"I was not aware that the practice of reading is dedicated to a select few hours," she folded her arms in front of her chest.
"Now, if you can please excuse yourself, I shall like to return to these books."
Ambrose's eyes narrowed. Her audacity surprised him every day. "This is my home. You have no right to tell me what to do."
He was not used to being ordered around in his own estate, least of all by her.
For a brief moment, Daphne looked like she wanted to argue, her lips parting as though a retort was ready to spill from them. But instead, she took a deep breath, her expression softening into something more composed. Slowly, almost with exaggerated calmness, she placed the book in her hands back on the shelf, her movements deliberate.
"I apologize," she said quietly, "for disturbing you in your own home. It is another thing I must add to my never ending ledger to sins, right next to not being worthy of your attention."
Worthy of my attention?Ambrose blinked, utterly stunned by her words. It was unlike Daphne to utter something so defeatist. He had not even begun to process what she had just said when she began to shimmy out of the narrow space between himself and the wooden shelf.
"Good night, Your Grace," she said as she turned.
Out of impulse, Ambrose's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, pulling her back toward him. "No," he said, his voice low and urgent. "You cannot leave."
Daphne froze, her breath catching as she turned her head slightly, her eyes wide with disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"
They were close enough that he could feel her breath as her chest swelled, and fell.
"You cannot leave," Ambrose repeated, tightening his grip ever so slightly. His pulse quickened. "Not until you tell me what's wrong."
"There is nothing wrong," Daphne replied stiffly, attempting to pull her wrist free, though halfheartedly.
Ambrose didn't let go. "I do not believe you."
He didn't know why it mattered to him—why her words, her sudden shift in mood, her retreat, affected him so—but it did. And now, he couldn't let her leave like this.
"Why do you care?" Daphne seemed to echo his own thoughts. She met his gaze, her eyes searching his for an answer.
Ambrose hesitated. For the first time, she might have rendered him entirely speechless. They held each other's gaze, the moment feeling all the more intense at the late hour and under the dim candle light.
"I don't know," he finally admitted after what felt like an eternity, his grip on her wrist loosening just a fraction. "But I do."
It was the truth. Honest, plain and simple truth.
Daphne had so far been using up all of her restraint. She did not wish to argue with Ambrose – she simply wanted the both of them to co-exist in their own separate lives. But now as she watched his figure towering over her, demanding to know answers... her resolve wavered.
And she snapped.
"I'm tired of this!" she blurted out, her words spilling out like a dam that had broken. "All of it."
He gave her a weary look, but she continued on. "I'm tired of being treated poorly by you, of constantly feeling like I don't belong—like I'm worthless, unladylike, like I should stay away from you. I know what everyone is saying about me. I know how they look at me. Howyoulook at me."
Now that she had started, it felt almost cathartic to go on. Like she was finally getting a chance to express what was truly in her heart – something that she could not even express to her sisters, or her friends.
"All I wish for is to be happy, to be myself. I have no interest in bothering anyone, or meddling in their affairs. Is that so wrong?"
But Ambrose seemed to be still stuck on a particular part of her statement.
"How am I looking at you?" he asked, supporting one of his arms across the shelf to prevent her from leaving.
"You..." Daphne's voice faltered as she met his gaze, and she realized, with a jolt, that he was staring at her differently than anyone had ever looked at her before. "You fully well know the answer to that. You look at me as though I am out of place, an imposition."
Ambrose looked at her as if she had uttered something wholly ridiculous.
"You have no idea, do you?" he murmured. "You think I'm judging you, looking down on you, but you're wrong." He paused, searching her eyes.
