Chapter 13

Ambrose

Christmas Eve, 1860

The pace of the day had been relentless. From early morning until about a half hour ago, Ambrose had been closeted in meetings with Mr Ridley, the solicitor, and both Frank and Jasper Stanton, who were the trustees of the late earl's will. Daniel too, had been present in most of these meetings, as the new viscount and primary heir to the estate.

Now, back in his cottage, over a relaxing drink of sherry, Ambrose thought about what was to happen next. There would be plenty of work for Daniel and him to do setting out the new estates and dividing all the earl's properties amongst his heirs—particularly since Daniel's father and uncle would be returning to America soon.

There were other matters to be resolved by the trustees too. The earl had not thought to mention several of his other lesser properties in the will—the Oxford house, for instance, and several tenanted cottages dotted around the village. There was also a hunting lodge in Norfolk that was rarely, if ever used, and thus must have escaped the earl's attention when he sat to write his will. All these properties would need to be equitably portioned out between the four heirs of the late earl, and the deeds transferred into their names.

With a deep sigh, Mr Ridley had bemoaned to all, "I did try to explain to the lately departed earl the complexities of carving up the estate into separate entities, and that the matter required a great deal of time and effort to untangle, but he would have none of it. He insisted that Francis and Jasper would manage the thing for him." He had gazed apologetically at the late earl's two sons.

Frank Stanton, now the new Earl of Stanton, had not been amused. "I do not know how we shall manage in the time we have," he had muttered. "In another two weeks at most, we must depart for America. We cannot be absent from our estates there for much longer."

Sensing his father's distress, Daniel had placed a hand on his shoulder and said soothingly, "Do not worry overmuch, Papa. You can only do what you can, and the rest we shall deal with afterwards, Mr Ridley, Mr Cranshaw and I. Once all matters are in order, we will write to you in America with the details set out and await your signed affidavit before proceeding in the courts. It will take longer to do that way, of course, but there is no great rush in any case."

Frank Stanton had clasped his son's hand on his shoulder in gratitude. Observing this, Ambrose's opinion of Daniel had gone up a notch. He was beginning to realise that his original assessment of the man—a charming, careless flirt—had not been quite correct. Of course, Daniel was all those things, but with the responsibility thrust upon him, he had become a lot more. From what Ambrose had seen these last few days, Daniel Stanton was a man of great loyalty to his family, coupled with a great sense of duty.

Damnation! He should not like him more than he already did. It would be dangerous to his peace of mind. He had to remember to stay on guard lest his true feelings be discovered. Ambrose wondered how he would be able to work with the new viscount over the coming days, weeks—even years—all the time hiding the way he felt about him. In the quiet privacy of his study though, he could admit to himself what it was that he felt—an intense desire and liking for his handsome new employer.

Ambrose downed the last of the sherry he had poured and set his glass down. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he stretched his legs before him and rested his head on the back of the armchair. Yes, it had been a long and taxing day. He had come home and gone straight to his study, reaching for the tried and trusted bottle of sherry to help ease his frazzled nerves. He glanced up at the clock across the room. A quarter past five o'clock. Soon, it would be time for dinner and after that, he would retire early to bed with a book to read.

In the quietness of the early evening, there came a loud and distinct knock on the door. Ambrose frowned. Who could be calling at this time? He heard Elsie go open the front door and the sound of an unmistakable male voice. He sat up abruptly. What the dickens could Daniel Stanton want with him now? He got to his feet and whipped open his study door. At once his gaze met the striking, almost black eyes that haunted his fevered dreams. "Viscount," he said. "This is a surprise."

"May I come in?" asked Daniel.

"Of course."

Ambrose stepped aside and let him enter his study. Daniel stopped in the middle of the room and focused his intense stare on him. "Do forgive this unannounced call," he said in his deep, baritone voice.

"Not at all, please, my lord, take a seat." Ambrose's voice was not as steady as he would have wished. He wondered what purpose Daniel had in coming to see him in his home.

The viscount frowned, unbuttoning his coat and placing it on the settee, together with his hat. "We have spoken of this, Ambrose," he said sternly, taking the offered seat. "You are not to call me ‘my lord'. We are to work closely together and we are also well on the way to becoming friends. There is no longer any need for excessive formality between us."

"So you keep saying, my lord," replied Ambrose stubbornly, "but I cannot feel comfortable addressing you informally when you are my employer."

Daniel directed a mocking look at him. "You had no trouble doing so the last time I was here, getting drunk on Grandfather's fine sherry."

Ambrose shrugged uncomfortably. "That was different. We were both… in need of solace that day." The real truth of the matter was that Ambrose used Daniel's formal title to help create a protective barrier around himself where this man was concerned.

Daniel sighed but did not pursue the point. "Ambrose," he said firmly, "we have not had an opportunity for a private word since the reading of the will. I had hoped we could talk."

