by Amelia Price
The Ambitious Orphan
Amelia Price
Copyright 2016 Jess Mountifield
Cover Copyright 2016 Elizabeth Mackey
Smashwords edition
All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, organisations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
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Acknowledgements
My husband is a very patient man, especially during November while I tackle NaNoWriMo. Saying I'm very grateful would be an understatement.
I also appreciate the great writing company I had this year throughout most of this book's first draft. Bear and David, you both made the process more enjoyable than normal and I enjoyed our writing sessions.
Thank you Ella for all the editing. There's quite a few scenes in this book which changed a lot thanks to your input and I think they're a lot better for it. Mycroft and Amelia's journey owes you a great deal.
Once more Elizabeth has made an absolutely amazing cover and made me that little bit more eager to go off on an adventure with my characters again. You rock.
To the yet unnamed bump which kept me company while polishing off this book. It turned out Amelia wasn't the only one reading a positive pregnancy test during the life of this story (even if she beat me to it) and I'm looking forward to meeting you properly some day soon.
Finally, thanks to God, for the surprises, the adventures and having a sense of humour unlike no one else I know.
Dedication
To Ella. Your support and encouragement makes a big difference.
Chapter 1
Mycroft pushed his knife and fork together and looked up to see if Amelia was finished with her breakfast as well. Not realising she was being studied, she carried on daintily eating her scrambled eggs on toast. It had been a long time since he'd seen another woman eat at the same table as him, and he marvelled at how quickly he'd settled into a routine.
Neither of them spoke until she'd finished. As soon as she put her cutlery down as well, she glanced his way and noticed his attention was fixed on her. She titled her head slightly and raised an eyebrow and he chuckled. Already he'd noticed she didn't really like being watched eating.
“I don't think I'll be able to put off my invitation to the palace any longer,” he said, moving onto the more important matters that morning. “I can't really claim I need to heal now that you're almost fully healed yourself.”
“No. Will you be gone long?” she asked. He didn't hide his frown at the implied desire to see him. “I finished the book I was reading. I don't want to take long choosing another if you're going to want your study,” she added, giving him a challenging look. He nodded, impressed that his thoughts had been so evident to her, but also wondering if she had really meant that when she began. She'd told him the truth but that didn't mean she wasn't wishing for his company, just that it wasn't the only explanation.
“I don't know how long I'll be,” he eventually replied and stood. Before either of them could move, Sherlock walked in with a package under his arm.
“Hello, brother of mine. Amelia.” The younger Holmes flicked his head in her direction.
“Good morning, Sebastian. How are you?” She stood as well and looked on as he handed out the package to Mycroft.
“I'm well. I've just had a very interesting client come through my door. You'd like her, Amelia. She likes writing too.”
“I doubt that's why you're here,” Mycroft said, cutting him off and taking the offered item. It was a box wrapped in brown paper, with nothing but the word Holmes written on the outside.
“No, although that's not it either. I found it on your doorstep.”
Mycroft raised his eyebrows and pulled off the paper. The box was taped shut but he pulled his pocket knife out and soon got it open.
As he pulled out the contents, feeling the silken black fabric, Amelia gasped. It was the dress she'd been wearing when she'd been abducted. Still attached to the top was the bug he'd listened in with, and right next to it someone had pinned a printed note on paper you could get from any stationers.
Thought you might like this back seeing as it really suited her. Also had a man of mine lay another breadcrumb trail back to the Ukrainians. Hopefully this settles any hard feelings on the matter of her safety. D
“Who sent this?” Amelia asked, evident fear in her voice. He found himself sneering and let the dress fall back into the box, not answering the question. For a few seconds no one spoke.
“Who else knows I'm with you?” She reached out to pick the dress up but Sherlock shook his head and caused her to raise her eyebrows in confusion. As she opened her mouth to speak again, he lifted a finger and placed it on his lips. Immediately, she clamped her mouth down on whatever question she'd been intending to voice, and Mycroft felt relief that at least one other person in the room was clever enough not to accept this little gift at face value.
He used the paper he'd already touched to pick the box up and carry it through to his study, his younger brother and Amelia following behind.
Once in there, he pulled a fingerprinting kit out of his desk drawer and applied a small amount of dust to all the relevant areas of the dress, box and finally the bug. He then pulled a small light out of the kit and moved it closely over every patch he'd dusted.
When he looked up, Sherlock and Amelia were both waiting for answers. He shook his head. With no way to trace it back to anyone, he decided to end the need for silence and took the bug off the dress to destroy it.
A few seconds later it was burning in the fire. Still no one spoke. It would take a little while to heat up enough to melt.
They waited, Amelia looking at the floor. At least she had the sense to look trite for not thinking about the bug earlier.
