by Cheryl Bolen
"Did he?" Ammie murmured. She hadn't given him another thought after she and Laurel sought out the retiring room. In truth, she hadn’t even noticed his absence when they left the Rabys’ house last night.
"That deceitful cow!” Mama bolted from her chair and paced to the window, presumably to glower in the direction of the neighbors' house. "I should march in there and tell Mrs. Raby what I think of her. She promised to wait until you and Laurel made your choices before parading out her daughter, but I see she cannot be trusted."
Papa left his seat to speak with her in soothing tones. "Let's not start a feud with our neighbors just yet, love. The Rabys are housing several of our guests."
Ammie didn't wish to be the cause of any dispute with their neighbors, especially when the news of Sir Edmund's departure came as a relief. "I, for one, am happy for Sarah and Sir Edmund if they found one another. Although he and I didn't suit, I believe he is a decent man."
"Your father and I are aware of the caliber of gentlemen in attendance," Mama snipped. "They have all been thoroughly curated."
Neither Ammie nor Laurel was allowed to speak again. Mama was on a tear, lecturing them about duty to the family and reminding them of the sacrifices made to create a private marriage mart where they each had their pick of men.
All except the one Ammie truly wanted.
"Join your siblings for breakfast," Mama ordered at the end of her tirade. "The servants have other responsibilities today. It is rude to interfere with their schedules."
Papa nodded his agreement and dismissed Ammie and her sister.
"I'm sorry," Laurel mumbled when they reached the study door. "I thought I was helping."
"I know." Ammie opened the door and came up short. Phillip was standing in the corridor. Her sister slipped from the study and Ammie hurriedly pulled the door closed behind them.
"What are you doing here?" she whispered to him.
"I was summoned."
"Why?"
"I wasn't informed of the reason."
Her stomach turned; a sour taste rose at the back of her throat. Did her parents know she had spent the night in his chambers? Would he insist it was innocent? Her parents wouldn't believe him, of course, but she had never lied to them. "I-I should come with you."
Laurel linked arms with her, her grip tight. "We should do as we were told. Don't make trouble for yourselves. Wait until you know what our parents want with the major."
Ammie's heart was pounding in her ears. "If they ask you to leave, promise you will find me first."
He nodded, his expression grim.
The study door flew open. Papa grunted in surprise. "Laurel and Ammie, run along to breakfast."
When Ammie hesitated, Laurel tugged her arm, leaving her no choice except to walk away.
Chapter 11
A brutal northwesterly wind had arrived sometime in the night, prompting partygoers to seek refuge indoors that afternoon. In anticipation, the great room had been transformed into a gaming area with various sized tables and mismatched chairs interrupting the flow of foot traffic. Fires blazed in two large iron stoves located at opposite ends of the room. Heat rolled off the ornate behemoths, making the air heavy in the overcrowded space.
Suppressing his urge to retreat to someplace quieter, Phillip headed for the gaming tables to search for Ambrosia. She found him first.
“Where have you been? I have been waiting forever for you to arrive."
“I was reading in my bedchamber."
She huffed. “Oh, for Pete's sake! You must know I was on edge all morning. Let's find somewhere with less people, unless you enjoy shouting."
“Not particularly." He followed her into an empty alcove where three chessboards had been set up.
"I demand a rematch”—she claimed one of the chairs, coyly gazing up at him with her chin lowered—“or perhaps a lesson. I am not very good.”
The move made her seem vulnerable and flirtatious at the same time. He didn’t know whether to kiss her or come to her rescue. Since the former would be inappropriate and possibly unwelcome, he sat on the ladder-back chair across from her.
“Do you really want a lesson in chess,” he asked, “or are we engaging in a charade for onlookers?”
“How easily you have seen through my ruse.” Smiling, she grabbed the queen-rook-pawn to move it two spaces. “Perhaps you’ve come to know me better than I realized.”
Not as well as I’d like.
