Page 47 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)

R obert woke to grainy eyes, a thundering head and the sound of birds twittering.

Moving, or even opening his eyes, was far too difficult, so for a while he simply lay, wondering why his bed was so wretchedly uncomfortable.

His pillow had gone missing for one thing, and his cheek, which should have rested against smooth linen, was lying on something else entirely.

Wool, his befuddled brain decided. How very odd.

The twittering came and went and there was some sort of perfume in the air, that made him think of spring flowers and warm sunshine.

There was a rustle of… was it silk? The perfume grew stronger and faded away, leaving him with a wisp of memory of walking by the Serpentine in London.

None of it felt threatening, however, so he lay still, allowing it to wash around him.

Whispers. The twitterings were whispered female voices, low and melodious. Not his sisters, whose voices were rarely low and never melodious. But there was one who sounded so… surely it could not be…?

With difficulty, he opened one eye, cried out in shock, closed it tightly again.

The whispers became giggles. “He is awake. Open your eyes, Robert.”

“No, no, no!”

“Why not?”

The voice was familiar, but he could not quite bring its owner to mind. “Seeing double.”

More giggles.

“Open your eyes.”

That voice… was it…? Tentatively, he opened his eyes, but it was no good. “Still two of you. Two ghosts.” He snapped them shut at once.

They giggled again.

“Will you not sit up?”

It was her, it was! He opened both eyes. Still two ghosts. His eyes flicked from one to the other. How was that possible?

Why was he lying on the floor, clutching a bottle?

One of the ghosts knelt on the floor beside him, her head tilted to one side. A different perfume, less strong, reminding him of— Was it really her, or had his brandy-befuddled brain conjured an apparition?

“Robert, try to sit up. I am persuaded you will feel much better.”

Whether she was flesh and blood or not, he could not disobey her. With a struggle, he pushed himself up and leaned against the wall. The bottle rolled away under a chair. He was in his book room, he realised. No wonder his bed had felt uncomfortable, for he had been lying on the carpet.

The room shifted and swayed, and he closed his eyes again.

There was a sigh, another rustle of silk and the stronger perfume came nearer.

“Have a drink of water.” Her voice again.

A glass was pressed against his lips, and a little cool water trickled into his mouth. Gratefully, he opened his eyes again. She was smiling, and oh, there it was!

“Dimple!” he cried triumphantly. “’Tis you. Knew it.” His eyes were drawn to the other ghost, standing nearby with the water jug. She was smiling, too, but there was no dimple. “Izzy? What you doin’ here?”

“My little sister was making a hash of things, so Mama and I came to fix everything.” She bent down and reached under the chair to retrieve the bottle. “Heavens, Robert, how much of this stuff have you drunk?”

“Lots. Too much. Not enough.”

They both laughed again. “What are we going to do with him?” Izzy said.

“Throw him in the river?” Olivia said. “That would sober him up.”

“We should throw him off the roof, more like. Foolish man!”

“I should not like him to be hurt, Izzy.”

“Then you will just have to kiss him.”

Robert made a strangled sound deep in his throat, and squeezed his eyes shut again.

“No, no! Open your eyes!” Olivia cried.

He shook his head, then winced as brandy-induced pain lanced through him. “Want to keep dreaming.”

“This is not a dream, silly boy. You truly are as drunk as a wheelbarrow, and I truly am here.”

“No, no, no, no! If I look at you, you’ll disappear like a soap bubble popping or… or just fade away. Couldn’t bear it, Livvy. Too horrible for words. Have to throw myself off the roof.”

“Hush now! No talk of that nature, if you please. I am as real as you are.”

He shook his head again, pleased to find that the explosion of pain was lessened this time. “Can’t be real. Can’t be here. Goin’ to marry Emblaton… Embling… the marquess.”

She giggled, but said softly, “I am not going to marry Lord Embleton.”

“Oh!” His eyes shot open, to find her face just inches from his. He could hardly breathe! She was free! The nightmare was over. “Will you marry me, then?”

She knelt back on her heels, her face solemn. “Well, I might, but I should like a proper proposal, if it is all the same to you, and I should like you to be sober, so that I know you mean it. But I should very much like to kiss you.”

He smiled at her, wanting nothing more than to reach out to her, touch her, sweep her into his arms, but painfully aware of his dishevelled state.

“No. First kiss… has to be romantic… beautiful. The lady… lovely ’n’ eager ’n’ enticin’, which you are, always. The gentleman… ’maculately groomed… new coat… carryin’ a posy, which I’m not. If you will wait… what time is it?”

