Chapter 14

Daniel

Two weeks later

The day had arrived to say goodbye. Daniel clasped his tearful mama in his arms one last time. She touched his cheek with a trembling hand. "Take care of yourself, my love, and please write as often as you can," she pleaded brokenly.

"I will," he promised.

He felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "It is time. We must go now, Charlotte," Frank Stanton told his wife in a grave voice. His mama nodded and wiped at her wet cheeks. Then, with a last regretful look at her son, she let her husband guide her to the carriage.

The Stantons staying behind in England watched as the rest of their family prepared to leave for America. There were three of them staying—himself, his sister, Isabella, and Grace, who had recently married the curate, Benedict Sedgwick, in rather unseemly haste. As the carriage pulled away, Daniel tucked Isabella into his comforting embrace. She was only nineteen, and now his responsibility, one that he intended to take seriously.

A few weeks ago, soon after the reading of the will, the family had met to decide who was to stay on in England and who was to return to Ohio. Of the four heirs to the Stanton estate, only the youngest, his cousin, Beth Stanton, had elected to return to America. Her new estate of Gorston Manor would be managed on her behalf by himself and Ambrose. The matter of Grace's staying was settled upon her marriage to Benedict, and she had gone to live at her new home, Mulverley Grange. As for Isabella, she had had this to say when asked on the matter, "I wish to stay here and take charge of my estate, with Mr Cranshaw's guidance."

Papa had frowned at this, stating, "You are young and cannot be living alone at Netherwick Hall."

"I am aware of that," had replied Isabella. "However, I can live at Stanton Hall with Daniel until such time as I am old enough to live independently or until I marry. My estate is not ten miles from here, and it should be easy enough to make regular journeys there to visit tenants and ensure the property is well maintained. I mean to take an active role in its management, and I have no wish for anyone to remind me that I am a female. My brain is as good as that of any male in this family."

So, his headstrong sister was now living under his roof at Stanton Hall and taking an active part in the management of her estate. Earlier this week, Ambrose and Daniel had taken her to visit Netherwick Hall, a manor house only a fraction less grand than Stanton Hall. It seemed a shame that it too was lying vacant, its numerous rooms gathering dust. All three had been in agreement that a tenant would need to be found for it soon, with Isabella declaring that she would personally interview prospective candidates—adding, at Daniel's narrowed look, that she would of course do so with Mr Cranshaw's guidance.

And now, with the senior Stantons gone, Daniel was at last in sole charge of his new estate. As he held a weeping Isabella to him, he chanced to look sideways at where Ambrose was standing in respectful silence. Since that humbling interview with him at Ivy Cottage two weeks ago, they had worked together amicably enough. Ambrose had maintained a professional and distant manner with him, never dropping the formality of addressing him as "my lord".

Daniel, for his part, had also strived to act as professionally as possible. Whenever in meetings with Ambrose, he had tried to stay focused on estate business, though of course, his hungry eyes had taken in and catalogued all aspects of Ambrose's fine form—the soft gold of his newly grown whiskers which Daniel longed to stroke, the dark sweep of his eyelashes, the enticing fullness of his lips. With each day, Daniel's feelings grew stronger, not weaker. He was beginning to suspect that this was no passing infatuation, as had been his feelings for Agnes Lowe, but something deeper and far longer lasting. He hoped he was wrong, for he had no wish to condemn himself to years of heartbreak.

There had been times when Daniel caught a look on Ambrose's face that betrayed more emotion than was apparent from his formal manner—a warmth in his gaze and something that could only be described as longing. But on a second glance, that look was quickly gone, and Daniel berated himself for wishful thinking. He had better get over it. Ambrose was not interested sexually or romantically in him, nor, it seemed, in anyone else.

Daniel had made surreptitious enquiries about Ambrose, but there was no gossip hinting at any connection between his estate manager and any female in the village nor in nearby Witney. The man lived the life of a saint, if rumour was to be believed. Could it be that Ambrose was one of those aesthetic beings that felt little need for sexual companionship? Daniel could not be sure. He doubted it somehow. He had seen hints of a passionate nature that one time they had got drunk on sherry together. Maybe it was that Ambrose, for reasons best known to himself, simply repressed those passionate instincts. Daniel's curiosity though, once aroused could not be eradicated. Every chance he got, he studied the man and tried to learn as much as he could about him. He was sure that much of Ambrose's character remained a mystery, skilfully hidden behind a studiously bland fa?ade.