Ambrose stiffened his spine. "What were you hoping to talk about, sir?"

Daniel scowled, probably at the use of the word "sir", but Ambrose could not help it. He had to maintain a formal distance between them. It was the only shield he had. Silence reigned as Daniel continued to look at him in disapprobation. Finally, he spoke. "When I first met and flirted with you, Ambrose, I had in mind that I would be in England for a short time, and I thought to engage in some enjoyable dalliance. I had no idea then that this estate would become mine and that consequently, I would become your employer. Then of course, you made it categorically clear that you had not an ounce of interest in me, much to my chagrin."

Ambrose gazed at the fire crackling in the hearth. If Daniel only knew—but no, he must never know. In a low voice, he said, "We agreed not talk of this anymore. I would wish to put the whole episode behind us."

"Yes, I know, but I think we are both finding it hard to do so," responded Daniel. "Your stiff manner with me is evidence of it. And as for me? Ambrose, my logical mind tells me that there is nothing here but the possibility of friendship with you. Unfortunately, I am not made up simply of my rational mind. There is also that part of me that cannot stop wanting you, even when logically, all hope is lost." Ambrose felt the fixed regard of those fervent dark eyes, but he refused to let himself see, staring stubbornly at the fireplace. His pulse pounded in his temple. Daniel's words were lighting a fire of exultation in his breast, a fire which he had to extinguish at all costs.

"So, what is to be done?" asked Ambrose hoarsely. "Should I resign my position here and seek employment elsewhere?"

"No!" Daniel snapped the word. "Do not even think of leaving. This whole situation is my fault. If anyone is to leave, it is me. Only I am not able to do so just yet, not until our estate affairs are all in order. After that, if you wish me to—if it will make life easier for you—then I will base myself in London or at the Oxford house, and only come here when estate business dictates it necessary."

Now Ambrose's eyes flew to stare at Daniel aghast. "You cannot possibly do that!" he cried. "It would be wrong. This is your home, your ancestral right. You cannot seriously think of deserting it because of me."

Daniel held his gaze, his expression sad. "It is not what I would want. But Ambrose, I do not think I am capable of pretending that I feel nothing for you when…" He took a deep, steadying breath before continuing, "when each day my feelings for you grow. Ambrose, I desire you like I have nobody else. It is like a physical burn in my body. But that is not all. I also respect and admire you and think you are the best of men. What I feel for you is no careless passing fancy. It is deep and strong."

Ambrose could not look away. Each word Daniel spoke received a resounding echo in his own heart. He felt the same. By God, he felt the same. He reminded himself, desperately, to stay on guard. With a calmness he did not feel, he said, "I am sorry you feel this way, my lord. It is… most unfortunate."

Daniel sighed and looked down at his trembling hands. Then it was as if he took courage again, and he fixed his gaze on him once more. "Ambrose, what I would like to say to you is this. I desire and admire you greatly, and I would like nothing more than for you to reciprocate what I feel. If ever, if ever, you begin to develop any semblance of those feelings for me, then I beseech you please to tell me and I shall be yours. Yours, do you hear?"

Ambrose heard. By God he heard, and his heart rejoiced. But he could not, would not, show any emotion. "My lord," he began carefully. "I am sorry for you, but it is not to be. I cannot be any clearer on the matter."

Daniel nodded. "You are being very clear, and I am sorry too, both for myself and the situation I am putting you into. Know this, Ambrose. Whatever my feelings may be, and though I shall try to put a veil over them, I may not always succeed in doing so, but no matter my feelings, I will always have the utmost respect for you and your livelihood as the estate manager. Never would I do anything to jeopardise your position here or that of your sister's. Please believe that."

Ambrose inclined his head. "I do, sir."

"So we come to this," declared Daniel. "Could you work with me, knowing how it is I feel, even though you do not have such feelings for me? Again, I tell you. If ever my presence becomes too cumbersome for you, then I will make myself scarce and spend more time elsewhere. I do not wish ever to importune you, Ambrose." Daniel's voice broke on this last word.

Ambrose was not able to withstand it. In a voice thick with emotion, he replied, "I shall be well, sir. Do not worry over me on this matter. We shall strive to find a way to work together."

Daniel stood and held out his hand. "Can we shake on it?"

Ambrose got to his feet too. Slowly, he lifted his hand and let it be gripped in Daniel's strong grasp. A jolt of electricity went through him at the contact. "To working together," said Daniel, "and to becoming friends."

"To working together and becoming friends," agreed Ambrose.

Daniel let go of his hand, picked up his coat and hat, and walked towards the door. "I shall leave you in peace now, Ambrose. Good evening to you."

In peace? That was not at all likely. Ambrose forced a smile on his lips. "Good evening, my lord."

With one final frowning glance at him, Daniel turned and left.