Chapter 22

Ambrose

Back at Stanton Hall, Ambrose and Daniel resumed their everyday life of easy companionship and fond friendship. Neither made any mention of what had transpired in their individual trips away from home, and Ambrose was glad of it, allowing himself to put into practice his "out of sight, out of mind" approach when it came to Daniel's love life.

Lexie wrote to him daily about her progress with the pregnancy. All seemed to be well, apart from her bouts of queasiness, but these were known to be a common effect of being with child. At times, Ambrose burned to share the news of his impending fatherhood. It felt far too big an event to be kept secret. Nevertheless, better counsel prevailed.

Sarah, for all her scientific knowledge, was not well versed with the ways of the world, and he was not sure she would understand or empathise once she knew of his affair with Lexie. He felt very bad keeping it from her, but decided it was the only way. Daniel was another matter. Several times, it was on the tip of his tongue to tell him, but there seemed to be an unspoken code between the two of them that whatever happened away from Stanton Hall was not to be discussed. Ambrose was minded too of Daniel's feelings in the matter. He recalled only too well his hurt at learning of the affair with Lexie. That hurt would only be compounded by the knowledge that there now was a child on the way. It was better, therefore, to keep this knowledge to himself.

In May, the following month, they each went their separate ways once more, he to Oxford and Daniel to London, where he was due to give his maiden speech in the House of Lords. They had worked on it together, after Daniel had sought his guidance, both deciding that it should address the current situation in America and what Britain's position should be in case the conflict escalated between the Union and the Confederacy. As they said their farewells, there came into Daniel's eyes a wistful look. "Ambrose," he said. "I do wish you were coming with me to hear my speech."

Ambrose merely responded with a weak smile, "I am sure it will go very well."

These monthly separations would not be easy, but this was their life now, and they were both playing by the rules of the game. Daniel smiled, wishing him a prosperous journey. He smiled in return, wishing him a successful maiden speech. And then they parted ways.

Another month passed, and they were now in the first week of June. One Monday morning, Ambrose arrived as usual at Stanton Hall and went up to Daniel's study, where they were in the habit of meeting to discuss estate matters at the start of every week. He found Daniel sitting in an armchair by the hearth, staring pensively into space. He knew at once that something was wrong. "Daniel, what is it?" he asked, going to sit before him.

In response, Daniel reached into his pocket and took out a folded sheet of paper. "This arrived today from Benjamin," was all he said, handing the letter to Ambrose. He took it and read it quickly.

April 30th, 1861

Dear Daniel,

I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits. I am sure by now you will have heard the news about the Confederacy's attack on Fort Sumter and the fact that we are now in a state of war.

I have thought hard on the matter and have decided that as soon as the call comes, I shall volunteer for a cavalry regiment. You would do the same, I am sure, if you were in my shoes, for I cannot see either of us standing by and not answering the call when the security of our way of life is at stake.

I have not yet told Ma or Papa of this, and fear they will not take the news well. However, I am firm in my decision. I will fight for the Union.

Now don't be getting any quixotic notions of joining me in this fight. Your place is in England with Isabella, and Papa will not thank you for abandoning her to her fate. Besides, isn't it time I got the glory for once? Let me do this one thing alone, without you. Wish me luck, brother.

With love,

Benjamin

Ambrose sighed and put the letter down. He gazed at Daniel anxiously. "I do hope you are not getting any quixotic notions of volunteering to fight in this war," he said, echoing Benjamin's words.

"Rest easy, Ambrose, I am staying in England," said Daniel flatly.

"Good," murmured Ambrose, relieved. "It is the right thing to do."

"Is it?" asked Daniel with a sardonic twist to his mouth. "That I do not know, but I will abide by my family's wishes."

"And my wish too," Ambrose ventured to say, looking away. He wanted to say more but could not do so without expressing all that he felt.

Daniel's brown eyes softened a fraction. "I know," he said. "Though it does not make it any easier to be a bystander here, in the safety of Stanton Hall, while over on the other side of the ocean, my brother and countless others are soon to be risking their lives."

