying not to be choked.

"Oh, right, you don't know who I am yet. I am so sorry! God, look at me! What would Lilly think of me?"

"Oh, I have a good idea what she might think," Adaira piped up from behind me.

I would definitely get her for this. And my vengeance would be one for the ages.

"Don't you worry, Ella," the little vixen continued. "I'm sure that Lilly would understand. Go ahead and enjoy your reunion."

Why, thank you very much, Adaira. I hope you'll enjoy the reunion of my fist with your face as well.

But before I could utter that spiffing comeback, Ella dragged her over and included her in the hug-vice. Once more, I lost my ability to breathe and articulate. "Ah, that's such a sweet thing to say! Thank you, Adaira! Thank you so much!"

"Yes...thank you so much," I wheezed. "You're being so very helpful."

"I am, aren't I?"

"Something for which I'll be sure to thank you later."

I probably shouldn't have told her that. Because, apparently, Adaira took my words to heart and made herself scarce at the earliest opportunity. I had no idea how she managed to slip out of Ella's grasp—but she did. With a last wink and a wave, she vanished into the crowd. Which left me and Ella for our loving reunion. Oh joy.

Maybe, just maybe, I should have told my little sister the truth after all.

"Victor, I..." Releasing me from her tight grip, Ella stepped back to gaze up at me with teary eyes. "I am sorry for ambushing you like this. I realise you don't know who I am—"

Oh, believe me, I think I have a rough idea.

"—and it is rude for me to ambush you like this, but I simply had to talk to you." Taking a deep breath, she looked straight into my eyes. "I am your sister."

I opened my mouth—then closed it again.

"Oh my! 'e's speechless!" Amy exclaimed.

"Overwhelmed," Patsy added.

"Struck dumb, in every sense of the word," Eve concluded.

Flora nodded wisely. "It really must be an emotional moment for him, Ella, meeting you for the first time."

What? Even Flora joined in? Sweet, innocent little Flora?

I had little time to feel betrayed, however, because the next moment, Ella had once more engulfed me in a hug, bawling her eyes out against my manly chest. Thank the Lord for corsets!

"I'm so glad!" Looking up, Ella beamed up at me through her tears. "So very glad you feel the same as me. I'd feared that you'd feel abandoned after you spent so many years apart from us, your family, and we never came to look for you. I'm so sorry! I don't know if you can ever forgive me?"

"I, ehem..." Clearing my throat, I shifted uncomfortably in Ella's grip, glaring fiercely over her shoulder at the other girls, who were currently howling with laughter. I would already be whacking them over the head with a parasol if Ella weren't currently busy giving me the puppy eyes. Ah! The puppy eyes! The dreaded, terrible, irresistible puppy eyes.

"Can you forgive me? Please?"

"Um, well...of course." I cleared my throat. "Of course I'll forgive you."

"How sweet!" Patsy, also known as the bane of my existence, exclaimed and whipped a fake tear from her eye. "Brother and sister reunited and reconciled after such a long time...it's truly heart-warming to watch."

"Aye!" Amy, or should I say the succubus from hell, gave me a sweet, innocent smile. "Why don't ye dance together? Ye know, ta commemorate this momentous occasion?"

My mouth dropped open.

"What an excellent idea!" Patsy agreed. "Don't you think so, Mr Linton?"

"I, um...well..."

"Really?" Ella exclaimed. "Could we really?"

And then, they came again. The most dangerous weapon in my little sister's arsenal.

Ah! Puppy eyes! Puppy eyes! Avaunt! Avaunt! Begone!

"I...I would be happy to."

Wait, was that just me?

Throwing her arms around me, Ella gave a squeal of happiness.

"Yes! Yes, thank you!"

Damn those puppy eyes! They should be banned by international agreement!

But before I could think of a way to accomplish that, or better yet, a way to get out of Ella's grasp, the bloody music started up once more, and I found myself extending a hand towards Ella. After all, it was just one dance, right? She probably wouldn't even stomp on my feet.

That somehow didn't make me feel any better as I was forced to lead my little sister onto the dance floor, accompanied by the cackling of my traitorous friends. Then the dance truly began and, taking a deep breath, I—ugh!—took Ella into my arms.

"So, tell me?" Ella eagerly demanded as I—double ugh!—twirled her around. "What did you do all these years?"

Oh crap.

Oh my, Lilly, snickered the wicked little voice at the back of my mind that sounded suspiciously like one of my friends. Looks like it's time to get inventive.

