Ambrose was taken aback by his mother's insinuation. He had no words to say, for she was right on the mark.
"You've been keeping yourself locked away for days. You're torturing yourself, Ambrose," the Dowagers tone was solemn.
"I have been fine," Ambrose lied, albeit feebly. "There is nothing to worry about."
A knowing look crossed the Dowagers face, "My dear, that is what you say about everything. But a single forlorn glance is enough for a mother to know that something is wrong. I have seen this before."
Ambrose's expression tightened. "Mother, please."
"No, Ambrose. You been punishing yourself for so long. Since your father passed..." his mother's voice cracked slightly, "I know how much you've carried on your shoulders."
Ambrose looked at her, surprised by the raw emotion in her voice. She had never spoken so openly about his father's death before.
"I didn't just lose a husband, Ambrose. You lost a father. And you had to raise your brother while grieving yourself. I failed you, and I've been ashamed of that for years."
"Mother, do not speak about yourself in that manner. You have tried your best. In no way have you failed me," he said, though the weight of her words hung over his head.
"Those initial years," she sighed, "I should have been there for you. But I was too wracked with my own grief that I forgot I had two sons who needed me to their mother. You stepped for a role that you should never have, not at that age."
"I have no regrets from that time," Ambrose insisted, his memory flashing back to a time when he would find Richard crying not only because he missed their father, but also their mother. Ambrose would swallow his own tears, and comfort him.
"But I do," the Dowager replied, "I should have had better control over my emotions. You had to see that, and it left a lasting impact on you. But this ends now, I cannot let the ghost of my mistakes haunt your life. Ambrose, I have noticed the way that you looked at Lady Daphne. I know that she has captured your heart."
Ambrose felt his heart rate quicken. Had he really been so obvious?
"Mother, I..."
"I know you will try and deny it – bury your feelings. But my dear, that would be a mistake. I know from experience that true love only comes once in your life," she stated. "And I have a feeling that Lady Daphne feels the same for you, her rejection of Richards proposal tells me that much. You must not let your fears get in the way of a true, meaningful connection."
"You know how I feel about the matter, Mother," Ambrose's voice was barely above a whisper. It was as though he was having to relive the pain of losing her all over again. "I cannot marry."
"For what reason?" the Dowager said. "Out of fear that one day you might lose her? My dear, if you do not confront your fear, you might never have her in your life to begin with."
Ambrose forced a thick swallow. "Perhaps it is for the best. Daphne... she deserves more than what I can give her. I've hurt her enough already."
Edith's gaze softened. "Could you handle hurting her again? This decision of yours does not only concern yourself. You must realize that."
Ambrose stilled, his breath catching as memories of Daphne's tears flooded his mind. He remembered the way she had looked at him with such vulnerability, the pain in her eyes.
No.He could not bear to hurt her again. But he had been so wrapped in his own mind that he had failed to consider the consequence of his own actions.
"Perhaps one day she might find another man suitable enough to marry, but it shall never be the same," the Dowager said the words, and they fell on him sharply like the stab of a knife. "But I saw the way that her eyes sought you out in a crowded room, how she looked at you... Ambrose, that poor girl must be heartbroken that you have done nothing to pursue her, as you should."
The Dowager got up from her seat, and walked forward to put her hand on her sons shoulder, "My son, you need to make a decision now. Are you going to watch her marry someone else, forever living in the regret of not doing anything, or will you go get her?"
"It's not that simple," Ambrose muttered, his gaze trained to the ground.
"Perhaps not. But you must make haste," she paused dramatically, "For I have it on good authority that her sistershave arranged for her to leave for Scotland in the coming few days. She will reside there with her aunt, perhaps for good."
Panic coursed through Ambrose's veins, and he realized he could not stand to see that happen.
"Are you certain?" he asked.
But the Dowager had already begun to make her way over to the door, "I am telling you what I know," she turned back to look at him, "We tend to take the time we have with someone for granted. But soon enough, if we do not make the right choice in time, they can slip away from our reach. I do not wish to dictate your actions, but you should decide soon. Oh, and it is time for you to end this self-imposed exile of yours. I expect to see you tomorrow at the breakfast table. Good night, Ambrose."
With that, she exited the room with a soft click of the door, leaving nothing but panicked rumination in her wake. Ambrose's chest tightened as the reality of the situation settled in.
Scotland?He had to act now.
