"No?" Benedict's voice grew concerned. "Would you like to speak about it?"
Ambrose shook his head immediately. "I'd rather not."
Benedict stood abruptly, stretching his arms above his head. "Well, in that case, I have just the thing. You need a distraction—a real distraction. Something that'll get your blood pumping."
Ambrose raised an eyebrow. "What are you suggesting?"
"A fencing match," Benedict declared with a grin. "You always used to love it, and I've been practicing. I think I might actually stand a chance against you now."
Ambrose allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. "You think so, do you?"
"Oh, I know so," Benedict replied, already heading toward the door. "Come on, let's see if you've still got it."
Benedict had a knack for spontaneity. It was exactly the reason why Ambrose had chosen to visit him.
He followed, grateful for the change in pace. Maybe a fencing match would be exactly what he needed to burn off some of this restless energy. If nothing else, it would force him to focus on something other than the swirling mess of emotions that had been plaguing him since he left the Estate.
"Some healthy competition," he muttered to himself as they began to suit up.
Soon enough, the clinking sound of steel echoed through the fencing room as Ambrose and Benedict faced each other, their foils raised, masks in place.
And they began. It was easy enough – for Ambrose had years of practice in the sport. It almost came as second nature to him. But today, his precision seemed off.
Benedict, ever the opportunist, quickly seized on the distraction. He lunged forward, landing a hit square on Ambrose's shoulder.
"Point to me," Benedict called with a laugh, lowering his foil. "It seems the great Duke is a bit off his game today."
Ambrose grunted, pulling off his mask and wiping the sweat from his brow. "I'm just getting warmed up," he muttered.
"Warmed up?" Benedict teased. "You're usually faster than this, my friend. If I didn't know any better, I'd say something—or rather, someone—was on your mind."
Ambrose tightened his grip on the foil, determined to push Daphne from his thoughts. He raised his weapon again. "Shall we continue?"
They resumed the match, the sound of their foils clashing filling the room. But no matter how hard Ambrose tried to focus, his mind kept drifting—back to the estate, back to the kiss. Benedict quickly took advantage of another lapse in Ambrose's concentration, landing another hit.
"Another point for me," Benedict announced with a grin as he lowered his foil. "I'm starting to think you're letting me win on purpose."
Ambrose exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling inside him. He tossed his mask to the floor and walked to the side, pulling off his gloves. "I'm distracted, that's all," he admitted, his voice clipped.
"Well – you refuse to talk about it, and you do not wish to spar either," Benedict sighed. "Tell me, friend. How am I meant to help you in these circumstances?"
Ambrose shot him a look. "It's.. complicated."
Benedict raised an eyebrow, undeterred. "Complicated. Right. Sounds like code for ‘a woman'.'"
Ambrose tensed at the mention of a woman, and Benedict's grin widened.
"So I'm correct?"
Ambrose sighed heavily, setting his foil aside. "I didn't come here to discuss my personal affairs, Benedict."
"No, but you came here to forget about them," Benedict replied, and then gestured to the foil that lay discarded on the floor. "Clearly, it is not working."
Ambrose remained silent for a moment, his jaw tight. It was difficult for him to open up. He had always been an expert at keeping his thoughts to himself.
But he feared that if he did so now, he might just end up losing his mind.
"I am not trying to pry," Benedict added as an afterthought, "I was only suggesting that you would benefit from talking about it. I would know. How many times have you lent me a listening ear for my problems?"