Once the object was nothing more than a burnt-out husk, Mycroft deemed it safe to converse again. He picked up the dress and held it out to Amelia.
“If you ask Mrs Hunter, she'll have it cleaned for you,” Mycroft said, but Amelia didn't take it.
“I don't want it back. I'll never wear it again and feel comfortable.”
“Yes, you will.” Mycroft put it back in the box, knowing she wouldn't take it now, but one day he'd push her to get over that fear. So far she'd faced every other fear with dignity, and he'd push her through this one as well.
“I think my brother would like to see you in it again. I doubt you'll wear it long, however.” Sherlock's eyes twinkled, and even Amelia expressed a crooked smile. Mycroft rolled his eyes, knowing his brother had worked out they were sleeping together.
“I'm sure Myron has no such intention,” she replied.
“Why not? It's not like he hasn't enjoyed that already.”
“You know?” Her eyes went wide. He chuckled.
“Of course. Your corset is done a little tighter this morning, and when you do it up yourself you always have the laces a little longer on the right, where you pull a little harder with your strong hand. Today they're perfectly even. I doubt my brother helped you into your corset without enjoying what was underneath it first.”
Amelia's face flushed, but she didn't look like she really minded.
My
croft coughed and picked up the note, intending to take the conversation back to a more neutral topic.
“Don't worry, brother, I happen to approve of your choice.”
“You do?”
“Of course. Amelia's a beautiful woman, incredibly sharp, and she's an old soul, like she was born a century ago. You're perfect for each other.”
“I'll look into this,” Mycroft said, not deigning to reply to his younger brother's taunts about Amelia, especially not in front of her.
“Good. Now, back to why I came. I've been keeping an eye on a particular group of people in Russia. It now looks pretty certain they'll invade,” Sherlock said.
“So it worked? That's good.”
Amelia raised her eyebrows, evidently wanting to ask a question but still deciding on exactly how or what to say.
“Perhaps we should discuss this alone,” Mycroft said and went to lead Sherlock somewhere else, but Amelia sighed, shook her head and walked out.
“I want some fresh air anyway,” she called back as she went.
“You know she's not going to be happy with us if Russia do invade Ukraine,” Sherlock said as soon as she was out of earshot.
“Quite likely, but she must learn to control the feelings of guilt, as well as the rest, if she's to continue living in our world.”
“You're going to continue training her, then?”
“I can hardly stop now. We'd be forever rescuing her.”
“You know you could just keep her here.”
“No, Sherlock, no. I may be using her to meet a need at the moment but it is just that, a need. She wanted to feel safe for a few days and I...”
Sherlock held up his hand.
“I do not need the details. Nothing I say is likely to change your mind regarding the situation so I think we should move on.”
Mycroft nodded. For the next twenty minutes the younger Holmes spoke of everything he'd observed. Most of it Mycroft already knew, but there were a few details even he'd not managed to glean from his own sources.
By the time Sherlock was done speaking, it was evident that an invasion was imminent, and it made sense that he'd had yet another request to come to the palace, this one worded a little stronger than the last. The royal family would want to reprimand him for starting a war, even if it wasn't with the UK. He wasn't looking forward to any opinions they might express on Amelia either.
Shortly after Sherlock had finished explaining what he knew, the younger Holmes made excuses about getting on with his case and left Mycroft alone in his study.
As soon as Mycroft had turned on his laptop, he reassigned one of his agents to look into Delra again. If the man had enough clout to get Amelia's dress back and help convince the Russians that she was still in Ukrainian hands, then the wealthy businessman had even more power than the last information Mycroft had gathered on him. It was possible they were dealing with another man as intelligent and powerful as Moriarty once was.
With that done, Mycroft knew he could put off the inevitable no longer. It was time to take a trip to the palace. He summoned Daniels and slid his arms into his coat.
As he was putting on his gloves, Mycroft glanced out of the study window. Amelia sat in the seat she'd discovered several days earlier, sheltered by one wing of the house and surrounded by rose bushes. The colour of her new red coat complimented the still winter-like atmosphere around her, and he'd taken a moment to appreciate how naturally she fit there the few times she'd been out.
Today, however, it seemed he wasn't the only one appreciating how well she looked. Sherlock stood not two feet away from her. Whatever they were discussing, it evidently pleased Amelia, because she was looking up at him with a smile on her face.
“Your car's ready, sir,” Daniels said before Mycroft could do more than frown at what he saw.
“Good,” he replied and tore his eyes away from the window. A couple of times in the past, Sherlock had given him reason to think Amelia might be fonder of the younger Holmes than she'd let on. It wouldn't be the first time they'd expressed an interest in the same woman. When so few were intelligent enough to keep up with either of them, it left both of them curious when someone did.