“A little before noon. We arrived first thing, but you had locked the door, silly boy, and there was some trouble finding the spare key.”

“Ah. Sorry. Might be… couple of hours to make myself p’sentable enough for a kiss. Will you wait or—?”

“I will wait.”

“Then meet me in… winter drawn… draw… drawin’ room… two hours.”

***

I t was more than three hours, in the end, but Olivia did not mind. He would come, he would kiss her, he would propose, and then this strange, unsettled, not-quite-belonging feeling would disappear for ever. She would be with Robert, and everything in her world would be in alignment again.

Izzy stayed with her as she waited. Lady Kiltarlity and her daughters sat with them for a while, but eventually they had other matters to attend to and then it was only Izzy.

“Will it be strange for you, if I marry him?” Olivia said. “You nearly married him yourself, after all.”

“That just shows what excellent taste in men we both have,” Izzy said with a smile.

At last, Robert came, freshly bathed and shaved, wearing a coat of blue superfine that seemed moulded to his form, and bearing a small posy.

He saw Olivia, smiled and marched straight across the room to the window seat where she was perched.

He did not so much as glance at Izzy, as she crept quietly out of the room.

“Where did you find flowers at this time of year?” she said, burying her face in them. “Oh! They are silk!”

“Yes, but pretty, are they not? Lizzie found them for me when the footmen came back from the hothouses empty-handed. I had promised you a posy, so a posy there had to be.”

“As if I would have minded!” she said laughing. “But it is quite delightful that you went to the trouble.”

“Do you like them?”

“I love them!”

“Ah. Good. So perhaps you will forgive me for keeping you waiting all alone for such an abominable length of time.”

“I did not mind waiting, and I have not been alone. Izzy was here.”

“Was she?” He looked about vaguely as if he expected her to pop up from behind a sofa.

“She has just this minute left. Did you not see her?”

“I confess I saw only you,” he said, his voice husky. “There is only you.”

Olivia found it hard to breathe suddenly.

“My sweet Livvy,” he murmured, “whatever Izzy once was to me is long gone. When she chose Farramont… I was cross, but not heart-broken. What I felt then is nothing at all compared to what I felt these past days when I thought I had lost you forever. I wanted to die, Livvy. I could not see how I could struggle through the rest of my life without you. The brandy was just a feeble attempt to shut out the misery for a few hours. And then… there you were! My lovely ghost had come back to me.”

“Then… it is not just that I remind you of Izzy?” she said.

“I love you , my darling ghost, and I love you all the more because you are not Izzy. I will always be grateful to Izzy for being the first to unlock such tender feelings in me, and your likeness to her drew me to you when we first met, but she and I would have driven each other mad within weeks. Whereas you, my love, bring peace to my poor mind, and calmness to my life.”

He was standing bare inches away from her, but he still had not touched her… he had not kissed her, and Olivia was almost driven wild by his hesitation.

He sighed, and took her face in his hands, his warm, strong hands. “You are not Izzy, my dearest one. You are yourself and unique and very precious to me.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against hers with the softest of sighs. She could feel strands of his hair tickling her skin, and smell the soap he used — a strong scent, very masculine.

And still he hesitated, with some anxiety lingering in his eyes.

“Are you going to kiss me now?” she said hopefully.

With another sigh, he released her, his face troubled. “I want to, of course. There is nothing I should like more, but sooner or later it will stop and then it will be over and that will make me sad.”

She giggled. “The first kiss will be over, but there will be a second and a third and so on.”

“Will there?” His face was alight with affection.

“I promise you, there will always be one more kiss. If you want it.”

“I shall always want it. I shall always want you ,” he whispered.

Then his arms were round her and his lips were on hers, burning her with a fire that set Olivia aflame. It was a long, long time before they broke apart, rather breathlessly.

“Oh dear,” Olivia said. “I am afraid the posy has become horribly crushed.”

“Never mind,” he murmured, bending to kiss her again. “I will buy you more. I shall fill the house with flowers for you, my love.”

This time when they parted, Olivia said, “You may propose to me now, Robert. A proper proposal, mind.”

He shifted a little further away from her, although with his arms still around her waist. “Do you know, I think I will not.”

“What!” Olivia screeched. “Have you been taking advantage of me under false pretences, Robert Osborn? Shame on you!”

“Olivia, how old are you?”

“Nineteen. Well, almost.”