Chapter 27

Ambrose

September 1865, two years later

Ambrose woke early, dressed and went down to eat his usual breakfast of buttered bread and cold slices of meat, washed down with a cup of coffee. It was a bright morning, rays of sun already peeking in through the window. As he ate, his thoughts turned to Daniel, as they always did. And as with most mornings, he wished his friend could get reprieve from his constant worry about his family in America.

The end of this war between the Union and the Confederacy was drawing near. They had all celebrated when, last April, news had reached them of General Lee's surrender. After that, it had been a waiting game for them, as they looked to receive news of Benjamin's safe return home. Daniel, however, refused to forego his daily prayers for Benjamin's safety. He had heard too many tales of soldiers surviving long wars only to fall at the very last hour. Ambrose hoped with all his heart that this would not be so for Benjamin.

Breakfast over, he left the house, setting out on foot for his first destination of the day. This morning, he had to pay a call at Gorston Manor, one of the late earl's great houses, which had been granted to Elizabeth Stanton, Daniel's cousin, as part of the four-way split of the Stanton inheritance. Beth Stanton had returned to America with her family all those years ago, but Ambrose had continued to manage the estate on her behalf. The house itself had been let out last year to a retired naval commander named Colonel Collins, who had settled there with his two daughters. His sister, Sarah, tutored these daughters several mornings a week in French, literature and classics.

However, the purpose of his visit today was to check on a leak in the roof that had occurred after some heavy rain showers earlier in the week. Colonel Collins had sent word to him late yesterday evening about the leak, and he had promised to investigate the matter. The walk to Gorston Manor was not long, only a matter of fifteen minutes. It was just past eight o'clock when he crossed the gravel driveway and rang the bell.

He was shown to the front parlour by a servant, who promised to fetch the colonel. Ambrose was not kept waiting long. A brisk step announced the arrival of the colonel, a florid gentleman of around sixty with a bluff manner of speaking. "Ah, Mr Cranshaw, good day to you," said Colonel Collins.

"Good day, colonel," replied Ambrose. "I received your note and came as soon as I could."

"Good man, good man. Follow me and I will show you the damage. It is not great, I assure you, but it will require some work soon to prevent it worsening," explained the colonel.

"I will send some workers over to make the repairs just as soon as I have assessed the damage," promised Ambrose, walking up the stairs after the colonel. They reached the top floor and headed down a corridor towards one of the rooms. The colonel knocked briskly on the door, and when there was no answer, opened it to let them in. It was a bedchamber, probably used by one of the house servants, but currently empty. Ambrose saw the damage immediately. One wall of the room was streaked with damp brown stains. He went to it and placed his hand on it, feeling the moisture. His hand came away wet and glistening.

Curious to find the source of this moisture, he went to the window and pulled up the sash. With agility and long experience of doing such things, he climbed out of the window and perched on the narrow sill, holding his balance as he glanced up at the roof. He saw the problem immediately. One of the guttering pipes had snapped and was gushing water onto the wall, which was seeping into the internal walls of the house. Satisfied he had a clear picture, he climbed back inside and wiped his hands on his handkerchief. He enjoyed getting to the root of a problem and solving it.

"Well?" asked the colonel.

"A broken guttering pipe," answered Ambrose. "I will arrange for someone to come today and sort it out."

"Splendid, splendid," replied the colonel with a smile letting them out of the room. As they negotiated their way back down, he spoke again. "While I have you here, Mr Cranshaw, there is another matter I wanted to discuss."

"Of course, sir. I am at your disposal." They reached the front parlour again, and the colonel invited him to sit.

"I have received word from my sister, Mary, that her husband has sadly passed away from an attack to his heart," said the colonel.

"I sorry to hear it, colonel. Please accept my condolences," replied Ambrose politely.

"Yes, yes, it is the way of the world. What can you do? The reason why I bring this up is that Mary is now alone, with three young children to care for. I do not like the thought of her being without any family nearby—she lives in Gotherington, you see, a village some miles north of Cheltenham. She wrote to tell me that there is a house on the outskirts of the village newly to be let out. I went there last week to examine it and, the long and short of it is, we shall be moving there at the end of October."

