Chapter 18

Daniel

February 1861

On an overcast and drizzly morning the following Thursday, as promised, Daniel arrived at Ivy Cottage in the Stanton carriage. Ambrose was ready and waiting for him. He climbed aboard and slipped his travelling case in the space under the seat. Daniel observed him closely for any sign of illness, but he looked back to his usual health. To be sure, he enquired, "Are you well, Ambrose?"

"Never better," smiled his estate manager.

Daniel's relief was palpable. He had been more worried about Ambrose than he realised. The carriage began its rattling journey towards Oxford, a journey which would take around two hours to complete. They accomplished the first half-hour in companiable silence, each deep in thought. Finally, Daniel spoke. "So tell me, Ambrose, what is the plan for our visit to Oxford?"

"First, we shall stop by at the Old Bank on the High Street," said Ambrose. "It is the nickname given to the bank of Parsons, Thomson his responses monosyllabic. By the time they returned to the house, he was sure that Ambrose was feeling heartily sick of him. It was not usual of him to be such poor company, but there again, it was not usual for him to be heartbroken and riddled with jealousy either.

At the appointed time, he dressed for dinner with care and joined Ambrose in the drawing room, who was waiting to accompany him to Mrs Forbes's house. As they always seemed to do, his eyes glided over Ambrose's person, taking in the elegant line of his slim form accentuated by the simplicity of his respectable but unfashionable clothes. Daniel's gaze strayed up to examine Ambrose's silky blond locks, neatly parted to one side, exposing his noble brow and showing off to perfection the beauty of his stormy grey eyes. His breath caught in his chest. Ambrose was truly… ambrosial.

On the back of that thought came a flash of possessiveness. He is mine. Mine! Daniel swallowed the hard lump in his throat as reason tried to battle with the instinctive need to capture Ambrose and never let him go. If he had lived in a bygone age where a lord's word was law, he would have done just that—held Ambrose captive in a turret and refused to let him go until he submitted to him. He would have shackled the man to his bed and had his wicked way with him, plundering the delights of his body and leaving him in no doubt to whom he belonged. But this was the year 1861 in the modern era, and lords, no matter how rich, did not wield such arbitrary power.

Reluctantly putting to one side his swashbuckling flight of fancy, Daniel forced a smile and declared, "Ambrose, you are looking well, if a trifle thin. We shall have to put some meat back on your bones." The words were a conscious echo of Mrs Forbes's remarks earlier today. If anyone was to ensure Ambrose ate well and recovered his former physique, it would be Daniel, not that meddling Mrs Forbes.

Ambrose nodded his agreement. "Yes, I am a trifle leaner than before, but I fully intend to eat my way back to health. The good news is that Mrs Forbes's cook makes an excellent game pie, so I am sure to gorge myself tonight."

Daniel pursed his lips in annoyance. Not to be outdone, he replied, "And Stanton Hall's cook is second to none. I believe, Ambrose, it is best if henceforth, you should take your luncheon at the main house with us."

"And deprive Sarah of my company for luncheon each day?" queried Ambrose with a raised brow. "I think not, my lord."

"Sarah may join us too," said Daniel quickly.

"It is extremely kind of you to extend the invitation, my lord, but the answer must be no. As it is, we are already encroaching on your hospitality quite enough with our luncheons at the house each Sunday."

A growl issued from Daniel's chest. "Must you always be so difficult, Ambrose?"

"Must you always be so forceful, my lord?" responded Ambrose in kind.

"I am merely looking out for your best interests," grated Daniel. "As your employer, it is my duty to do so. However will you fulfil the functions of your job if you are not in good health?"

Ambrose took umbrage at this. "I manage quite well, my lord, and not once have I been derelict in my duties," he protested.

Daniel's expression softened. "I know you do, Ambrose. Forgive me. I did not mean to impugn your work ethic. It is simply care and worry for you that has me speak so." He took a step towards Ambrose and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let us compromise on the matter," he said gently. "Sunday through to Wednesday, you and Sarah will have your luncheon at Stanton Hall, and do not argue with me on this. I know that Sarah will not mind this arrangement, for I have heard her say with my own ears how well she thinks of my cook. The rest of the days, you may do as you please."

As he spoke, he moved even closer and squeezed Ambrose's shoulder gently. He watched the rapid rise and fall of Ambrose's chest. And were his cheeks a trifle flushed?