As Mycroft realised he was feeling a small stab of jealousy, he exhaled. The last thing he wanted was a relationship with any woman. He liked his life the way it was, even if Amelia had barely changed it while she was there. But no matter how little he wanted something more serious, he did want to keep her loyalty, and if Sherlock pursued her affections he knew he might lose it.
Mycroft followed Daniels out to the new car. His previous one had never made it back from the adventure overseas. For now, at least, he would have to keep an eye on them. Warning his brother now would only make matters worse, and he didn't want to make Amelia think she had more of his heart than she did. It was already likely that she'd think him more attached to her than he was, given how long she'd been in his house. Now that his desires were somewhat satisfied, it might be worth sending her back to Bath for a while.
The traffic in London was a little worse than usual, and Mycroft arrived at the palace several minutes later than normal. Not that it mattered. He hadn't bothered to announce his arrival.
The doorman recognised him and showed him to a small waiting room while he fetched the main butler. Mycroft sat back, crossed his legs and made himself look at home.
He was examining his neatly trimmed fingernails when the butler finally decided to show up. Mycroft paused just a moment longer and then looked up.
“Hello Mycroft. Thank you for paying us a visit,” the butler said and motioned for the woman lingering just through the doorway to come in and serve tea. If nothing else, that was one pleasure of visiting the palace. The tea was always perfect.
“I understand there are a few questions about my report,” Mycroft said, wanting to control the conversation from the start, and only waiting just long enough for the servant to leave before he began.
“Yes, although I suppose they're more observations, really. You didn't exactly do as we expected.”
“I believe the results were within acceptable limits.”
“Of course, and for that you have her majesty's gratitude. However, we have noticed, and mentioned before, I might add, that this young lady, Amelia Jones, seems to be the cause of several issues lately.”
“She hardly causes them,” Mycroft said in an uncharacteristic display of defence. The butler pursed his lips together and waited for Mycroft to stay silent for a moment. Inside, he laughed at the antics. It was always such a strange power play when he talked to anyone at the palace. They all acted like they had far more power than they really did and expected everyone around them to treat them as they appeared.
“Whatever is the cause, she definitely seems to have led to some decisions we feel to be out of precedent and the level of carefulness we have come to expect from your family.”
Mycroft almost laughed aloud at this, knowing they were glossing over some of the problems his younger brother had caused over the years. Amelia was hardly worse, and when it came to her desire to cooperate she was actually better.
“Previously, we suggested that it might be a good idea to either find her somewhere safe or give her enough training she can handle the situations she keeps getting into, in the way you or your brother might.”
“Yes. Since then she has trained quite significantly.”
“But you've not enrolled her into our program.”
“No, she has no wish to learn from anyone else,” Mycroft said, leaving out that he also had no wish for anyone else to try to instruct her. Anyone else would only undo what he'd begun.
“I see.” The butler paused here and Mycroft knew he wouldn't like what was coming next. “I don't know how to put this delicately, so I'll put it succinctly. Do either you or your brother have intentions for Miss Jones? It would also solve the problem somewhat if she was given a safer, more sheltered role to play.”
“No, neither I nor my brother have a
ny intentions. She is merely a friend of my brother's and someone I have trained. So far, all her involvement with our affairs has been as a result of one incident in which she was exposed to a terrorist who escaped capture. I am merely doing what is necessary as a result of that moment to repair the damage done to her life.”
Mycroft put his empty teacup down and hoped it would signal his reluctance to talk about the topic any further. Neither one of them would marry Amelia to keep her pent up in a house somewhere, not after everything she'd gone through because of him. It would be an insult to the level of intelligence and perseverance she'd shown.
“Perhaps, then, you would be kind enough to talk to her about joining our program.”
“I will suggest it to her,” Mycroft said, lying.
“Thank you. I will let her majesty know she is likely to have a new recruit to the team you put together. They've been very useful in the past.”
Mycroft nodded, not able to say anything without giving his true thoughts away.
“Now, I believe there are a couple of wrinkles to smooth over given the recent events in Ukraine. There's a speeding ticket for your old car and a scrappage charge. The Ukrainian military are also claiming that a bullet-proof car of another description was seen leaving one of their military facilities after a helicopter was taken for a joyride and that this was later found abandoned near a private airport.”
“I know nothing of the helicopter and what might have happened to it but I am more than happy to foot the bill for the cars and ticket.”
“And who was driving the cars at the time?”
“I couldn't tell you,” Mycroft said. The butler nodded, knowing this reply was a lie, as was the comment about the helicopter. They were at least smart enough to know what had happened with that. Thankfully, they didn't want to know as much as he didn't want to tell them.
“Finally, do you foresee any more problems with this particular group of terrorists?”
