"She didn't send you word, my boy?" His father peered up at him from one of the wingchairs.
"No." Ambrose's fists clenched at his sides.
Though his relationship with Marianne was far from settled, he'd believed that a degree of intimacy had grown between them. That even without promises to one another, they had a certain... understanding. One that, at the very least, involved her telling him when she planned to take off on a bleeding trip.
"Perhaps she sent a message and it got lost?" Emma suggested.
Ambrose didn't think so. From the looks on the others' faces, they didn't think so either. He braced an arm against the mantle, brooded into the flames for he didn't know what else to do. His emotions veered dangerously, volatile and beyond his control. Hehatedthe feeling.
"Did the two of you have a lover's spat, my boy?"
Ambrose slid his father a startled glance. Behind Samuel's chair, Emma stood, her gaze widening. She shook her head, mouthing the words,I didn't say anything.
"Er, I don't know what you mean," Ambrose said.
Samuel snorted. "I may be old, but I'm not a fool. I was young once."
Despite his own turmoil, Ambrose was relieved to see the sharp-witted look behind his father's spectacles. Marianne had been right after all. Then again, she often was... the ache in his chest grew.
"I know love when I see it," Samuel went on. "Didn't think I saw it with you and that other chit, and turns out I was right, wasn't I? But this one, she's different. You'd be a fool to let her go."
"It's not that simple."
"Young folk always complicate things," Samuel sighed. "It's exceedingly simple, actually. Either you love her or you don't. Which is it?"
I love her. Arse over elbows, like a sodding fool.
"She's a baroness," he said gruffly, "and I'm... nobody."
"You're a damn fool if you believe that. A damn fool." Rapping his cane against the floor for emphasis, Samuel declared, "Happiness depends upon ourselves.How many times have I told you that?"
Ambrose raked a hand through his hair. "Enough for me to know that comes from Aristotle."
"Then you'll recognize this as well:Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.Now is that or isn't that the case with you and Marianne?"
Itwasfor him. When he and Marianne were apart, his thoughts returned constantly to her. And with her gone, he felt half-whole. Half-alive, devil take it.
"I don't know how she feels about it," he said in hoarse tones.
"Why? Because she is rich? Beautiful?" Samuel gave him a keen look. "She's proud and independent, no doubt about it. But so are you, son. Never saw two people more alike in that regard. Far as I can tell, the pair of you need each other."
Could his father be right? Ambrose could certainly see where he needed Marianne—but did she need him? Beyond his promise to find her daughter? He struggled to believe that Fortune would smile upon him in that manner.
Besides, if that were true, why in blazes had Marianne gone in search ofdiversion?
His gut knotted, but anger began to edge out despair. Damn it, he would not let her go without an explanation. Without a fight. He had to search her out—but where should he begin?
You're a bleeding investigator, aren't you? Think, man.
"I'll question her staff in the morning," he said. "For now, I'll search her bedchamber for any clues to her whereabouts."
He headed to the door, but his sister's quivering voice halted him. "Ambrose?"
"What is it, Em?" he said, turning.
To his surprise, her eyes filled with tears. "I think I know why Marianne left. All of this is my fault!"
"Yourfault?"