In a hoarse voice, Ambrose rasped, "Very well, my lord."

Daniel breathed a sigh of relief at winning this small battle. He should remove his hand from where it still gripped Ambrose's shoulder. All he wanted though, was for that hand to pull the man he loved into his embrace. He nearly trembled with the need to do so. With a mighty effort, he loosened his grip and stepped back. "Let us be on our way," he said thickly. Abruptly, he turned away and marched out of the room.

Together, they went out the door and walked the few paces to the next house. No sooner were they ushered in by a footman than a young boy came barrelling over to them, followed closely by Mrs Forbes. "Uncle Ambrose!" the boy cried.

Ambrose smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Hello Edwin," he said cheerfully. "Have you been good?"

"Yes, sir," insisted the boy.

"In that case, here is something to mark your birthday," Ambrose said, taking out from his leather bag a small package wrapped in brown paper and giving it to the boy.

The child looked delighted. "What is it?" he asked in wonder.

"You shall have to find out," chuckled Ambrose.

"But not here," Mrs Forbes hastened to say. "Edwin, please make your bow to Viscount Stanton."

At last, the boy seemed to notice Daniel. With a shy little smile, he executed a creditable bow, saying stiffly, "How do you do, sir."

"I am well, thank you, Edwin," replied Daniel.

"Please do come in," said Mrs Forbes, leading them to the drawing room.

Daniel looked about him as he entered the room. This house was similar in proportions to his, yet it had a very different feel. Instead of the stately, bordering on ostentatious décor next door, this place was homely and welcoming. Comfortable and brightly coloured furniture, slightly frayed with use, adorned the room. Books were strewn on a side table, and by the window stood an easel bearing a charcoal sketch of a steam train rendered in childish strokes. This house reminded him a little of his home back in Ohio, and for an instant, he felt a spurt of nostalgia for that faraway place he would not see again for a long time.

While Daniel took a seat, Edwin jumped to unwrapping the package excitedly, as both Mrs Forbes and Ambrose looked on fondly. From it, the boy pulled out a cylindrical-shaped object with vertical slits all the way around. Inside the cylinder was a series of drawings showing a rider on horseback. Edwin examined it curiously, then enquired, "What is it?"

"This, Edwin, is a zoetrope," said Ambrose. "Place it on the table and fix your eyes level with the slits that you see." Edwin did as he was bid. "Now look carefully," continued Ambrose. So saying, he spun the zoetrope around. It turned on its axis like a merry-go-round.

Edwin watched carefully, then cried out in excitement, "The horse is moving! It's galloping." He looked up at Ambrose and exclaimed, "It's magic!"

"No, not magic, Edwin, but science, though I am afraid I do not know enough to explain it to you. If Sarah were here, no doubt she would know. Do you like it?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Edwin, what should you say to Uncle Ambrose?" chided his mother.

The boy leaped to his feet and threw his arms around Ambrose in a fierce hug. "Thank you, Uncle Ambrose," came his muffled voice as his face was pressed to Ambrose's chest.

Daniel watched with a tight feeling in his own chest as Ambrose held the boy to him in obvious affection. In his twenty-four years on this earth, Daniel had never given much thought to the idea of having children. He supposed it was something that people did once they married. But now, seeing Ambrose with this young boy, Daniel was suddenly beset with a feeling of loss. Ambrose would make a wonderful father, he thought. His calm and gentle nature was perfect for the rearing of children. Daniel also knew quite well that it was a physical impossibility for two men to beget children together. The only ways for Ambrose to experience fatherhood would be for him to marry or have a mistress, both of which would take him away from Daniel.

For the first time, it occurred to him just what manner of a sacrifice would entail from a love between two men. Even if Ambrose were ever to develop feelings for him, Daniel would never be able to give him this gift of life. They would never be able to celebrate their love openly for all to see. It would be a forbidden love, tainted by secrecy. Desolation swept through him. This love he felt for Ambrose was doomed. He looked away quickly, blinking back a surge of unwelcome tears.

Around him, the other occupants of the room chattered happily, unaware of his distress. Soon, he had himself in hand enough to join in with the conversation. But though outwardly he smiled, spoke with wit and charm, even made the occasional joke, inside, he withered in despair.

