Silence No More

07. Hard Men, Hard Truths

"Mr Ambrose...do you know why your father is doing this? Why he is forcing Adaira into this marriage with the vicomte?"

His face, while remaining perfectly unmoving, somehow managed to look grim. "I might have an idea."

"Then what is it? Tell me!"

"No."

I stared. "No? What do you mean, no? Why not?"

"Because there is no need to." His eyes stared into mine with iron determination. Frost-covered iron. "Because, once we reach the north, I will ensure he will stop. Permanently."

I stared at him some more.

I can't even...ugh! Men!

My mouth opened in preparation for a feminist rant that would have made Patsy proud—when suddenly, I noticed something. Something in his expression. Unmoving as it was...I had been married to this man for a good, long while now. After some time, interpreting micro-expressions became easier. Or micro-micro-micro-expressions, in this case.

"Mr Ambrose...the reason for his actions wouldn't happen to have something to do with you, would it?"

The twitch of his little finger was answer enough.

"What. Did. You. Do?"

"It's not what I did. It's what I refused to do!" His eyes flashed with a resolve I would have called fiery if it hadn't been at arctic temperatures. "I won't have my life dictated by anyone! Least of all some self-important old fool who thinks he has power over me."

"...and who has power over your sister," I remind him sombrely.

"Not much longer, if I have anything to say about it."

"I can get behind that." My eyes narrowed. "Though I noticed you didn't mention what exactly your father is trying to force you to do."

He gave me a look. One that quite clearly said And I'm not going to.

"Why is it, husband dear, that even after months of marriage, getting information out of you is like pulling teeth?"

"It isn't. Pulling teeth is easy. All you need is a pair of tongs."

"Oh, I don't know..." My fingers twitched. "I read a book about medieval torture once. I could think of a few ways to use tongs to get information out of you."

After that, my dear husband seemed to suddenly remember he had something urgent to do somewhere else and took his leave. I stared after him, the gears in my mind turning hard.

Don't think this is over, Mister! I'm going to get to the bottom of this!

Not anytime soon, though, apparently. The rest of the day dragged on like the decapitated carcass of a horse behind a headless horseman's carriage. I tried to read some more to Berty, but even he seemed to sense there was something wrong with the atmosphere. It almost seemed as if he...

I sniffed.

Ah. Seems like there was indeed a problem with the atmosphere, and it was Berty's fault. A small but undeniable smile spread across my face. Ringing the bell on my bedside table, I waited—till, a moment later, a nurse stuck her head into the room. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Could you send for my husband, please?" I made sure to look as pitiful as possible. "There's something I need his help with."

"Why, of course, Ma'am! I shall go fetch him directly!"

I waited till she was out of the room, then the small smile returned once more.

Reticent about information, are you, my dear hubby? Well...time to start the torture. And it seems I won't even need tongs.