She leaned over the board. Her large green eyes glimmered in the brightly lit room; an apprehensive furrow had formed between her brows. “Why did my father summon you?” she whispered. “Does he know about last night?”
“No, it was nothing.” The bewildering meeting with her parents had been brief and without a purpose as far as he could tell. He’d expected to be warned to stay away from Ambrosia today, so she could become better acquainted with the gentlemen who had come to court her, especially now that Sir Edmund had taken his leave. “Your parents asked if I found my lodgings comfortable.”
“Oh no.” Color drained from her face; she plopped against the chair back. “They know.”
Phillip reached across the board to take her hand for comfort and thought better of it. He grabbed his knight instead.
“I don’t believe they are aware you visited my chambers. Otherwise, they would be demanding we marry.” He took a moment to govern himself, not wishing to appear too eager in the event she found the idea distasteful. “We spent the night together, Ambrosia. It was innocent, but honor dictates I should offer for your hand.”
Her frown deepened. “Must you?”
Her rejection came as hard and fast as a fist to the gut. He physically recoiled, curling inward. “It is your turn,” he said more brusquely than intended.
She studied him from her reclined position. Eventually, she sat upright and moved her rook to the vacant square behind the pawn. “May I ask you something personal, Phillip?”
He didn’t trust himself to speak. His jaw was twitching, and clenching his teeth did nothing to stop the involuntary spasms. She didn’t wait for his consent.
“Did you mean what you said about selling your commission?”
“I—” He swallowed hard. She was treading too close to a topic he wished to avoid, but he owed it to her to answer. If she asked about his experience in the war, he would direct the conversation elsewhere. “I believed the Army was where I belonged, but when I heard myself promise to walk away, I felt...”
He hesitated. Would admitting the truth make him sound like a traitor?
“What did you feel?” She rested her arm on the table; her fingertips accidentally brushed his. “Please, you may tell me anything.”
“Relief,” he said softly. “I felt relieved.”
“Oh, Phillip.” She rewarded his honesty with a smile that reached into his chest to cradle his heart. Every moment in her presence strengthened the notion he’d found where he really belonged. “Perhaps you should trust that part of yourself to know what is best.”
“Perhaps I should.” He turned his palm up and she placed her hand in his. “Thank you, Ambrosia.”
“Why would you thank me?”
“For listening without judgment.” Gently, he squeezed her fingers then reached for the king-bishop-pawn.
She absently grabbed the rook and illegally jumped her own pawn. He didn’t correct her. “What do you want to do after you sell your commission, or haven’t you given it any thought?”
“I don’t know,” he lied.
She raised her eyebrows in challenge. “I find that hard to believe. Isn’t there anything that stirs your passion?”
Aside from you?
She pointed toward his telltale smile. “I knew it. Something does excite you. Please, tell me. I confided in you about my writing.”
“I’ve thought about breeding spaniels and training them to hunt.”
She gasped, raised her hands in front of her sternum, and clapped her hands in a miniature round of a
pplause. “What a perfect choice! You will make a marvelous trainer.”
He chuckled, delighted by her enthusiasm, however overdone it was. “How do you know? I could be a complete failure.”
“Don’t pretend modesty. Mr. Perkins received excellent training. I haven’t kept it up like you would have, but I tried.”
She randomly moved another pawn, no longer taking turns. It didn’t matter. The chess game was simply a facade to allow them to speak without interruption.
“We realized Mr. Perkins wasn’t a stray when I brought him home,” she said. “My father and brothers tried to find the owner, but no one claimed him. Now I understand the reason. You were out of the country.”
Had his older brother not been preoccupied with his mistress, perhaps he would have realized Phillip’s dog had gone missing sooner and been aware the Seabrooks had taken in Orion. But then Phillip wouldn’t have met Ambrosia. For that reason alone, he could forgive Jeremy for being an irresponsible lout.
“Tell me more about your thoughts on becoming a breeder,” Ambrosia said. “Do you have land available?”
