Roses and Flames

Chapter 5

The knock on the door came, sharp and sudden, and Ambrosia startled in her chair. It had not sounded the way that she had expected it to sound. Although how much personality could be conveyed through a door knocker she was in doubts about that, she was not sure.

All the same it startled her.

Instead of rushing forward to open the door for him, she drew back a little space beneath the curve of the stairs. It was cowardly of her.

But the secrecy meant that she would be able to catch the first glimpse of him without his knowing and she would catch the first glimpse of him without his knowing and keep that moment all to herself. She would not need to guard her expression from the servants. She would be able to devour the sight of him, thinking the things that had nothing to do with the parks and the gardens and picnics by the stream.

Jenkins came forward and opened the door, his tall straight body hiding the man on the steps. The request for entrance was firm and had polite warmth, but it was not as impulsive or raucous as she had imagined. She had been thinking of the boy who had left, she reminded herself not the man he had become. He would be still Patrick of course, but he had changed. Just as she was.

The person who appeared in the doorway was a strange combination of novelty and familiarity. He walked with an upright gait of a military man, but was free of the scars and disabilities that she had seen in so many of the returning officers. Of course he had spent his time well away from the battle proper, below the decks, tending to the injuries that resulted from it.

He was still blonde and although reddish highlights in his hair which were there when he was younger had gone absolutely dark, almost brown. The boyish softness had left his cheeks replaced by a firm jawline scraped clean of stubble. His eyes were still blue of course, and as sharp and inquisitive as ever.

They took in the hall at a glance, looking at it much in the same way as she was looking at him, noting the changes and similarities. He completed the survey with a brief nod before enquiring if her father was at home and was taking visitors. The boy she remembered had a sunny disposition, an easy smile and a hand always reaching out to help or comfort, but the man who stood before her now in a navy blue coat was somber. One might even call him grave.

She supposed that it was the necessity of his profession. One would not want a doctor delivering bad news with a smile upon his face. But it was more than that. Though his eyes held great compassion, it was bleak, as if they had suffered, and he had suffered along with them.

She wanted to ask if his life in navy had been as horrible as she had imagined. Had it troubled to see so many mangled bodies and to do so little for them? Were the successes that he had won from death not enough to compensate the brutality of the war? Had it really changed him so much? Or did anything remain of the boy who had left her?

Now that he was back, she wanted to ask him so many things. Where had he been? What had he done there? And most importantly why had he left her? She had thought as they had grown past the age of playmates they were likely to become something much more.

His current disposition, as he passed her hiding place and then followed Jenkins up the stairs was a stark contrast to Duke of Mayburry who always seemed to be smiling. Though the Duke had many responsibilities, his face was not as care worn or marked as Patrick’s. He greeted obstacles with optimism. But he had the right to do so. There seemed to be little that he could not accomplish.

In looks, she could see many similarities between the two men. Both were fair and blue eyed. But the Duke was taller of the two and handsomer as well. In all things physical he was the superior. He had more power, money, title and rank.

And yet he was not Patrick.

She sighed. No amount of common sense would sway her heart from its choice. If she accepted the inevitable offer which had been made by the Duke then she would be quite happy with him, but she would never be able to love him.

But if the person one truly loved above all was not interested, what was one supposed to do?

Just now he had gone straight to Father, without even enquiring about Lady Ambrosia’s location. Perhaps he did not care. In his silent absence, Patrick Hastings seemed to be saying that he did not remember her in the same way as she did him. Perhaps she still thought of her as a childhood friend and not a young lady of marriageable age who might have formed an attachment to him.

Did he remember the kiss? When it had happened, she had been sure of her feelings. Apparently he had not. After, he had grown cold and distant. She could not believe that he was the sort of youth who would steal a kiss just to prove that he could. Had she done something to offend him? Perhaps she had been too eager. Or not enthusiastic enough. But how could he have expected her to know what to do? It had been her first kiss.

It had changed everything between them. Overnight his smile had disappeared and shortly after that he had been gone in body, as well as in spirit. Sometimes Ambrosia wondered if it was because he loved Anastasia and not her and that might be the reason that he was so miffed with her. But now Ana was gone. And she was widowed at twenty-one. Ambrosia had not been married yet and her twin was widowed. And she was coming back home.

Even if she had misunderstood, she would have thought that he might have written a note of farewell. Or he could have answered at least one of the letters that she had sent him, dutifully, every week. Perhaps he had not received them. On one of his brief home visits from school, she had enquired about them. He had admitted, with a curt nod and a frozen smile, that he had read them. But he had said nothing to indicate that the messages had provided him with comfort or with pleasure.

It was a moot point point now, of course. When one had only captured the attention of a duke, who was not only powerful and rich, but handsome and polite and charming, on should not lament over a snub from a physician of no real birth.

She sighed again. All the same, it had been on her mind of late. Even if he did not love her, Patrick was her friend. Her dearest and her closest companion. She wanted his opinion of the Duke: or the man and of his decision. If there was any reason that he disapproved….

Of course, there could not be. He would bring no last minute reprieve with an offer of his own. And she must remind herself that it was not exactly a march to the gallows. It was becoming her Grace, the Ducchess of Mayburry.

But if he did not want her, then the least that Patrick Hastings could give was his congratulations. And that might make it possible for her to move forwards.

“A ship’s surgeon.” Her father’s tone was flat with disapproval. ”Is that not a job that can be done by a carpenter? Surely a university trained physician could have done a lot better than that.”

Patrick Hastings faced his benefactor’s dark look with a military posture and an emotionless stare. He could remember a time when his actions had met with nothing but approval from this man. In response, Pat had been eager to please and desperately afraid of the disappointment that he was going to bring to him. But it seemed that his best efforts to abide by the lord’s final instructions to make something of yourself were only going to be met with disapproval and argument and doubt.

So be it.

His desperate need for gaining his approval had cooled when the man’s affection had.