"Well," I cleared my throat, "after I was separated from the rest of the family, I came to be in the care of a wicked, wicked stepmother..."

You call that inventive, Lilly?

Shut up, inner voice. Plagiarism is an art form.

One dance and a long, not entirely factual explanation later, Ella was weeping for the sad fate of her long-lost brother. Of course she was also beaming with joy at having found him again—so happy, in fact, that I couldn't deny her when she asked for another dance, through which she peppered me with questions for details. So I continued my explanation, none of which was in any way stolen from fairy tales. And then another dance, just because Ella was so deliriously happy, and, you know, puppy eyes.

When the last dance with Ella finally ended, my aching feet started practically weeping in joy. And no, that was not a metaphor for me having sweaty feet. Soon, we found ourselves at the edge of the dancefloor, where Adaira, Amy, Patsy, Eve and Flora were waiting for us, somehow still giggling, and Lady Samantha was gazing at Ella and me like a proud mother, never mind she wasn't related to either of us. Ella herself was at my side, deliriously happy about her reunion with her "long-lost brother". And said brother? Well, the poor sod was currently being dragged behind her, silently lamenting his aching feet and wondering why he had ever dressed in trousers in the first place.

Oh, and he was also so exhausted he had started to talk about himself in the third person. You see what too much dancing does to you?

At least this was the last dance for now. Yay!

The moment that thought had passed through my mind, the music ceased, and the sound of somebody clearing his throat attracted everyone's attention. Once again, it was the marquess. He wasn't up in the gallery this time, but standing in front of the quartet of musicians, a self-satisfied glint in his eyes.

"I am delighted to see all of you enjoying yourselves, my dear guests. I am even more delighted to see you dancing so energetically at a ball in my darling daughter's honour. It is heart-warming to know that everyone has joined the spirit of the festivities, and that you all hold my daughter's happiness in such high regard. With that in mind...is there anyone who would like to ask my beautiful daughter for a second dance?"

I had never seen an entire ballroom full of people back away at the same time. Well...it wasn't the entire ballroom full of people, really. Just the male half. I couldn't help but notice how most of them glanced down at their feet in trepidation, wincing in remembrance.

Ah. Apparently, Adaira had been busy.

Exactly how did she dance with that many people already?

But before I could ask that question, the marquess once more attracted everyone's attention. Clearing his throat, he swept a glare over the assembled guests.

"I said," repeated the marquess, his voice steely, "is there anyone who would like to ask my beautiful daughter for a second dance?"

And woe betide those who don't, his unspoken words echoed through the room.

Yet still, nobody stepped forward.

That was when the marquess's gaze settled on the vicomte. Who, the moment he noticed, took an instinctive step back.

Mwhahahaha!

I could barely hold back my laughter at the expression on his face. And a small snort actually did escape me when I caught sight of the expression on my father-in-law's visage. Let's just say that, in the immortal words of Queen Victoria, he was not amused.

"Anyone?" he repeated a third time, his eyes boring into the vicomte.

For a moment, the man shifted hesitantly—then winced at the motion and reached down to massage his shin.

The expression on the marquess's face was worth a mountain of gold. Well, in my opinion, anyway. Probably not for Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"Don't be so sure about that."

"Gah!"

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of the cool voice right beside my ear. How the heck had he gotten there? And more importantly, why was he there?

"You are wondering why I am here, correct?"

"Have you learned to read minds, Sir?"

"Only faces," he told me with an expression as unreadable as they came. "Do you know what I have been doing while you were dancing with your sister?"

"Err...no?"

His eyes glittered coldly. "Doing the same with mine."

"Oh." I suddenly felt my ears turn red. "Indeed?"

"Indeed, Mrs Ambrose. Suffice it to say she was very enthusiastic. Particularly regarding my shin and toes. Apparently, you are an outstanding teacher."

Never in my life had I heard anyone make a compliment sound like such a convincing death threat.

"Why, thank you, Sir. I do my best."

"That is good to hear. Then you won't mind checking on your student's skills, will you? I'm certain she will be delighted."

"Of course I wo—Wait, what?"

It was only then that I noticed the marquess's gaze had moved on from the vicomte and fallen upon me. His reluctant, but still demanding gaze.

"I repeat," he spoke once again, "is there anyone who would like to ask my beautiful daughter for a second dance?"

Oh drat.

Mr Ambrose stepped up beside me, and I felt a gentle push forward. "Go on. What are you waiting for, Mr Linton?"