He didn’t, but his father provided an ample yearly income for him and his brothers from their mother’s inheritance. Phillip had been in a position to purchase his own commission, much to his father’s distress. He had hoped Phillip or Phillip’s younger brother would choose the clergy, but neither of them was suited to that profession. Phillip and Nathaniel had always been too physical to spend hours pouring over their studies.
“I might let a country house with land,” he said.
“How lovely would it be to find a place nearby? London isn’t so far away for gentlemen to travel for a dog, and Mr. Perkins has been very happy here. A happy dog must make for a good hunter.”
“Actually, that is an excellent thought.”
The next hour was spent contemplating his plans and discussing strategy with her. He found he quite liked sharing this private part of himself, and her excitement fueled his own. Two gentlemen joined them in the alcove and played a match of chess during that hour, but they seemed to lose interest after one round.
When Phillip and Ambrosia were alone again, she said, “I’ve been thinking about your advice to write a collection and seek publication. The prospect scares me silly, but maybe it will be worth the risk.”
“There is little risk involved. You are a gifted writer.”
Her cheeks pinked. “I still have much to learn.”
“There is always more to learn in anything one undertakes. Wise people recognize this truth.”
He loved the way her pixie nose crinkled when she laughed. “Did you just compliment me, or yourself?”
He grinned. “That didn’t come across as I had hoped. Allow me to pose a personal question to you. Why did you choose the name Mr. Perkins? Who is this mystery man you admire, and should I be jealous?”
“Very,” she teased. “Reginald Perkins was the smartest man I’ve ever met. He took an interest in me early on—or rather, he took an interest in my learning. Mr. Perkins was my older brothers’ tutor, but when I began loitering around the schoolroom, Mr. Perkins demanded I grab a slate and have a seat. If I was going to make a nuisance of myself, the least I could do was become an educated nuisance. He was a bit of a curmudgeon, but we got on well enough. He is responsible for me taking up writing, although his form of encouragement might not be to everyone’s tastes. I believe his exact words to me were ‘stop talking about the blasted ducks and put your words to paper.’”
Phillip lifted an eyebrow. “Ducks?”
“My first stories were about the mallards that gathered on the pond every year. They weren’t very interesting.”
“I’ve always found ducks to be dull conversationalists.”
She laughed again, and it was the happiest sound he’d ever heard. How could one ever be blue when she provided an endless supply of joy?
“Well, we have exhausted that topic.” She tipped her head, signaling a subject change. “Last night you mentioned your friend is a gifted artist. Do you really think he would be interested in illustrating my book?”
Phillip’s smile froze. He’d spoken in haste last night, and in that moment, Phillip had been remembering his longtime friend as he used to be—not as Gabriel was when he returned home from war. Perhaps Gabe no longer practiced his art. Nevertheless, Phillip had recommended his friend, and Ambrosia was excited about pursuing her passion. He couldn’t disappoint her.
“Captain Brazier is at his family’s estate in Northumberland,” he said. “I could write to him after the holiday if you like. If he is not available for the task, I will help you find someone else.”
“Thank you, that is a kind offer, although I do hope the captain agrees. I would feel better working with an artist you know rather than a stranger.”
There was a good chance Gabe wouldn’t respond to any letter Phillip sent. He had reached out to his friend after their regiment returned to England in May, but Phillip never received a word in return.
Their last contact had become seared into Phillip’s memory. Mercifully, Gabe was too addled by laudanum at the time to realize his leg had been too mangled to save. Phillip, on the other hand, couldn’t forget anything about the field hospital—not the wailing or moaning, not the stench, and not his role in the suffering all around him.
Ambrosia’s warm touch on his arm startled him. The furrow between her brows was back. “Where did you go just now?”
He shook his head and chuckled. It sounded strained. “I’ve been here with you the past hour. Where else would I be?”
“Yes, of course. Silly me.” Her smile wavered and never reached her eyes, and the most terrifying thought crossed his mind. Once she met Gabe, she would know what Phillip really was.
