Roses and Flames

Chapter 16

“Ambrosia! Stop tormenting that poor kitten and see to your hem. I swear, girl, you cannot keep the stitches straight if you allow a beast to swipe at the edge of the linen.”

“I am sorry, Aunt Jordan.” Ambrosia glanced at the work in her lap and tried to raise any interest in it. These sessions of needlework were another concession to her father’s wish that she behave like a young lady. On the few evenings when she had no other engagement, she was forced to endure them, along with critiques of her deportment. As usual, they were a trial both to her and the poor aunt charged with teaching her.

She set the shirt aside and lifted the kitten into her lap, offering it the end of the string to the chase. “It is hardly fair to blame Diana for my indifferent needlework. I was equally bad it before she arrived.”

“Your manners have much improved in the last years,” her aunt reminded her. “And you are on the cusp of success with Duke of Mayburry. Snaring a peer is much more challenging than plain sewing. Your stitching would improve too if you would all but make an effort at it.”

If it was put to some other purpose than making shirts, then perhaps she would try harder. She remembered the pages in Patrick’s text books that explained suturing and wondered if the large wounds were more difficult than the cuts she had closed. The stitches would need to be bigger, of course, and more numerous. As poked at the linen, she imagined the resistance of skin, and the difficulties created when the subject flinched…

“Ambrosia!”

The needle slipped and she pricked her finger instead of the cloth. She waved her hand in the air for a moment, trying to shake the pain away, then held it high to keep the drop of blood that formed from falling on the work. This sent her mind to the various methods to staunch bleeding, and the efficacy of causing it when one had an excess of certain humours.

Not that she would need any of this information as the wife to a duke. But that had never been her plan, not even from the first. She had studied and prepared so that, on the day that Patrick finally realized his mistake and came home to her, she might prove herself a useful helpmeet to him. If she understood his work, then they would always have something to talk about.

But he had barely given her time to display any of her hardwon knowledge to him. While in his rooms, she had allowed the physical side of the conversation to come to the fore, proving to him in a most unladylike way that she understood biology.

Perhaps she would have fared better if she had put the stethoscope back into the chest and turned the conversation to use of leeches and cupping as the old Ambrose would have. Or behaved as the charming and witty young lady Aunt Jordan had taught her to be. Instead, she had tried to combine the two and it had been a disaster.

She had offered herself to the man she loved---had he had rejected her. Though she might deny it to herself, it was what she had feared might happen. Sometimes six years of silence meant exactly what they appeared to. Girlish sureties might owe more to fairy tales and fantasy than they did to the truth. There had always been a chance that the kiss that she remembered as loving and passionate was nothing more than a peck on the cheek. She had been prepared for that.

But not for what had occurred. If anything, she had remembered the past too innocently. Or had his passion grown to conflagration during their separation?

And yet he denied it. He did not seem to know love from lust. She was sure, after all they had been through together, that she did. Why else had she waited so many years for him to come back to her? She was still a maid in heart and mind. While she was sure that some attraction had played part in her feelings for Patrick, it was not the only reason that she wanted him.

She thought of the kiss.

She must admit that, after the recent interlude in his arms, lust played a stronger role than it had a few days ago. So that was what poets had wrote about, and why men had fought for Helen at Troy. It was quite a different feeling than she had last week. Much more urgent. The feelings were as clear in her mind now as she had been kissing her. She had but to think for a moment about them to feel the desire renew itself.

It made her feelings for the duke all the more unworthy. She had hoped that it would be easier to make the decision between them, once she had talked to Patrick. And it certainly was. There would be never anyone in her heart of hearts but Patrick Hastings. What she felt for Samuel was but a pale imitation.

Why could not Patrick understand that?

Aunt Jordan gave up a small yawn and Ambrose encouraged it with a yawn of her own and a stretch of her arms. She held out the poorly finished shirt for approval. The older woman inspected it and sighed, still disappointed in the work.” We will try again, next week,” she said,” And I will be attending the ball at the Merridans tomorrow, as your chaperone.”

“Yes Aunt Jordan.”

“The duke will be there as well.” Her aunt gave her a significant look.” It will give you another chance to demonstrate the graces that do not come so difficult to you.”

It meant that the time for indecision was nearing an end. He might offer again. If she did, then what reason did she have to refuse him? After this afternoon, it was likely that Patrick would leave soon again before he could learn the truth of his birth. She owed him that, at least.

When her aunt was safely stowed in a carriage and on her way back  to her own town house, Ambrosia turned from the door in search of her father. He might have claimed to be intractable this afternoon. But in her experience, even the edicts set in stone could be worn down by begging and pleading and promises to be the best possible daughter, and to never bother him again.

She found him in the study and, as he always did, he looked up from the book that she was reading and smiled as though the interruption was welcome.

“Father?” She smiled to show that the conversation would be a pleasant one and no real disruption. She bent to kiss him on the cheek.

“My dear.” He gave a curious look as he c****d his head, as though already suspecting her intentions.” Did you have a pleasant evening with your aunt?”

“Of course, Father. She is just gone home,” she said.

“But no visit from the duke this evening,” he father said and there was a light frown.

“He was here earlier,” she said, with a little sigh of impatience. She did not wish to discuss Samuel. Those conversations always ended with her father hopeful and her searching for a way to postpone capitulation.” I will see him tomorrow at the Merridans. He cannot spend all his time with me, you know.”

“As long as he was not put off by the presence of another man in the garden with you this morning,” her father said.

“You are speaking of Patrick?” She managed an incredulous smile. But she could not very well argue that he was not “a man”.  He had removed any doubts on the subject as he kissed her. “ He is family, Father. And surely it was good to see him after all this time.”

To this, her father responded with a blank look, as though the matter was practically forgotten.” He has not performed as well as I had hoped. Despite what he says, he hardly needed a university education in that navy.”

“Perhaps he felt the navy needed him,” she suggested.” He was always an altruist at heart. And I am sure it is better, in the aftermath of a battle, to have a skilled man dealing with the injuries.”

“If that is what makes him happy, then I wish him well.” Her father gave a tired sigh, as though he hoped this concession was sufficient to end the discussion.

“Happy?” she responded with a worried frown.” Content, perhaps. But to me, he seemed rather unsettled.”

“Because he is no longer comfortable in this house,” her father said.” He had planned to leave immediately after speaking to me.” He frowned back at her.” I was surprised to find him still with us when the duke arrived.”

“Because I would not let him go,” Ambrosia said.” It is ridiculous for him to stay at an inn when his old room is prepared for his return.” She was very close to pouting, which always felt very silly, but it had been effective in the past.

“If he showed discontent, perhaps it was your fault for keeping him here.” He father gave her a candid look.” There comes a time when one must recognize one’s place in society and know when one is intruding.”

“But he was not an intrusion. He belongs here.” Perfectly true, but too insistent. She moderated her tone and held out a supplicating hand.” He was like a son to you.”

“Like a son is quite different from being a son,” her father reminded her.” He was my ward. But Patrick Hastings is no one’s child.”

“Of course he is,” she said.” Unless you would have me believe that he was hatched from an egg, or some such other fantasy. He came into the world in the usual way, from a union between a man and a woman.”