Chapter 28 #2
There was then a loud war cry, and he turned in time to watch Violet leap feet first at another of the men. The fight was over in seconds, with the four men all subdued by Ambrose and the women.
Two strides took him to Tilly, and he dropped down before her.
“It’s all right, I have you,” he said as she wept.
“A-again,” she whispered. “Ambrose, I can’t—”
“Ssh, we will talk later. For now, we’ll get you cleaned up and your wounds tended to.” He released her bonds and pulled her into his arms, crushing her to him briefly. “Come, we must leave here now.”
“The others are binding the villains’ wrists using the ties of their robes, Ambrose,” Violet said, coming to see Tilly. She placed a gentle hand on her head. “You’re safe now, my friend.”
“The Duke of Humble, Sir Peter Crabtree, and Lord Hardacre,” Ellen said as she pulled off their masks. “Howard and Lord Crisp,” she added next. “Which explains why they wanted their wives to join The Iris.”
“Weak-kneed bastards,” Mavis hissed.
Tabitha put her knee into one of their backs as he tried to resist her attempts to bind his hands.
“Well,” Ellen said, slapping hers together. “This just confirms my belief that women are truly wonderful.”
“Agreed,” Tilly whispered.
“Ensure the door to the outside is locked, as there are two men standing guard. I do not want them getting in here,” Ambrose said.
Tavi ran to do his bidding.
“There is a lock on the outside of this door also,” Mavis said, inspecting it. “They will not escape once we bind them and close the door.”
“Excellent, then let us leave them here to think about their fates,” Violet said.
They walked through the secret door to find the worried faces of Margaret and Ruby. Barnaby let out a soft woof as they arrived.
“Go to the first parlor on the right, and I shall bring supplies,” Margaret said as she took in Tilly’s injured hand.
Once there, the women all fussed around her. Mr. Greedy, who had been upstairs with the knitting club—apparently, he had an exemption to enter The Iris—tended her wound.
Ambrose left briefly when Gray arrived, and when he returned, Tilly was huddled in a blanket, sipping tea, her hand now bandaged. Her eyes remained on her cup and did not rise to look at him.
“Come, ladies and Mr. Greedy, let us make more tea and await the men, who are due to arrive shortly, downstairs,” Violet said after he’d given her a look. Years of being raised together had her immediately understanding what he needed.
They left, filing out, one behind the other, and Tilly rose to follow, but he shut the door before she could reach it.
“I should go with them. There are things I need to tell Gray,” Tilly said, looking nervous now.
Ambrose gently pushed her back down into the chair. “No. You stay there. We have things to discuss first.” He dropped down before her, preventing her from rising again.
“What things?”
“You have something to tell me about why you won’t marry me. I want to hear it now.”
The tears came again, slowly spilling from beneath her lids and down her pale cheeks. She had been through so much, but he needed to push her just a bit more to hear why she had declined his proposal.
“Your parents told me you care for me. If that is the case, why do you have no wish to marry me, Tilly?” He brushed his thumb over her damp cheek. “Tell me.”
She looked broken as she began to speak. Beaten, and his girl was never that. It made his chest hurt, but he waited to comfort her until he’d heard it all.
“My mother did not give birth to me.”
Ambrose had not expected that but knew there was a lot more to the story, so remained silent.
“My birth mother was a maid in her household. She got pregnant out of wedlock, and one day my mother found her weeping in one of the parlors. Joanne, that was her name, told her everything then, and the Wilsons did not judge her for her actions. Instead, they offered her a home and continued employment. When I came along, they were happy for me to stay also.”
“They are good people,” Ambrose said, stroking a hand down one damp cheek.
Tilly closed her eyes briefly before continuing. “My birth mother suddenly became ill when I was a few months old. The doctor the Wilsons had called to tend her said her heart was weak. They cared for her until she died. Then they took me and raised me as their own.”
He understood so much about this wonderful woman now.
“So you see why I can’t marry you.”
He moved in closer to her, cupping her cheeks with both hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I love you, Matilda Wilson. I don’t care about your birth. I care only about you. If you will do me the honor of being my wife, I will love you always.”
“Ambrose,” she whispered. “Surely—”
“You’ve held onto this secret for so long, my love. Can you trust me to do the same? But if you want others you care about to know as well, I have no problem with that either. All I want is you, Tilly. Please say you will spend your life annoying me.”
Her laugh was more a sob, and then she was in his arms.
“Say yes,” he whispered into her hair.
“My father could have been a criminal, Ambrose.”
“I know you, Tilly. Headstrong, beautiful, challenging, and the woman I love more than life itself. I don’t want to wed some vapid maiden selected for me by her mother and mine. I want you, my little firebrand, so say yes.”
She eased back, cupping his cheeks now. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair a mess, and she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. “Yes.”
And then no more words were needed because he had her and she him, and the future stretched before them, filled with happiness and heated debates.