Chapter 12
Later that evening, Ammie and Phillip sat side-by-side to watch the Christmas pageant her oldest sister had arranged. Mercedes recruited her husband to narrate the story and impressed Ammie’s siblings into service. In the past, Ammie and Laurel would have been included in the cast, whether they agreed or not, but Mercedes had allowed them a reprieve this year.
Despite Phillip smiling and commenting at the appropriate moments, Ammie sensed his distraction. He hadn’t been the same since their conversation in the alcove. The shift in mood had occurred when he’d spoken of Captain Brazier, whom she assumed had served alongside him on the Peninsula, and possibly at Waterloo. She couldn’t work out what might have brought about the change in him, no matter how many times she turned it over in her head.
“What if Phillip regrets offering his assistance?” Ammie was pacing the bedchamber she shared with her sister and speaking aloud to sort out her thoughts. She wasn’t expecting an answer.
“Go to him.”
She shot an irritated glance in Laurel’s direction. “If he helps negotiate with the publishing house and hires the illustrator, our association could go on indefinitely. Maybe he realized he wants to be rid of me. I don’t think he loves me. If he did, would he talk of honor when discussing offering for my hand? He certainly didn’t seem eager about the prospect.”
“You should go to him,” Laurel repeated. She was sitting at the dressing table, calmly brushing her long sable hair.
Ammie wrinkled her nose at her sister’s reflection in the oval looking glass. “Is that the only advice you have to give? You told me the same thing earlier.”
“It is the only good advice I have. Now, stop arguing. You know you’ll get nowhere talking to me about your concerns. Go to the source for answers.”
Ammie held her arms out at her sides, putting her plain ivory attire on display. “I’ve already donned my nightrail. Maybe I will seek him out tomorrow.”
“And what will you do if you are given no privacy?” Laurel swiveled on the padded bench to face her. “We’ll be having this conversation again tomorrow night. It is best to have the matter settled. If Major Rowland has no love for you, it is better to know now, so you can turn your attent
ions toward a different man.”
Ammie half groaned, half growled. “Why do you always have to be so irritatingly logical?”
“Because you are a mess and a half lately,” her sister retorted. “One of us must use common sense.”
“Well, I want a turn at being the logical one.” Ammie snatched a wrapper from a peg in the wardrobe and shoved her arms in the sleeves before stepping into her satin slippers. “How are you faring? Did anyone catch your fancy today?”
Laurel rolled her eyes.
“Don’t abandon hope.” Ammie’s platitude was rote and felt hollow, but she had no experience with matters of the heart to offer useful advice. She was barely muddling through herself.
Since Mr. Perkins was fast asleep at the foot of the bed, she didn’t wake him. She turned to look over her shoulder at the dressing screen. “I don’t know how long I will be gone.”
“I will turn the lock and tend the fire if needed. No one will know you’ve left the room.”
Ammie left the candle for her sister and carefully felt her way along the dark passage. At Phillip’s door, she knocked softly before sliding the latch and opening it. The room appeared empty at first glance. Then she heard counting.
“Eighty-seven, eighty-eight.”
The sound was a little louder than a whisper. She followed it to the foot of the bed and came up short as her lungs seized. Barebacked and slick with sweat, Phillip was stretched out, balancing on his hands and feet. He counted, bending his arms and lowering his body toward the floor before raising it again.
She gaped in fascination. He was lean and well formed in a way she’d never imagined a man could be—broad across the shoulders, waist tapered, firm derrière. His body appeared to be made of stone covered by a shimmering expanse of skin that told the story of a warrior. A thin, pale scar wrapped around his side. Possibly inflicted by the downward swing of a saber. There were smaller red raised marks as well—two on his muscular bicep, another across his shoulder.
War had always been an abstract notion to her, but reality stared her in the face. Nausea welled at the back of her throat. The horrors of what he must have experienced overwhelmed her. Was it any wonder he didn’t want to remember? A sob built in her chest. She tried to smother it with her hands, but it slipped through her fingers.