"A miracle?"

He gave me a look. One that clearly said, There won't be one forthcoming. Now go and experience your teaching results first-hand.

Then he opened his mouth. I was sure he was going to wish me fun with having my toes crushed or something. But then...

"Please. This is our chance to impress my father and stop this farce of a contest for my little sister."

Double drat.

Oh, fine!

I took a deep breath. "You'll owe me for this."

Considering for a moment, he cocked his head—then nodded. "Three bars of solid chocolate."

I perked up. Suddenly, the prospect of another dance seemed a lot more tempting.

But...

My last name was Ambrose now. That name came with certain responsibilities.

"Six bars," I demanded.

His eyes narrowed. "Four."

"Five."

His eyes narrowed another half millimetre or so. "Four. And a foot massage."

Drat! He just knows me too bloody well.

"Deal!"

I gave my husband a nod—and then, before the marquess could start to get impatient, I stepped forward. Squaring my shoulders, I moved towards Adaira and dipped into a gentlemanly bow. "May I have the honour of this dance, Lady Adaira?"

She smiled. And this time, it was a smile of true gratitude.

Though probably not enough for her not to trample on my feet.

"Why, certainly, Mister Linton!"

She extended her hand towards me, and, before I could think better of it, I pulled her onto the dance floor and into a twirl. Or at least doing the best imitation of a twirl I could manage with the foot-shaped collections of bruises that currently passed for my feet.

"Thank you for this," Adaira told me and, for a moment, I forgot about the ache in my feet. The look in her eyes...it was a look I remembered from the mirror, back when I still had to worry about suitors and similarly pesky flies. "Truly, thank you. Nobody has ever done anything like this for me."

I smiled. Suddenly, I didn't really mind being here anymore. "It's all right. I—"

"Too bad your uncle's socks aren't real. I might actually go through with this whole wedding thing then."

Remember what I said about not minding being here? Scratch that.

I glared at the grinning Adaira. "You're still having fun with this?"

"One must enjoy life's pleasures as they come, mustn't one?"

"Aren't you being a bit too casual about this?" I hissed. "It's clear as day that your father still favours the vicomte over me! What will you do if he decides to give you to him in the end?"

She batted her eyelashes at me. "Expect my knight in shining socks to steal me away through the window in the night, of course. But honestly..." One corner of her mouth quirked up, she threw a glance over her shoulder at where the vicomte was currently sitting, massaging his toes. "...considering the performance he put on today, I doubt he's still in the running. Or capable of running, period."

"Hm...you might be right about that." My gaze swivelled back to her. "That doesn't mean you'll get away scot free with using me for your personal amusement."

"Naturally," Adaira replied like a prim and proper English lady. "I expect to get away English free."

I genuinely had no comeback for that. At least none that wouldn't involve copious cursing in Scottish brogue, which was probably not the best thing to do in a middle of a high society ball. But in all honesty...considering how much my feet were hurting, I would probably soon stop caring about that.

Good God! I thought feet were supposed to hurt during pregnancy, not after!

Then again...during pregnancy, I hadn't had to squeeze into uncomfortable dancing shoes.

True, Lilly. You were far too busy running from pirates.

Ah, the good old days...

A moment later, I was drawn from my thoughts by a foot descending onto my toes.

"Ow!"

"Ooops! I actually didn't mean to do that. So sorry."

The good old days were over, apparently.

Adaira, thank goodness, kept our footsie battle to a minimum. A good thing, too, since my feet were already aching so much I was contemplating doing a handstand. Only the thought that this was the last dance for me today kept me upright. Finally, the music started to peter out. When the last few slow notes finally drifted through the ballroom, I let go with a sigh of relief and stepped back. The other couples were slowly disengaging, wandering off to the edge of the dance floor for refreshments—probably to get energy for the next dance. As for me? I wouldn't be joining them. Yawning, I decided it was time to hit the hay.

Or at least that was what I thought until a granite-hard hand landed on my shoulder.

"And where do you think you are going, Mr Linton?"

"To bed," was my simple answer. Honestly, I didn't really have energy for anything else. "The ball shouldn't last much longer anyway, right? Now, if you'll excuse me..."

"I'm afraid not, Mr Linton. At least not yet. There is one more dance ahead of you."

"What?" Whirling to face him, I sent a glare up at the bloody man. He was completely unfazed "Are you bloody serious?"

"Do I look like I am joking, Mr Linton?"