They convened to the dining room where they were served with a fine meal. It could have been sawdust for all Daniel cared. Under his close scrutiny, he saw Ambrose eat heartily, laugh, tease and exchange the odd affectionate look with Mrs Forbes. His suspicions were growing that there was more to this friendship between Ambrose and Lexie Forbes.

Finally, the torture was over, and they said their goodbyes, returning to the Stanton house next door. Once inside, Ambrose turned to face Daniel and said, "I am travel weary, so I will bid you goodnight, my lord."

"Goodnight, Ambrose."

They both went up the stairs then went their separate ways, each to their rooms. Inside his bedchamber, Daniel undressed, made his ablutions, and slipped on a night shirt. He took the candle to his bedside and a book of poems by Keats. Once settled in bed, he read by the light of the candle, his melancholy mood oddly at one with the poetry on the page.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall

Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,

That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,

And hides the green hill in an April shroud;

Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose…

Some unspecified time later, a sound made him stop. He put down his book and listened. There it was again—the creak of a floorboard. Someone was walking along the corridor. Without thinking, Daniel quickly rose from his bed, not bothering with a robe, and tiptoed to his door, opening it quietly. In the dim shadows, he discerned a form moving down the stairs. He followed noiselessly and looked over the stair rail. A beam of moonlight streaming in from a window illuminated briefly the figure of a man—Ambrose—walking silently down the stairs, dressed in a robe.

Daniel waited a fraction of a minute before engaging in pursuit. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Ambrose had disappeared, but the light click of a door shutting indicated where he had gone. It was the rear door to the gardens at the back of the house—the door by which Mrs Forbes had entered the house earlier today. Quickly, on bare feet, Daniel went to the door and opened it, gazing out into the shroud of darkness. At first, he could not see anything, but another shaft of moonlight threw into relief the tall, lithe form of Ambrose, walking rapidly towards the house next door and disappearing inside.

Daniel waited a few minutes to see if Ambrose would return, but there was no further movement. Shivering in the cold, he withdrew back into the house and returned to his room, though not to sleep. He lay in bed, his book forgotten, painful visions in his head of what Ambrose was possibly doing at this very time. Was he undressing Lexie with meticulous care and kissing each newly exposed part of her body? Was he uttering words of love as he did so? And was he allowing that female to touch his person, to stroke every inch of his exquisite body?

A streak of irrational possessiveness flashed through him, much as it had before dinner. Ambrose was his. Nobody else had a right to touch him. Earlier, he had thought their love was doomed. Now, he was full of anger and jealousy. It did not matter if Ambrose deserved him or not. He was his.

Daniel kicked off his covers and sat up in frustration. He recalled the slim, wiry body he had sponged down not two weeks ago with love and care in every touch. The thought of somebody else gliding their fingers along that alabaster skin sprinkled with a dusting of soft, golden hair was enough to make him punch the mattress in anger. It was not to be borne, neither was the ensuing, sharply painful vision of Ambrose burying himself in Lexie's body and scattering his seed into her womb—possibly to create a new life. Damnation! Would this pain never end?

Daniel inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. Despite the cold, his body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, evidence of the inferno raging within him. The urge was strong to march into the house next door and drag Ambrose by the scruff of the neck back here. And then, patience at an end, Daniel would ravage that man, mark every inch of his body with the lap of his tongue and the bite of his teeth, making it unequivocally clear who he belonged to.

He was all too aware that this was mad, caveman-like thinking. Daniel buried his face in his hands, desperate to regain his sanity and a semblance of calm. His breaths were short and choppy as he fought his primitive instincts, reminding himself that he was a civilised human being, a Christian man of empathy and tolerance.

Had not Ambrose already told him he had no interest in men? Though a part of him still sensed that Ambrose was attracted to him—the earlier jealousy of Mr Templeton, for example—what man would choose that over a flesh and blood woman? He was not about to pass judgement on that lady's breaking of her marital vows. Judge not, that ye be not judged. Was that not the scripture his mama oft liked to quote? What did he know of her circumstances or indeed of Ambrose's? Very little. It was past time that he became a controlled, mature gentleman as befitted his new station. "Do better, Daniel, do better," he repeated to himself.

After a time, enough composure returned for him to lay back in bed, the covers snug around him. However, sleep was slow to come. When it did, he drifted in and out of consciousness, unable to settle, subconsciously waiting for the creaking sound of footsteps that would signify Ambrose's return.