"No," agreed Ambrose, "it is not easy. I know you feel helpless in this position, but perhaps you may make your own contribution to the effort through any influence you may wield in London—your maiden speech was well received, I hear."

Daniel shrugged impatiently. "My influence is minimal, Ambrose, and you know it. Besides, the British government is much too beholden to the cotton and tobacco trade to want to sever ties entirely with the Confederacy."

Ambrose acknowledged the truth of this statement. "You are doing this for your family then," he said instead. "Isabella needs you here. She is but nineteen, Daniel, and cannot live alone and unchaperoned. And the last thing you would want is to take her back to America when a war has just been declared there."

"I know this, Ambrose," said Daniel irritably. "It is why I am staying. But damn it to hell, can I not be mad about it?"

"Of course you can."

Daniel took a calming breath and exhaled. "I am sorry, Ambrose. I do not mean to take it out on you."

"And I am sorry, Daniel, if it seems like I am haranguing you. The frustration you are expressing is understandable, but it also gives me a fear that you may someday take it upon yourself to go and join the Union army. Please, as a friend, I beseech you not to." Ambrose looked away again and tried to slow the pounding of his heart. He was coasting dangerously close to showing his hand, acting like a lover rather than as a friend.

In response, Daniel reached across and placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing it affectionately. Ambrose felt that touch like the heat of a brand. It sent a warm tingle of pleasure and arousal through him. He cleared his throat and swallowed. The hand fell away. Daniel sat back in his chair and was quiet a moment. Then, he said, "What did you think, Ambrose, of Benjamin's words about letting him have the glory for once?"

Ambrose chose his words carefully. "It appears there is some rivalry between the two of you."

"Not of my making," said Daniel shortly.

Ambrose could not be so sure of this. As much as he loved working with Daniel, Ambrose was all to aware that his title and fortune represented a barrier to their friendship. It was not too much of a stretch, therefore, to understand how this too could have caused a distance or rivalry to form between Daniel and his brother. He owed his friend a truthful response. "Perhaps not directly so," he said, "but inadvertently, you may have contributed to this rivalry. Pardon me, Daniel, but I must point out that you have inherited a title and a fortune, while your brother must content himself with still being dependent on his family for his income."

"Yes, I know," answered Daniel morosely. "However, Papa is changing the terms of his own will so that Benjamin will be the sole inheritor of all his lands in Ohio. He will get the share I once was to have had."

"But still," pointed out Ambrose, "there is a difference between being already in possession of a fortune and being in line to inherit one after your father's passing."

"There is not much I can do about that," replied Daniel wryly, "unless you wish me to pray for my papa's hasty demise."

"Nothing of the sort!" protested Ambrose. "If you recall, I said you may have stoked the fires of rivalry inadvertently, not through any direct action. But surely you must own that your elevated position in life places those around you, whose station remains well below yours, somewhat at a disadvantage." Ambrose had meant to talk of Benjamin but somehow ended up speaking of himself. He hoped this would pass Daniel's notice.

"Yes," murmured Daniel, looking at him fixedly, "I begin to see that." After a moment, he looked away and huffed in frustration, "But I am not sure that the matter of the inheritance is the sole reason for the feelings Benjamin has expressed with regards to me."

Here too, Ambrose had to tread carefully. He did not want to hurt his friend's feelings, but he thought he had an inkling of what was going on with Benjamin. "No," he agreed. "It is not all due to the inheritance. There is also the matter of… how shall I put it?"

Daniel regarded him quizzically. "Go on, Ambrose, do not spare my feelings."

Ambrose sighed. He had put his foot in it, so he may as well continue. "When I first met you, Daniel, I was most struck by… erm, by the autocratic nature of your character. You are fearless and decisive, going after whatever it is you want as if it is your right. And Benjamin, from what I saw, is not like that at all."

Daniel stared at him. "You mean," he said slowly, "the way I went after you."

Ambrose did not respond at first, then murmured very quietly, "I suppose so, yes, though that is not quite what I meant."

Daniel huffed, "Well in that case, I have well and truly been taught a lesson, for I went after the thing I wanted and got my fingers burned."

"And burned me too in the process," thought Ambrose. He could not say this of course. Instead, he forced a smile and murmured, "Humility brings one closer to God."

There was a pause. Neither man looked at the other. "I would wish it brought me closer to Benjamin," Daniel said softly.

"In time, perhaps it will," responded Ambrose gently.

Then Daniel seemed to remember something. He stood and went to his desk, opening one of the drawers. From it, he took a sealed missive. "This came for Sarah," he said. He gazed down at it soberly, adding, "By the thickness of this packet, it is clear Benjamin has far more to say to your sister than he has to me, his own brother." With that, he handed the letter to Ambrose who carefully placed it in his leather bag. He would give it to Sarah on his return home later that day.

Daniel went back to his chair and stretched out his legs before him. "What do you think of this friendship between Sarah and Benjamin?" he wondered.

Ambrose shrugged. "To be honest, I do not know what to think. She maintains they are merely friends, but I cannot help but think there is more to it than that."

"I am tempted to agree with you," replied Daniel thoughtfully. "I have never before seen Benjamin behave like this. He has had his fair share of amorous adventures, but they have always been light-hearted and short-lived. This feels different."

"How do you feel about it?" asked Ambrose curiously.

"If you are asking if I would welcome Sarah as my sister-in-law, then Ambrose, you must know the answer is an emphatic yes. I am very fond of your sister. She is quite the character, and I think she would suit Benjamin admirably well. The real question, to my mind, is how do you feel about it?"

Ambrose ran a hand through his hair distractedly, then was immediately annoyed with himself. He did not like his neatly combed locks to be in disarray. "I am not sure what to think about it," he replied honestly. "You know my sister far better than I know your brother, who I only met on a few brief occasions." He added to himself, "But if he is anything like you, Sarah will be the happiest woman in the world to be married to him." Aloud he said, "There is also the problem of him living in America and volunteering for war, with no prospect of returning here for a long while."

Daniel's countenance hardened at the reminder that his brother was to join the Union army. Then he forced himself to relax. With a humorous twinkle in his eye, he declared, "Then they shall have to court each other via a long-distance correspondence. It could be quite the romance, you know. And eventually, I would hazard a bet that Benjamin will realise the depths of his feelings and come for her."

"There is also another problem," said Ambrose.

"Oh? What would that be?"

"The problem," went on Ambrose, "is that Sarah has harboured a secret attachment to someone else for quite some time."

Daniel sat forward with a frown. "Who?" he demanded.

"Mr Templeton."

Daniel reared back in shock. "What did you say?"

"You heard me quite well the first time," replied Ambrose.

"I did, but I am still finding it incomprehensible. Mr Templeton? Why he is the very last person a gentlewoman should contemplate for a husband."

"Really?" Ambrose raised a brow. "I distinctly recall you saying he was a charming and amiable fellow."

"Well that he is," said Daniel uncomfortably, "but I would not deem him suitable as a match for my sister, let alone yours."

"Would you care to explain why?" queried Ambrose.

"I—I…" Daniel was speechless. Ambrose narrowed his eyes at him. There was definitely something that Daniel was holding back. But then his friend seemed to gather his thoughts and explained, "He has something of a reputation when it comes to the ladies."

Too bad. For a moment there, Ambrose had thought Daniel was about to enlighten him as to what he and Mr Templeton got up to on their jaunts to London. Though perhaps, it was better he did not know.

"In any case," said Daniel, "I sincerely hope she is cured of that attachment, and soon. I may be biased in the matter, but Benjamin is a far better prospect for her."

Ambrose smiled. "These things are not in our hands, Daniel. We shall have to see how things go. Now, did we not have work to do?"

Daniel smiled ruefully. "Indeed we do, Ambrose. Let us get to it."