“I hate adult rules!” Philip shouted.
He wasn’t a child who shouted. He was the quiet one, the observer. Seeing him tremble with rage was like watching a dam break.
“You sent her away because of YOUR rules, didn’t you?”
Ambrose stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. “That is enough, Philip! You do not understand the weight of a name. I am protecting you. I am protecting her reputation! Miss Lewis can make her own choices!”
“She was crying,” Arthur whispered, the sudden drop in volume more piercing than his brother’s shout.
Ambrose froze. “What are you talking about?”
“It was about a week ago,” Arthur said, his bottom lip trembling. “I went to the schoolroom because I had a nightmare. I saw her through the door. She was holding that little locket of hers and crying so hard she couldn’t breathe. She looked at your door, Uncle. She looked like she wanted to go to you, but she just stayed in the dark.”
I knew she was hurting, that she needed me… but my attentions were too much, too late. And now we are here, with no future or solution in sight. What do I say to these poor boys?
“She didn’t want to leave,” Philip said, stepping around the desk to stand directly in front of Ambrose. He looked up, his face an accusation. “She cares about us. And she cares about you, too. Even I can see it, and I’m just a little boy. Why are you letting her go to a place where no one loves her?”
“Philip, it isn’t that simple!”
“It is!” Philip cried. “You are wrong! We heard Uncle Morgan say it, and he’s right! You’re afraid! You’d rather stay in this dark room with your papers than be happy. You’d rather let us be sad forever than have people whisper about a governess!”
The boy’s words were a mirror, reflecting the ugly truth Ambrose had tried to dress up as propriety, duty. He looked at the twins, the two souls he had sworn to protect. He realized then that by protecting their future, he was stripping it of its warmth andfamilial joy. He was teaching them that love was secondary to status, that duty was a cage.
She is your missing link…Morgan’s voice echoed in his head.
Ambrose looked at the crumpled letter on the desk.For the boys’ sake,she had written.To ensure they are never shamed by my presence.
She was sacrificing her entire life, her heart, her safety, her very meager means, to save him and the boys from a social slight. And he was sitting here letting her do it because he was terrified of the very power he held.
“Uncle?” Arthur asked, his voice small now, clearly fearful of the silence. “Are you all right?”
“No, I am not,” he said with a sharp rasp. “I have a recommendation to write for Miss Lewis, as that is her only wish from me. You will respect me and this household by going to bed at once and leaving me to work. That is my final word on this subject. Now, goodnight.”
Ambrose didn’t look up as the boys retreated. He couldn’t. If he saw the shattered hope in Philip’s eyes or the way Arthur’s shoulders slumped, he knew the wall he had built around his heart would come crashing down. Ambrose picked up his quill and dipped it in the ink, his hand shaking so violently that a fat bead of black liquid fell, staining the blank parchment like a tear. He stared at it, the silence of the house pressing in on him until he felt he might choke on the scent of her lavender and the cold,empty air. He crumpled the paper, tossed it in the wastebasket, and pulled out a new one.
Damnit, he cursed as he sat in the flickering candlelight.Try again, Ambrose.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The following morning, a heavy rapping at the door of the Blue Bell Inn announced the unexpected arrival of Mrs. Higgins. The housekeeper looked out of place in the dirty hallway, her ironed uniform dress rustling as she stepped into Imogen’s cramped quarters. She had expected a courier, or the post at most. To see Mrs. Higgins standing in front of her was a strike to the heart.
Mrs. Higgins didn’t offer a greeting or so much as a small smile. Instead, she reached into her reticule and pulled out a thick envelope sealed with the Duke’s heavy signet and handed it to Imogen.
“His Grace’s reference,” she said shortly. “Per the request in your resignation letter, Miss Lewis. He insisted I deliver it personally to see if there is anything else you require.”
Imogen took it, her fingers brushing the wax. It somehow still felt warm beneath her touch, and the thought of Ambrose seared her skin.
“How are they, Mrs. Higgins? The boys? Are they… are they eating? Are they minding themselves?”
The housekeeper’s face softened, but only slightly. “I will not mince words. They are most miserable, Miss Lewis. Lord Arthur barely leaves the schoolroom floor, and Lord Philip has taken to throwing his books at the walls.”
“It cannot be as bad as that, truly,” Imogen whispered.
“Quite a turn compared to their normal countenances, since you began working for His Grace.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
“They ask for you with every breath. They don’t understand why the person who promised to stay simply vanished in the night, and especially without a proper goodbye.”