"Bloody hell!" Groaning, I sagged in upon myself. "Please, no! I'm aching all over! I want to get out of this bloody corset! I've spent the entire evening squashed like a grape in a wine press to keep my disguise up and—"

He cut me off with an icy stare. I knew that stare. It was his business stare. His boss stare. The stare that was not to be argued with.

Ugh.

"Fine." My shoulders sagged as I capitulated. Turning back to the dance floor, I started trudging forward. "Who do you want me to dance with? Adai—"

"Not yet."

"Huh?"

"You are not ready for this particular dance yet. You have to change first."

"Change? What do you mean by—"

But he was already on the move, gesturing for me to follow. Sighing, I fell in step behind him. Soon, we left the ballroom through a side-exit and, after proceeding down a corridor, reached a small, nondescript door.

"You will change in there," Mr Rikkard Ambrose ordered in a tone that made me want to beat him over the head with a feminist manifesto. In spite of that tempting idea, I stepped into the room and...and...

And I froze in place. Staring. Wide-eyed.

There, right in front of men, on a shiny wooden mannequin, rested the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. Sumptuous silk in dark forest green, decorated with leafy vines in threads of gold. Upon the gold bloomed sapphire flowers that sparkled in the candle light, and diamond petals decorated the neckline like a necklace.

And the most important thing of all?

It was a dress. For a woman.

For me.

Slowly, I looked back at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He was staring at me with that ice-cold gaze of his that made me feel warm inside.

"Don't take long," he ordered. "I shall be waiting outside."

Then he closed the door.

I dressed in a blur. One minute, I was stripping off my trousers and too-bloody-tight corset, and the next I stood there in a dress that would have put Cinderella's fairy godmother to shame. In a daze, I stepped out of the room and came face-to-face with Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Was he always this tall, or this handsome? Did his eyes always have such a dangerous glint in them, making me shiver with anticipation?

"Mrs Ambrose." He extended his arm to me. His strong, dependable arm. "Shall we?"

"Indeed." Somehow, without my noticing, a smile had appeared on my face. "We shall."

And he led me into the ballroom.

The moment we entered, the entire room fell silent. I didn't know why. The surprise of more guests coming at this time, when the ball was nearly over? The fact that a dance had just ended and there was a lull in the music? Maybe both. But somehow, I suspected it had far more to do with the glacial glare my husband swept across the dancefloor. The crowd parted before us like the sea before a floating iceberg. In a blink, Mr Ambrose had swept me into his arms and led me into the centre of the room. A snap of his fingers echoed through the air.

"Music. Now."

The quartet didn't even hesitate a second. They struck up a soulful waltz that practically begged all men to sweep their ladies into their arms and dance the night away. Yet nobody moved. Nobody, that is, except Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Pulling me tighter into his embrace, he whirled me around and...

And he began to dance.

I swallowed. This feeling...

Being held. Being swept along. Drowning in those deep, dark, unfathomable eyes of his. When was the last time I had just let go and allowed myself to feel like a woman?

What, Lilly? You mean you didn't feel like a woman when you popped out Berty?

Sometimes I just wanted to strangle my inner voice. But before I could consider how to go about that, Mr Ambrose twirled me around and caught me in his arms once more. Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught sight of the frozen crowd. None of them had dared to set foot on the dance floor. Instead, they stood transfixed, watching as Mr Ambrose steered me across the polished wooden floor to a slow, heart-wrenching tune.

Right at the front of the crowd was Lady Samantha, beaming with pride and happiness. Patsy stood beside her, somehow smiling and scowling at me at the very same time, and as for my other friends—they seemed to be suffering from another giggling fit. For some reason, however, I didn't mind this time. In fact, I didn't really mind anything right now. It felt like Mr Ambrose and I were the only people in the world right now, happily dancing on clouds.

Sliding his hand up from my waist to my face, he gently caressed my cheek.

"Happy?"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose would never be one for verbosity, would he?

Probably not. But then...if he were, he would really be himself.

I nodded, leaning into him and closing my eyes. "Happy."

Had I been complaining about aching feet earlier? For some reason, I didn't feel an inkling of pain anymore.

We continued to move like that, swaying and turning to the music. I kept my eyes closed in bliss the entire time. And why not? My whole life, I had fought to be free. To be independent. But now? Now I had someone at my side I could absolutely rely on. Someone in whose arms I could feel safe.

At some point, the music began to taper off until, finally, it ended in a last, long, sweet note.

