Page 19

A mbrose was not one to get surprised easily. In fact, it was a rare occurrence that he was ever surprised at all.

So when Lady Daphne appeared in his study uninvited to thank him, it irked him how much it had taken him off guard.

Daphne. Always the wild card. He had been trying to get a sense of her these last few days, but whenever he thought that he had her figured out, she did something that he did not expect.

It was like she was always one step ahead of him – hard to figure out and that alone bothered him.

A soft knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts, and for a moment, he felt a strange flutter of nerves. Could it be her again?

But when he called out, "Come in," it wasn't Daphne who stepped through the door. Instead, it was his mother.

A flicker of unwanted disappointment flared but he quickly composed himself. He had no business wanting to be in her presence. She was trouble, only to be monitored from a distance.

"Ambrose," Edith said, offering a warm smile as she entered. "I was wondering where you'd gone off to."

"I have been in my study this entire time," he replied, and then his mind started to wander.

Could it be that one of the servants had spotted Daphne leaving the room, which they reported back to his mother?

It would put him in an uncomfortable situation where he would have to explain himself, and his relationship with Lady Daphne.

None of which he particularly felt doing. Not to his mother, not to anyone.

"Is there a reason that you have come looking for me?" he tried to hide the curiosity behind his words, instead opting to gaze at the stack of papers on his desk to give his mother the impression that he was otherwise occupied with work.

Edith walked over, the light from the fireplace casting a warm glow on her gentle features. "Does a mother need a reason to come see her son?"

"No, not at all," he smiled, "But knowing you, mother, you scarcely are one to engage in idle chatter. Especially when there is an entire group of guests downstairs that you are acting as host to."

"I thought I'd check on you," she said, glancing around the room. "You've been avoiding the festivities. I noticed you didn't take much interest in the guests this evening."

Ambrose sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. This was a good sign. If she knew about Daphne's visit, she would have mentioned it already. The Dowager was not one to beat around the bush.

"You know how I am with large gatherings. They don't particularly excite me."

Edith sat down across from him, her gray eyes observing him with great interest.

"I am well aware of what you are like. Do you forget I gave birth to you?"

Ambrose almost smiled at that. His mother had a way of conducting herself in a way that reminded all those around her of her value in their lives.

She was not the young Duchess that she once was, but in conversation, it was easy to catch reminders of the hold that she once had on this Estate and those who lived within it.

"I wouldn't dare forget," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "Which is why it should not surprise you that I chose to spend this evening in my own company."

"Oh, it does not surprise me at the very least, Ambrose. But that does not mean that I am happy with it," she admitted. "You know fully well that there are many young women downstairs who would be enthused at the chance to speak with you. And yet, here you are ignoring them."

Ambrose exhaled a sigh. He knew exactly where his mother was going to go with this.

"I am merely busy with my work, Mother."

"I understand that work is important," Edith nodded. "But so are your social responsibilities. What became of the walk that you took with Lady Eugenia the other day?"

Ambrose shrugged. The entire thing had been so insignificant that it had already slipped away from his memory. "It was pleasant, I suppose."

"Pleasant?" Edith asked, eager to know more. "Did you find her suitable enough to propose? She comes from an excellent family, and it would be–"

"Mother," he cut her off, wearily. "I merely said that I thought the walk was pleasant. Unfortunately, I do not see myself with her. Sorry to spoil your plans."

Edith's eyes widened slightly at his response, but she pressed on, undeterred. "What does she lack, then? What could possibly be wrong with Lady Eugenia?"

Ambrose paused, giving it some thought. He knew his mother wouldn't let the question go unanswered, and truthfully, he hadn't spent much time considering the exact reasons why Lady Eugenia hadn't held his interest. After a moment, he sighed. "She's too... plain. She didn't hold my interest."

"Too plain?" Edith echoed, genuinely stunned. "Lady Eugenia is such a lady—graceful, beautiful, accomplished. What more could you possibly want in a wife?"

Ambrose met his mother's gaze evenly, his expression unreadable. "Ideally? Not to marry at all."

Edith blinked, momentarily thrown by his bluntness. "Ambrose, that's... that's not an option. You are the Duke. The estate needs an heir, and you know your responsibilities better than anyone. You must marry."

Ambrose sighed heavily, already tired of this familiar conversation. But Edith, undeterred, pressed again, "But if you had to... what would you look for? What is it that you truly want, if not someone like Lady Eugenia?"

Ambrose fell silent, thinking over her words. It wasn't a question he had asked himself before, not seriously, at least. He had spent so long avoiding the idea of marriage that he'd never really considered what would compel him to make that choice.

Finally, after a long pause, he said, "Someone who challenges me."

"Challenges you?" she repeated, frowning slightly. "Ambrose, marriage is not a competition. You need a wife who will support you, not someone who will argue with you."

"No, Mother. I don't mean arguments for the sake of arguments. I mean someone who doesn't just fade into the background. Someone who keeps me on my toes, who... who won't just agree with me for the sake of it."

As the words left his mouth, an unbidden image flickered in his mind—Daphne. He chided himself internally, shaking off the thought.

It irritated him that she was the first person who came to mind, but there it was.

Edith's frown deepened as she tried to comprehend her son's unusual requirements. "Someone who challenges you..." she mused. "Well, then. What about the other ladies? Surely one of them must have caught your eye."

"Mother," he groaned. "Do we really have to do this? Why must you be so intent on this?"

A look of sadness crossed his mother's face. "I just do not understand your resistance to marriage. Is it something I've done? Did I raise you to think love wasn't important?"

"No, Mother. This has nothing to do with you," his tone was softer this time.

"Then what is it?" Edith pressed, "You've never given me a proper answer."

Ambrose hesitated. He didn't like these conversations, didn't like being prodded about his personal decisions. But he could see the genuine concern in his mother's eyes, and it was hard to brush it off entirely.

"Mother..."

"I just... I want you to be happy, Ambrose," she said quietly.

"I am happy," he insisted. "If you stop insisting for me to marry, perhaps you would be able to see it for yourself."

"You believe that you are happy as you are, yes.

But if you had a companion, this happiness of yours would be tenfold," she nodded.

"I know what it's like to love someone. To have a partner who understands you, who stands by your side through everything.

Your father... he was my rock. I was happiest when I was with him. "

Ambrose froze at the mention of his father. He did not speak about him much ever since his demise.

Neither did his mother. It wasn't often that she talked about him in such personal terms. "I know you miss him," Ambrose said softly.

"He would have wanted this for you," she continued.

"It's not that I don't believe in love, mother," he said, his voice quieter now. "But not everyone is meant to have what you had with Father."

"Oh, what we had was truly special," her eyes lit up slightly. "We were a love match. The first day that I met your father, I knew that he was the man I was going to marry."

Ambrose racked his brain for if he ever felt that way for someone in his life. No, he had never even come close. It appeared such a foreign concept to him. If anything, he had thought how much he did not wish to marry someone when he first met them.

"I am afraid that I cannot imagine that," he replied, folding his arms out in front of him.

"You can, my dear," she admitted. "A love like that is out there for you, and I am confident that you shall find it."

Ambrose chose not to respond. But that did not deter his mother from going on.

"When I lost him, I lost a piece of myself. But I wouldn't trade the time we had together for anything. That kind of love... it's worth the risk."

Ambrose swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He didn't want to admit it, but his mother's words were hitting closer to home than he expected.

After a moment, he whispered, "I know."

"What was that?"

Luckily, she had not seemed to have heard him. Ambrose clenched his jaw and looked away again.

"You should retire for the night, mother. I've got a lot of work to do."

"Ambrose..." she began softly, her voice tinged with concern. "I worry about you. I don't want you to shut yourself off from the world."

He didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the papers before him, though it was clear he wasn't reading a single word.

His mother had loved his father deeply, and she had lost him. Ambrose knew what that kind of loss looked like—he had seen it in his mother's eyes every day after his father had passed. And the truth was, he didn't want anyone, especially not someone he cared about, to look like that because of him.

He wouldn't let it happen.