"Yes," he said with quiet relief. "It's finished at last."
44
"Have something for you, son,"Samuel said a week later.
"What is it?" Ambrose paused in the act of packing his father's books into a trunk.
On the morrow, he would take his family back to Chudleigh Crest. With the reward Ambrose had earned from Bow Street for taking down Coyner, he'd had enough to pay off his father's debts and purchase his family a comfortable new cottage. He planned to settle them in, then return to London and carry on his job with the Thames River Police.
Everything had fallen neatly into place. Everything... but his relationship with Marianne.
Since Coyner's death, Marianne had been thoroughly occupied in her role as a mother. She spent every moment with her daughter. During the day, she entertained Primrose and Ambrose's siblings; at night, she slept in the governess' bed in Primrose's room. Her anxiety was slow to fade, and Ambrose could not blame her. When he thought of her and Primrose on that pier... his jaw tautened. He hadn't forgiven himself for his failure. Henceforth, he swore to do a better job of protecting them both.
Yet was he deluding himself, thinking about a future with them? Did Marianne want him to have a role in her life? In her daughter's? The truth was she'd never promised more than the moment. And given the trauma of recent events, he hadn't felt right pressuring her to think of other matters.
He blew out a breath.Be patient. Give her the space with her daughter that she needs and deserves.Take care of matters with your own family first—then bring up the future with Marianne.
Samuel finished rummaging through one of the bags. "Ah, here it is. Come have a look."
Ambrose went over and took the small wooden box from his father. Opening the lid, he found himself looking at a ring. A small emerald winked at the center of the delicate gold band, which was otherwise smooth and burnished by time. He experienced a fleeting memory: this ring upon a gentle hand, a loving touch that took away fear and pain.
"This... this was my mother's."
"Yes. I gave it to her on our wedding day," Samuel said with a misty smile. "It brought us much joy—it brought us you."
Ambrose didn't know what to say.
"When you were engaged to that flit-wit Jane, I knew you weren't ready for this ring. But now you are. Give it to the woman you love and who will love you wholeheartedly in return."
Ambrose's hand closed around the box. God, he wanted to.
"Marianne's been through too much of late," he heard himself say. "I can't ask her to consider other life-altering changes as well."
"You can't… or you're afraid to?"
Damn. Schoolmaster Kent was indeed back in full possession of his faculties. Marianne had been right about his father's grief masquerading as illness.
"Both," Ambrose admitted. "If the circumstances were different, if she were not so high above me—"
"I thought we already covered this nonsense. Because that's what this excuse is—nonsense. What has class to do with love?"
He couldn't expect his father to understand. After all, Samuel had wisely given his heart to women who occupied the same world as he did. He'd never put his lovers in the situation where they'd have to choose between being a titled lady and plain Mrs. Kent. A policeman's wife.
"She'd be giving up much for me," Ambrose said, his jaw taut.
"And gaining much more in return. Do you love her so little, son?"
"I love her with all that I am," Ambrose said fiercely.
"Then why are you afraid to let her make her choice?"
Because… what if she doesn't choose me?
His deepest fear crystallized in his mind. Though he believed that she cared for him, she'd never told him she loved him. Their relationship had developed amidst chaos and turbulence; now that the storm had passed, would she regret her involvement with a man like him? Now that she no longer needed his assistance in finding her daughter, did she want him still? Even after he'd nearly bungled his role as her protector?
"It's not just the money." His shoulders hunched. "I failed to keep her and her girl out of harm's way. If Coyner had—"
"No one's perfect, boy, and the sooner you accept that the better. In the end, you rescued Marianne and Primrose: that's what matters." His father sighed. "If you insist on taking responsibility for everything, you'll wind up no better than a stick-in-the-mud."
