Ambrose let out a low chuckle. It was true. Benedict he had never been short of stories to recount about his experience with love.
"Perhaps you have a point."
"Of course, I do," Benedict grinned, "So what is that, old dog? What bothers you enough that you made the three hour journey to my manor this morning?"
Ambrose gestured to the benches, and both men made their way over to them. If he was going to talk about this, he better be sitting down for it. Benedict watched him in careful anticipation, but Ambrose knew that if it came to it, he would never push incessantly or pry information.
That made him comfortable enough to start speaking.
"It's a woman," he admitted quietly, though his voice was still strained.
"I'll be damned," Benedict said. "I never thought I would see you utter those words in my lifetime."
"Imagine how it is for me, then," Ambrose remarked. "To experience it."
"Who's the lucky girl?"
Ambrose winced. "I am not sure if either of us are lucky in this situation."
"What's the situation?"
Ambrose exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing through his hair. "It's someone I shouldn't be thinking about. Someone who... well, someone who's important to my brother."
Benedict's eyes widened slightly, though he quickly masked his surprise. "Ah. That is complicated."
Ambrose chuckled darkly. "You don't know the half of it. We..." he paused, gathering himself to reveal what felt like a secret he should be taking to his grave, "we kissed."
"Scandalous," Benedict chuckled, but there was no judgement in his voice. "I reckon that Richard must not have been thrilled to find out."
"Are you mad?" Ambrose shot back. "He does not know. It was a mistake."
"Mhm," Benedict did not seem convinced, "I have never known you to spend so much time dwelling over a mistake. It has to be something more to it."
"I have been trying," Ambrose rubbed the back of his neck. "But she's... well..."
"Hard to forget?"
"That is one way to put it," Ambrose groaned. "And it is not for a lack of trying."
"Is there no way that you can have her for yourself?" Benedict suggested, as though it was the most obvious solution. "Perhaps Richard can understand. I do not know him to be unreasonable."
"That is out of the question," Ambrose said, his teeth gritted. "If that was the case, then why would I have left the Estate?"
Benedict let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Well, Ambrose, I hate to break it to you, but if she's got you this tangled up, running away isn't going to fix anything. In fact, it sounds like you're trying to outrun something that's already caught up with you."
"It's not that simple," he muttered. "I have responsibilities. I can't just?—"
"Forget about all that for a moment," Benedict interrupted, "This isn't about your responsibilities, or your title, or even your brother. This is about you. You clearly care about this woman. So why are you fighting it?"
Ambrose did not have an answer immediately.
"I do not wish to hurt anyone," he admitted finally. What he did not mention was that he did not wish to hurt himself either.
Benedict studied him for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Do you love her?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. Ambrose's chest tightened.
Lovewas a serious word. He was not ready to admit such a thing just yet.
