My Miser +A Storm & Silence Fanfiction+

31. Mr Ambrose POV

On the request of AnIme-XoX-LoVer

Mr Ambrose POV for the North and South, fourth chapter of Silence Breaking.

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‘So…where does this family of yours live, exactly?’

It started now, amazing. I have to bear with her for approximately 11 hour 24 minutes 7 seconds.

‘In the North.’

Good, keep your answers as concise as possible, save time.

‘I have surmised that much from the fact that we're travelling on the Great Northern Road.’ She said, throwing a look at my side that I skillfully ignored.

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes, indeed, Sir.’

Adequate. Now I can work on these files in silence. Apparently I had been wrong since my not-so-overly-curious secretary had some interesting theories in her head.

‘So you're saying that you are not Scottish and your parents don't live in a windy Scottish castle on a cliff, with no glass in the window and an underground vault filled with a life's worth of hoarded treasure?’

What? Where does she get these absurd ideas? I could swear on King Midas’ throne that she must have hit her head too many a times. And to be called Scottish? Bah!

I looked at her and her preposterous presumption, controlling myself to not lash out. How did she get on my nerves so easily? I remained my cool self as I answered.

‘Mr Linton, I had not and did never intend to live in Scotland. I am one hundred percent an English gentleman and I do not appreciate you suggesting anything to the contrary!’

From her looks, she didn't look much convinced with my answer. Why would she, why would anyone think I'm Scottish?! It was almost humiliating to say that I am anything but British!

Nevertheless, I went back to my files. Wasting time on frivolous conversations is useless.

All I wanted was silence but my untalkative, ever quiet secretary had other plans.

‘Okay let's start crossing off possibilities.’ She murmured. ‘Do your parents live in a castle?’

Why why why this again?

I might as well answer it for I know she wouldn't shut up.

But you love it.

‘No.’

‘A palace?’

‘No.’

‘A townhouse?’

‘No.’

‘A henhouse?’

Was she intellectually bankrupt?

The question was absolutely ridiculous! Something that I didn't deem worth answering.

‘A henhouse it is, then.’

I froze reading the document. I had this urge to bang my head on the carriage seat. No, why would I bang my head? I wanted to bang her head for coming up with nonsensical reasonings!

Only her head huh?

I should find a way to shut this voice off.

‘They do not live in a hen house, Mr Linton. They live in…’ Memories flashed in my mind of so so long ago, of melancholy and loneliness, of conflicts and betrayals, in the very house. A muscle in my jaw twitched. Don't think about it. Don't. Don't ‘...in a manor in the country.’