Over the course of the next month, Daniel settled into his new life as master of Stanton Hall. It was a busy time as he worked to acquaint himself with all aspects of his new domain. There was not much socialising to be had either, as the family was still in mourning for his grandfather. For company, he had Isabella, as well as his newly married cousin and her husband, Benedict Sedgwick. They met often for luncheon or dinner, either at Mulverley Grange or Stanton Hall. Often when he and Isabella visited at Mulverley Grange, there too would be Ambrose and his sister, by dint of their close friendship with Benedict.

In the presence of his sister and friend, Ambrose relaxed his formal manner somewhat, teasing and even once going as far as telling a risqué joke. These were convivial gatherings in which Daniel spent much of his time studying Ambrose as discreetly as he could. He had decided that if the village could tell him nothing about him, he would discover more about Ambrose by observing him closely. He learned that Ambrose loved carrots but hated peas with a passion. He gleaned that he had a love for poetry, particularly Tennyson and Keats, that he read modern fiction and classical philosophy, but that he did not much share his sister's passion for science and engineering.

Despite this, Daniel noticed that Ambrose seemed very close to Sarah, much more so than he himself was to Isabella, though of course he loved his sister dearly. The pair were openly affectionate with one another, rather endearingly so. Perhaps, being the other's sole surviving family member had made them cleave to each other more than was usual. Sarah herself, Daniel found refreshingly different in her eccentricity and plain speaking. She was much more of an open book than was her brother.

It made Daniel wish that he could foster a closer relationship with Isabella. Five years her senior, he was accustomed to treating her with the disdain of an older brother, but he resolved to do better, recalling the vow he had made on Grandfather's deathbed that he would never let anything drive a wedge between himself and his family. He would make an effort to talk more with Isabella as an equal rather than as a domineering older brother.

Since Ambrose and Sarah were often present when he visited Mulverley Grange, it became obvious to Daniel that they should be included in the family group whenever they gathered for luncheon or dinner at Stanton Hall. One morning in early February, he broached the subject with Ambrose as they sat going over the latest set of accounts. "Ambrose," he said, "you and Sarah will join us for luncheon here this Sunday."

"Is that an invitation or a request, my lord?" asked Ambrose in a mild voice.

"Both," declared Daniel. "I am inviting you to luncheon with us, but I am also making it clear that I expect you to accept."

"Well in that case, sir, I thank you kindly for the invitation, and in line with your expectations, I accept on behalf of myself and Sarah."

Daniel stretched his long legs out, crossing them at the ankle. "Careful there, Ambrose," he drawled. "I am detecting a trace of insubordination in your tone."

Ambrose raised a brow. "Insubordination? From me? No, my lord, I know too well which side my bread is buttered ever to act insubordinately with you."

"Is that so?" Daniel eyed him speculatively. He had detected a hint of self-mockery in that last remark.

"It is indeed."

"So, if I were to ask you to get on your knees and bow to me as your liege lord, you would do it?" Daniel waited on Ambrose's response with baited breath.

His estate manager gazed at him expressionlessly. "I am not one for speculation, sir," he said evenly.

Daniel straightened up in his chair, his body tensing with anticipation. "Then let us move from the realm of speculation to an actual order," he said softly. "Ambrose, kneel down before me now and bow your head."

He watched in fascination as Ambrose hesitated. His alabaster complexion turned a shade of pink, and there was a fiery burn to the smoky grey of his eyes. Then, with a stubborn tilt to his mouth, Ambrose stood, took two steps towards where he sat, and in one fluid movement, sank to his knees, head bowed. Daniel caught his breath. In the heavy silence that ensued, he felt the pounding of his heart in his chest and the thickening of his groin. Ambrose looked regal, even in this subordinate position. Daniel wanted him then, with a visceral intensity that had his body trembling.

He stood abruptly and approached Ambrose. His breaths heaved in his chest as he stared down at the bowed head that was level with his thickly engorged groin. For a few tantalising instants, he fantasised about freeing his cock from his trousers and ordering Ambrose to put his mouth to it.

His hand crept down to his groin and squeezed his aching shaft through the material of his trousers. It was at such an angle as to be nearly visible to Ambrose's downturned eyes. All it would take was one pull of the drawstring of his trousers and his cock would be free. He breathed heavily, trying to recollect himself. In a voice thick with desire, he grunted, "I shall see you and Sarah here for luncheon on Sunday." And with that, he left the room hurriedly, striding past a startled footman and rushing up the stairs.

Once in his room, he shut the door behind him and turned the lock. Leaning against the door, he finally freed his throbbing cock from his trousers. Then, spitting onto his hand for lubrication, he began to rub himself with wild abandon. He came not long afterwards with a deep groan, streams of his pearly ejaculate dripping onto the polished wooden floor. When he was done, he closed his eyes in relief and guilt. What had he been thinking? Never again should he play such dangerous games with Ambrose. He would lose each and every time.