Her only response was a little hum, neither agreement nor disapproval.
Dash’s chest tightened. He wished he could read her mind, but in that moment, she wore her silence like a veil.
She no longer seemed resentful.
Then again, although she hadn’t refused the prospect of meeting Beatrice, she hadn’t welcomed it either.
They came to the river’s edge, where the water caught the sunlight, twinkling.
Ambrosia startled him when she finally spoke.
“I wish I’d brought bread. To feed the swans.” She turned then, meeting his gaze fully, and her next words undid him. “I am glad you helped Lady Hannah. I think… perhaps you were the perfect sort of husband for a woman like her.”
Her voice wavered on the final words, as if it cost her something to say it.
Dash released Guinevere’s reins, letting the mare lower her head to graze. He wanted to take Ambrosia’s hand, to anchor her, but instead he remained at her side, watching the slow ripple of the current.
“Your wife was fortunate,” Ambrosia continued. “She had kind in-laws, and a husband who would not force her into anything that might harm her further. Friendship is a strong foundation for marriage. Yours, it seems, was not… unbearable. For either of you.”
“It was as good a marriage as could be expected.”
Her words cut deeper than she likely intended. Ambrosia knew too well what an unbearable marriage felt like—she’d been shackled to a sanctimonious brute. The thought of her suffering at Harrison Bloomington’s hands made Dash’s jaw clench. He would have happily murdered the bastard himself if death hadn’t already taken him.
But Ambrosia needed to hear this from him, plainly. “Marriage to anyone but you would be unbearable.”
The sound she made was fragile, something caught between a sigh and a sob—like she both longed to hear it and wished he’d never spoken it at all.
He turned her gently, forcing her eyes to meet his. “I do not play at this, Ambrosia. No games. Mon amour… I will not give you up.”
She closed her eyes and, to his astonishment, stepped closer, burying her face against his chest.
His heart nearly shattered.
Dash folded his arms around her, and the world seemed to fall away. All that existed was the feel of her against him.
It was a privilege. One he had forfeited and never expected to know again. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. And though he had reasons for everything—though he could justify each choice he’d made—nothing could erase the truth that walking away from her had been the greatest regret of his life.
Time stood still. He breathed her in, memorizing the fragile weight of her trust.
But then, faint voices drifted across the water, shattering the spell.
Ambrosia stirred, pulling in a sharp breath. With a quiet composure that was almost more heartbreaking than her vulnerability, she stepped back, smoothing her hands down her skirt, not meeting his eyes.
“How is your sister?” she asked at last, her tone carefully casual.
Dash knew that question for what it was—a retreat.
It was her way of protecting herself from falling too far, too fast.
Clearing his throat, he dragged his gaze back to the river.
“She seems to be doing quite well. On her own. I haven’t exactly fulfilled my brotherly obligations.”
Ambrosia tilted her head, watching him sidelong. “And why is that?”
He gave her a wry look, meaning layered in it. “I haven’t exactly spent my time squiring her about for the Season, have I?”
Her lips curved, just slightly. But she did not take the bait.