"I see," murmured Ambrose, sighing to himself. He would have to look for another tenant to rent this place.

"I will of course see that the rent on Gorston Manor is paid up to the end of the tenancy period which still has another eight weeks to go," continued the colonel, "but I shall not be renewing the tenancy."

"I do understand, colonel," said Ambrose. "At times like these, it is important for families to stay together." His mind drifted to Daniel and Benjamin, and the toll of their long years of separation.

"Indeed, indeed," nodded the colonel. "Much as we have enjoyed our stay here, and the wonderful tutoring from your dear sister. We shall be sad to leave."

"And we shall be sad to see you go, sir." Ambrose stood and made his farewells, then started the walk to Stanton Hall in a pensive mood. So, Gorston Manor was to lie empty soon, unless he could find a new tenant for it. Unbidden came a thought. It would make a wonderful home for Lexie and the children. The house was spacious, without being too grand, and the grounds extensive with plenty of room for the children to play outside. It was also but a short walk from Ivy Cottage, so he could see them every day if he wished.

He snorted, pushing aside the fantasy. William Forbes would never allow it. The man kept his wife and child housed in his Oxford home, and paid a far from generous stipend for their upkeep. He was not about to agree to the expense of uprooting them to another home, all so that they could have more room to play and so that they could be close to Ambrose.

How about if he himself were to cover the expense of their move to Gorston Manor? Could he afford it? In his mind, he made the calculations and sighed. It would require some significant economies and make inroads into the savings he had put by for Emily's future. And then, there was another issue. Would Daniel mind having Lexie and the children live there? He could not say for sure. Daniel was devoted to Emily, perhaps even more so than him, but surely he would not appreciate having Ambrose's mistress live so close by.

If the shoe were on the other foot, he was sure he would not like it one bit if Daniel were to bring a mistress to live in his home. But that was to suppose that Daniel still cared about him that way. They had not spoken of their feelings in a long time and had settled into a fond camaraderie. Ambrose's own feelings for Daniel had been constant, but he could not be sure of what Daniel felt for him, except for a deep and lasting friendship.

As his steps took him to Stanton Hall, he chided himself for building his hopes up. Next month, he would put an advertisement in the paper and seek out a new tenant. He hurried up the steps and rang the bell. As the butler let him inside, he said cheerfully, "Good day, Siddons. Is the viscount in his study?"

"Yes, sir, he is," replied the butler.

Ambrose handed over his hat and coat, then hastened up the stairs to see Daniel. He knocked briefly on the door, then let himself in. Daniel looked up from the letter he was writing, a smile lighting his face. "Ambrose, good morning to you," he said.

"And a good morning to you," came Ambrose's response as he settled himself in a chair. Then, as he always did, he asked, "Any news from America?"

Daniel pursed his lips and shook his head. Ambrose did not pursue the subject. Instead, he told Daniel the news about Gorston Manor. "That is a shame," said Daniel once he had finished. "They are a good family, and I know Sarah has enjoyed tutoring the two young Miss Collinses."

"Yes," agreed Ambrose. "Sarah will be disappointed when I tell her the news."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. "Come in!" called Daniel.

The door opened to the anxious face of a young footman. "This has just come for you, my lord," he said, coming forward and placing a folded sheet of paper on the desk.

Daniel glanced at it and paled. "Thank you," he said, dismissing the footman. Once the door had closed, he picked up the note with a shaking hand. "A telegram," he whispered, staring at the paper in his hands but not making a move to open it. Ambrose stared at it too. This could go one of two ways, he thought. Either way, he would be there for Daniel, whether it was the best or the worst of news.

Daniel glanced at him, a plea in his eyes. "You read it," he said, handing it over.

Ambrose quickly took it and broke the seal. Inside was a short message:

Benjamin home safe and well STOP Come soon STOP Papa

With a quiver in his voice, he read it out loud. Daniel stared at him in disbelief, so he handed over the note for him to read. He took it from his hand and read it several times. "He's home," Daniel murmured in a daze.

"Yes," beamed Ambrose. "Our prayers have been answered."