Just like a lullaby.

I should probably open my eyes now, right?

Hmm...what's the hurry? Hubby's arms are so comfy...

I tried to lift my eyelids—in vain. They felt so heavy. Not just the eyelids, but my arms and legs and feet as well. Especially my feet. Which were once again aching, by the way.

Maybe, just maybe, running around hunting and fighting and dancing just after giving birth was not the best idea, Lilly.

I swayed, and this time not to the rhythm of the dance. Oh my.

"I..." I swallowed. "I don't feel so good..."

My knees buckled.

Drat!

I felt wind rush past my ears, and...

And nothing.

Wait just a minute! Why hadn't I hit the ground?

It was only then that I felt two strong, rock-hard arms wrapped around me, lifting me up in a princess carry.

"Oy! Lemme go," I mumbled. I didn't sound exhausted in the least, no sir! "I can walk on m'own."

"Indeed?"

"Indie...indiddledie...indeed, sir."

"You don't say."

His grip around me only tightened. Forcibly lifting my heavy eyelids, I blinked up at him and opened my mouth to speak—only to instantly close it again, transfixed. Because Mr Ambrose's deep, dark, fathomless eyes were staring down at me with an intensity I had only ever seen once before: on our wedding night.

Not exactly, Lilly. There was also the time when Berty was born, and that time he proposed to you, and the time he...well, there was definitely more than one.

Shut up, inner voice! I'm not doing maths tonight!

Truth be told, with how little energy I had left, I didn't think I would be doing much of anything tonight. So instead, I simply snuggled into the amazingly comfy arms of Mr Rikkard Ambrose and let myself drift away. Soon, the chatter of the crowd subsided, and so did the light I could see through my closed eyelids. When I finally managed to gather the strength to lift one, I saw a familiar corridor glide by, dimly lit by candlelight.

"Where we goin'?" I muttered.

"To bed," came the unsurprisingly concise answer.

Pouting, I snuggled tighter against his chest. "Don't wanna."

"Indeed?"

"Wanna sleep here. Arms...comfy."

"I'm afraid you might be labouring under a misapprehension, Mrs Ambrose. You might have referred to me as a stone statue, but that does not mean I can stand upright all night."

I made sure to deepen my pout to convey my dissatisfaction with that statement.

"Don't worry." I felt the gentle touch of his thumb stroking my cheek. "I have something even better in mind."

Faintly, I heard the creak of a door opening. The very next moment, I found myself being lowered down onto a soft bed. A soft double bed. We weren't in Mr Victor Linton's quarters. We were in my husband's room. In our room.

The instant my head touched the pillow, I felt my whole body growing heavy. The last few strands of sound coming from the distant dance turned into a lullaby, and I felt as if I were sinking into clouds of warm cotton candy.

Vaguely, I was aware of something warm, small and cuddly being placed beside me, right in the centre of the bed. I had just enough time in the waking world left to feel the soft touch of a tiny hand on my face before my husband's arms enfolded the both of us, and I drifted off to dreamland, where there was only happiness and peace.

***

My peace lasted approximately till six o'clock the next morning. With a crash, the door slammed open, and the bane of my existence, also known as my dear sister-in-law, stormed into my and my husband's bedchamber.

"Oy! Lilly!"

"If you think," came my muffled voice from beneath the pillow covering my face, "that you can start practising for the harem at this ungodly hour, you're gravely mistaken. Get. Out!"

"Father is calling everyone together!"

Those five words instantly dispersed any inclination I might have to joke with her. In a blink, I was sitting up, the cushion forgotten on the bed beside me. "What does he want?"

Although I already had an idea.

She took a deep breath. "To announce the results of the second round of his 'contest'."

--------------------------------------------------

My dear Readers,

I hope you enjoyed Ella's touching reunion with her "brother" ;-) It was so heart-wrenching to write, I nearly cried, I swear.

On another, historical, note: You might have noticed me mentioning cotton candy in the above chapter. In case you think this is out of place for a story set so far in the past - cotton candy actually already existed in the nineteenth century, during the time when this story takes place. Some historians even theorise it might have existed as early as the fifteenth century, although back then, it was incredibly expensive and laboriously produced by hand. Machine-made cotton candy was first introduced at the 1904 World's Fair by confectionery John C. Wharton and his partner William Morrison—who, by the way, was a dentist. So much for supporting healthy teeth.

Now you have something to share with your dentist next time he tells you not to eat sweets ;-)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob