Page 40

T he soft crackling of the fire had become the most familiar sound to Ambrose in the past few days, for he had scarcely left his study or spoken to anyone since the guests' departure.

It was no surprise then that the sudden, loud knock on his study door startled him, having grown accustomed to the quiet.

"Ambrose?" Richard's voice called out from the other side of the door, "Brother of mine, are you in there?"

Ambrose had half a mind to ask him to go away, but the door swung open before he could articulate his words to reveal Richard, lingering by the doorway.

His shoulders were slumped, and an uncharacteristic frown etched itself across his lips.

Seeing his brother so deflated and far from his usual self made Ambrose change his mind.

"Mind if I join you?" Richard made his over to the sofa where Ambrose was sat, his steps sluggish. He brandished a glass bottle filled with whiskey from behind him, and set it on the table in front of them. "I need company."

"At this hour?" Ambrose narrowed his eyes at him, his earlier annoyance having given way to an almost paternal concern.

"Especially at this hour," Richard chuckled mirthlessly and poured himself a drink. He gestured at the bottle, "Would you like one?"

Ambrose clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I am fine."

"Come on, brother," Richard urged, "I do not wish to drink alone. Especially since I've come to lighten the load on my heart. Just one – for me."

Reluctantly, Ambrose agreed. "One, then. But no more."

Ambrose was not much of a drinker. But he would be lying if he said he didn't indulge in more than a few these past few days to get his mind off everything. It was the oldest medicine, as they say, when it came to matters of the heart.

"Splendid," Richard poured his brother a glass and gulped down the liquid in his own glass with impressive speed, his nose wrinkling as it reached his throat. "This is just what I need."

"You're acting quite unlike yourself," Ambrose asked, his curiosity growing by the minute. It was not often that he saw Richard upset about anything.

"Am I?" Richard took another large gulp of his drink. The slight slur in his speech indicated that this wasn't his first glass of the night. "I suppose that's only fair, given how I have just faced rejection."

"Rejection?" Ambrose leaned forward, suddenly alert.

Richard passed him a smile – one that did not reach his eyes. "It seems that Lady Daphne was not on the same page as me when it comes to marriage. She declined my proposal this afternoon."

Ambrose felt a strange mixture of both relief and concern at the admission. His heart rate shot up, but he tried his hardest to keep a neutral expression. "She declined?"

Richard nodded, too absorbed in the drink in his glass to notice how Ambrose had suddenly sat up straighter, "She did. And I have to say, I was not expecting it."

Neither was I. "How do you feel about the whole thing?"

What Ambrose actually wanted to know was how Daphne felt about the whole thing. He had not expected her to decline the proposal altogether, as it was very rare for ladies to do so. But of course, Ambrose should have known better that Daphne was not like the other ladies. She had never been.

"Shall I be honest?" Richard passed him a hollow look, "Not only is this a surprise to me, I never expected it would escalate to the point of a proposal to begin with."

"Ridiculous," Ambrose grumbled, "You chose to enter into a courtship with her. What else did you expect to get out of it?"

Richard was quiet for a moment, as though considering his next words with great care. "Well, in the beginning, I chose to court her only to spite you."

"Spite me?" Ambrose retorted eyebrow raised.

"Yes, well. You were not too happy with the idea of me marrying her if you remember and I wanted to prove to you that you could not control my choices. But as I got to know her, I thought that it would make for a stable marriage, perhaps. She is pretty and from a good family. It should be enough."

Ambrose's jaw tightened. He did not know how to process all this new information that Richard was giving him. All this time, he had burned with jealousy at the thought of Daphne and his brother falling in love. But far from love, Richard only considered her to be "enough".

Even if Ambrose did not have such a complicated history with Daphne, he would understand her reasoning to decline after hearing Richard speak now. For she was not merely just enough – she was so much more than that.

"In any case," Richard continued with a sigh, "It seems that marriage with her is not on the cards for me after all. You should be quite pleased with this development, I would imagine."

Ambrose was. But not for the reasons his brother thought. "Was Lady Daphne..." he mulled over his words, not wanting to sound too curious in front of his brother, "happy with her decision?"

"I would think so," Richard snorted. "I will say that she did manage to bury a seed in my head — she seems to give great importance to marrying for love. And I... well, I have never given the thought much consideration until now."

"And what have you concluded?"

Richard took another sip from his glass, while Ambrose' remained largely forgotten on the table in front of him. "I believe she has a point, you know. About the whole marrying for love thing. Why spend a life with someone unless you adore them to bits?"

"I'm sure Mother will be pleased to hear that," Ambrose commented. The Dowager had a love match and often encouraged her children to do the same for themselves.

"Surprisingly, she was not upset at all," Richard remarked. "She was the first person I told about the rejection, and she said that it is for the best."

That surprised Ambrose. His mother liked Daphne.

"As for me," Richard shrugged, "It's back to the beginning. Though, I'll try and pick a bride this time for the right reasons."

Which was just another way of saying that he would not try to spite Ambrose with his choices.

"I apologize for pushing you to act like that," Ambrose sighed. His meddling had got them all into this mess, to begin with. "From now on, I'll support you in whoever you choose for yourself."

Richard passed his brother a knowing look, "Really? Even if she's not up to your standards?"

"I am not above admitting that I can be wrong sometimes," Ambrose replied. He certainly had been wrong about Daphne.

"Never thought I'd heard you say those words out loud," Richard laughed. He seemed noticeably lighter than when he first came in.

Ambrose did not reply, but his brother was right. Only a few months ago, he could not have imagined him saying the words either. He had changed after all. He just wished the lesson hadn't come at the cost of a broken heart.

"Well," Richard slapped his knees and got up, "I shall make my leave. I think I've told you enough about my troubles. But I have some hope for the future."

Ambrose nodded, looking forward to the chance of being left alone. There was much to process.

"Do you mind?" Richard gestured over to the bottle of whiskey, which was still more than half full. "Something to help me sleep."

"Please," Ambrose nodded. He didn't feel like drinking anymore – suddenly the dull ache inside him had lessened, but not completely gone. It had transformed into something else entirely.

Regret, perhaps. Before, he thought that he was letting go of Daphne so that she could pursue a better future with someone he trusted, like his brother.

But now that she had rejected his proposal, she was a maiden without prospects again.

One that would inevitably catch the eye of some other gentleman, sooner or later.

The thought alone made him fraught with jealousy.

"Good night, Ambrose," Richard slithered away to the door, but stopped before he left completely, "Mother, what are you doing still awake? We were just talking about you, actually."

"Richard," the Dowager nodded and then stepped inside. "Ambrose."

"I believe I'll call it a night," Richard muttered a hasty goodbye to his mother, and as the door closed behind him, Ambrose was left alone in his study with a very observant Dowager, who came and sat across him.

"How have you been?" she asked in a soft voice. "You have not emerged out of this room for days now, not even to show your face for meal times."

"I have been busy, Mother," he replied. "It slipped my mind."

The Dowager did not seem convinced by his answers. She knew him too well, after all.

"Are you certain it was that?" she replied, "Or was it because your mind was wholly occupied by something – or rather, someone – else entirely?"

Ambrose was taken aback by his mother's insinuation. He had no words to say, for she was right on the mark.

"You've been keeping yourself locked away for days. You're torturing yourself, Ambrose," the Dowagers tone was solemn.

"I have been fine," Ambrose lied, albeit feebly. "There is nothing to worry about."

A knowing look crossed the Dowagers face, "My dear, that is what you say about everything. But a single forlorn glance is enough for a mother to know that something is wrong. I have seen this before."

Ambrose's expression tightened. "Mother, please."

"No, Ambrose. You been punishing yourself for so long. Since your father passed..." his mother's voice cracked slightly, "I know how much you've carried on your shoulders."

Ambrose looked at her, surprised by the raw emotion in her voice. She had never spoken so openly about his father's death before.

"I didn't just lose a husband, Ambrose. You lost a father. And you had to raise your brother while grieving yourself. I failed you, and I've been ashamed of that for years."

"Mother, do not speak about yourself in that manner. You have tried your best. In no way have you failed me," he said, though the weight of her words hung over his head.

"Those initial years," she sighed, "I should have been there for you. But I was too wracked with my own grief that I forgot I had two sons who needed me to their mother. You stepped for a role that you should never have, not at that age."

"I have no regrets from that time," Ambrose insisted, his memory flashing back to a time when he would find Richard crying not only because he missed their father, but also their mother. Ambrose would swallow his own tears, and comfort him.

"But I do," the Dowager replied, "I should have had better control over my emotions.

You had to see that, and it left a lasting impact on you.

But this ends now, I cannot let the ghost of my mistakes haunt your life.

Ambrose, I have noticed the way that you looked at Lady Daphne.

I know that she has captured your heart. "

Ambrose felt his heart rate quicken. Had he really been so obvious?

"Mother, I..."

"I know you will try and deny it – bury your feelings.

But my dear, that would be a mistake. I know from experience that true love only comes once in your life," she stated.

"And I have a feeling that Lady Daphne feels the same for you, her rejection of Richards proposal tells me that much.

You must not let your fears get in the way of a true, meaningful connection. "

"You know how I feel about the matter, Mother," Ambrose's voice was barely above a whisper. It was as though he was having to relive the pain of losing her all over again. "I cannot marry."

"For what reason?" the Dowager said. "Out of fear that one day you might lose her? My dear, if you do not confront your fear, you might never have her in your life to begin with."

Ambrose forced a thick swallow. "Perhaps it is for the best. Daphne... she deserves more than what I can give her. I've hurt her enough already."

Edith's gaze softened. "Could you handle hurting her again? This decision of yours does not only concern yourself. You must realize that."

Ambrose stilled, his breath catching as memories of Daphne's tears flooded his mind. He remembered the way she had looked at him with such vulnerability, the pain in her eyes.

No. He could not bear to hurt her again. But he had been so wrapped in his own mind that he had failed to consider the consequence of his own actions.

"Perhaps one day she might find another man suitable enough to marry, but it shall never be the same," the Dowager said the words, and they fell on him sharply like the stab of a knife.

"But I saw the way that her eyes sought you out in a crowded room, how she looked at you.

.. Ambrose, that poor girl must be heartbroken that you have done nothing to pursue her, as you should. "

The Dowager got up from her seat, and walked forward to put her hand on her sons shoulder, "My son, you need to make a decision now. Are you going to watch her marry someone else, forever living in the regret of not doing anything, or will you go get her?"

"It's not that simple," Ambrose muttered, his gaze trained to the ground.

"Perhaps not. But you must make haste," she paused dramatically, "For I have it on good authority that her sisters have arranged for her to leave for Scotland in the coming few days. She will reside there with her aunt, perhaps for good."

Panic coursed through Ambrose's veins, and he realized he could not stand to see that happen.

"Are you certain?" he asked.

But the Dowager had already begun to make her way over to the door, "I am telling you what I know," she turned back to look at him, "We tend to take the time we have with someone for granted.

But soon enough, if we do not make the right choice in time, they can slip away from our reach.

I do not wish to dictate your actions, but you should decide soon.

Oh, and it is time for you to end this self-imposed exile of yours.

I expect to see you tomorrow at the breakfast table. Good night, Ambrose."

With that, she exited the room with a soft click of the door, leaving nothing but panicked rumination in her wake. Ambrose's chest tightened as the reality of the situation settled in.

Scotland? He had to act now.