Daniel nodded. He placed the note carefully down on his desk, unable to speak. And then it happened. A sob escaped from his chest. Then another. Soon, the floodgates had opened. Daniel buried his face in his hands as his body shook with the force of his emotions.

It tore at Ambrose's heart. He watched for a moment, helpless, then quickly stood and went round to the other side of the desk. "Shh, it's alright," he soothed, touching Daniel's shoulder gently. Daniel's body continued to convulse, and Ambrose could take it no more. Wrapping his arm tightly around Daniel's heaving body, he murmured huskily, "Don't cry, love, all is well." He could not stop himself from kissing the top of his head and crooning, "It is only shock, my love. Don't cry, please don't cry."

Daniel turned and buried his face in the comfort of Ambrose's chest. Ambrose stood bent towards him, holding him tight. He stroked his hair and gentled him with words of love. When that was not enough to stop the sobs, he pulled at Daniel, landing them both on the wooden floor in a kneeling position, their arms wrapped around the other. "My darling, darling love, it's alright," repeated Ambrose over and over, kissing the top of Daniel's head, his brow, his wet cheek, desperate to comfort him.

Eventually, the sobs subsided. Ambrose rubbed gentle circles along Daniel's back, still kissing wherever he could, his need to comfort warring with another need that was making itself felt. For five years he had known this man, desired him, loved him, and for five years he had held back from showing how he truly felt. But now, a thunderbolt itself could not have stopped him from making his feelings known. He buried his fingers in Daniel's hair, pulling up his face to his. Daniel's glistening dark eyes stared back at him, filled with a need he recognised. He did not hesitate. In one quick swoop, he captured his lips and kissed him.

He did not just kiss. He plundered. He ravaged. He claimed. This was an act of possession. With this kiss he transmitted loud and clear, "You are mine to comfort and cherish." Five years of frustration and need was poured into this kiss. His tongue swept into Daniel's mouth with the possessiveness of a wild animal entering its den. He licked, then sucked, then in a fit of wanton passion, he bit Daniel's lip, drawing blood. And then, he soothed the wound with his tongue.

After an initial moment of shock, Daniel had kissed him back with equal fervour. Each wield of Ambrose's tongue and nip of his teeth had been met with wild moans and a grind of Daniel's hips against him. Daniel's cock, solid and large, rubbed against Ambrose's groin, making its presence felt. Ambrose was no less hard, jutting his stiff peak into Daniel's taut abdomen. He ate Daniel's mouth, thrusting his hips into him, wanting nothing more than to rip off his clothes and drive himself inside him, laying claim on him once and for all.

He was about to do just that, throwing all caution to the wind, when suddenly, Daniel ripped his mouth away and shoved at his chest, sending him flying to the floor. He lay panting on his back, staring at Daniel in shocked surprise.

"What," grated Daniel, his eyes accusing, "is the meaning of this?"

Ambrose had no words. Daniel's expression hardened while his breaths subsided. "I asked you, Ambrose, what is this? For years, you have given me to understand that you do not feel desire for me. So, what is this? Explain yourself."

Ambrose sat up on his elbows and tried to regain control over himself. With each heaving breath, he realised with horror that his mask had been ripped off. There was no hiding any longer who he was. "Is it not obvious?" he barked, furious now both with himself and with Daniel. "What do you wish to hear? That I too am a sodomite?" He snorted. "What if I am? It shan't make a blind bit of difference to our situation."

"All these years," Daniel growled softly, "I have bared my heart to you, made my desire known, only to be met with rebuff after rebuff. Why? For the love of God, why?"

"Why?" cried Ambrose in fury. "Are you so dense, Daniel, that you cannot see why?"

"You could have been honest with me," accused Daniel in turn. "Not let me mope and pine and wallow in despair."

"What if I had told you? What then?" demanded Ambrose, getting to his feet and dusting off his trousers angrily. "All it would have done was put temptation in your path each day. Because my feelings in this do not matter. I could love you, worship you, desire you until my body ached with it, but still it would change nothing. We cannot be lovers, Daniel, not ever. This world we live in does not allow it. You do not know what level of shame would be rained upon you if it became known what we are."

Now Daniel was on his feet too. He took two steps forward and grabbed Ambrose by the shirt. "You are wrong!" he spit out. "We can do whatever we want as long as it is behind closed doors and we are discreet. Yet instead, you chose to break my heart, you bastard!"

Ambrose snorted in derision. "You think we can hide this from prying eyes? Are you so na?ve that you think people wouldn't know, wouldn't gossip?"

Daniel let go of him and strode to the other side of the room. Then, he turned and faced him with a frosty expression. "We could have been together without anyone being the wiser, but you never gave us a chance. You were happy to let me wither in despair."

"Never happy! Never that," Ambrose pleaded, wanting to be understood.

"I would have pledged myself to you, Ambrose, and given you my fidelity." Daniel shook his head in disgust. "Instead, in my sorrow and need, I sought sexual release in the arms of strangers. For years, I have debased myself in London, fornicating without heart, without feeling, when I could have been faithful to you if you had only let me."

Ambrose looked away, the truth of Daniel's words hitting him hard. He hated knowing that Daniel had given his body to others. It fuelled a rage that roiled in the heart of him.

"And what of Lexie?" continued Daniel. "What is the truth of that?"

"I love her," replied Ambrose. "I did not lie about that."

"So you are like me, desiring both men and women?"

"No, I do not think so," said Ambrose truthfully. "I have never looked at women like that. The thing with Lexie started as friendship and it grew into love. I have found comfort with her and a semblance of normality, but I have never desired her the way I burn for you."

Daniel's eyes flared for a moment, then they went dull. "So," he drawled, "Lexie is another person you have lied to."

Ambrose sighed. "Actually, no. I told her the truth years ago."

Daniel's lips tightened. "You could tell her, but not me, is that it?"

Ambrose's eyes pleaded for forgiveness. He wanted to explain but could not. "I am sorry, Daniel," he croaked. His pleas fell on deaf ears.

There was a heavy silence, broken only by these cold words from Daniel: "I no longer wish to be in your presence, Ambrose. You have lied to me and betrayed me. As soon as it can be arranged, I shall leave for America. And frankly, I do not know when or if I shall ever return. Now please, leave, and do not show your face here until after I am gone."

Ambrose stepped towards him. "Daniel," he implored, "do not be like this. Please. I am so sorry. Forgive me."

Daniel crossed his arms on his chest and when he spoke, his voice was like cold shards of ice. "I said: leave."

Ambrose stared at him a moment more, willing him to change his mind. Daniel's stance did not change. "Very well," Ambrose said finally. Head hanging, he left the room.

He descended the stairs, stiffly accepted his hat and coat from Siddons, and walked out of the house. He could not contemplate doing any work or even returning home to face Sarah's questions. Instead, he walked aimlessly through the gardens, then over the vast parkland of Stanton Hall, then to the banks of the lake where he dropped down onto a wooden bench.

For hours, he sat in stillness, staring at the gleaming water as if it could provide him with answers. He had hurt Daniel dreadfully through his cowardice. For years, he had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing, protecting both himself and Daniel from the opprobrium of being shamed for their love. But really, it had been cowardice, pure and simple. And now he had lost Daniel. It was possible Daniel may never forgive him. He did not know if he could ever forgive himself. He still believed their love was impossible, that it could never have been as Daniel had described it. But he could have been truthful. He could have let Daniel know he was not alone. That had been wrong of him.

At last, with a despairing sigh, he came to his feet and slowly began the journey back to Ivy Cottage. At the gate, he paused and composed himself. Then, he walked into his house and sought out his sister. She needed to be told about Benjamin. "Sarah, good news," he said quickly. "Daniel received a telegram from America today. Benjamin is back home from the war."

She rose to her feet and stared at him. "He's home? Really home?"

He forced a smile. "Safe and sound back in Ohio."

"Oh thank the Lord!" she cried and burst into tears.

For the second time that day, he consoled a loved one in his arms. He gathered Sarah to him and let her cry it out, patting her back soothingly. She must love Benjamin very much, he thought. He hoped with all his heart that her story would have a happier ending than his.