Chapter 11
Ahalf-empty decanter sat on Ambrose’s desk. He poured himself another finger and swirled the dark amber liquid about. Three bloody months of lying and little to no progress courting Daphne was taking a toll on his sanity.
In order to refrain from uttering more lies and upholding the idiotic farce he was in dun territory, he’d holed himself up in his study and refused to see anyone. He limited himself to attending parliament sessions and escorting Alice to the occasional social event. Social events where he knew Daphne would be in attendance. Despite his initial confidence in winning Daphne’s affections, and even after their intimate interlude at Archbroke’s home, half the Season had come and gone and he’d yet to hear Daphne utter the three words he longed to hear the most.
He needed to devise a new plan to win Daphne over, for his current actions were highly ineffective. But who should he confer with—Alice?
As if thinking of her made her materialize, Alice poked her head in through the door of his study. “May I enter?”
“Of course.”
Alice stood fists on her hips and glared at him from across his desk. “What are you thinking?”
“With regard to?”
“Daphne.” His sister threw both hands up in the air and then let them fall to her side as she sank into the chair next to her. “You are supposed to be attempting to woo her. Show her how important she is to you. Yet all you do is attend the House of Lords and then return home. You do love her as much as I do, do you not?”
Ambrose nodded.
Alice added, “Then why have you not sent her flowers, gifts of appreciation, taken her to enjoy ices?”
“We are supposed to be broke, remember?”
Alice rolled her eyes heavenwards. “I told you that your scheme would backfire.”
“Gloating is not very becoming, sister.”
She crossed her arms on the desk, rested her forehead on her arms, and mumbled, “Daphne is worried about you.”
“Worried?”
“Yes, worried that the fictitious creditors seeking payment may seek to physically harm you or threaten your well-being. She also swears you appear thinner by at least a half stone or more and now believes we might starve.” Alice popped her head up and glared at him. “I hate deceiving my best friend.”
“I apologize for placing you in this position.”
Alice sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. “Here I am lying to her daily, and then Daphne shares with me the deal she made with you. How bleeding hard is it to prove you love her?”
At the time he made the deal with Daphne he had shared the same sentiments as his sister—how hard could it be? He’d even had it all planned out. He’d call upon her every day to show his sincerity and, knowing how she hated crowds, arrange for a picnic away from prying eyes to read to her the weekly literature piece to be discussed at the Archbroke literary gathering, which had also become his favorite event of the week. But then memories of their intimate interlude would invade his thoughts and all his confidence evaporated. His lack of experience and knowledge of how to pleasure a woman left him feeling inadequate, ill-prepared for marriage. He didn’t have the close relationship with his valet as Daphne obviously had with her maid, and the thought of attempting to discuss the matter with any of his friends gave him hives. To think—when he had embarked upon the scheme to find a wife, he’d focused on discovering a woman who he could connect with emotionally and hadn’t considered the physical aspect of love. His father had been absent and neglectful of his duties, leaving Ambrose to learn how to go about being a man on his own. He suspected other fathers didn’t leave their sons so woefully uneducated and swore he’d not repeat his father’s mistakes.
Alice waved a hand in the air in front of his face. “Whatever it is that is preventing you from acting upon your feelings for Daphne, you had best figure a way to solve it, for you’ve but a few months left in the Season to prove to Daphne she should marry you.” After sitting in silence for a few moments longer, Alice shook her head and stood. “If you won’t share with me your problem, I can’t be of assistance.” She walked to the door and paused to add, “When you are ready, I’m here to help.”
He loved his sister for her never-ending support, but this was something he and he alone had to address.
Ambrose poured himself another drink and then opened a drawer to pull out a sheet of parchment. He inked his quill, hand poised to pen his thoughts, but nothing came to mind. No ideas. No names of who might come to his aid.
The snap of the quill breaking echoed through his study.
Why was he worried about the marriage bed when he hadn’t even secured her hand?
First things first. Prove his love. Then, marry the woman. Then worry about what happened next.
He glanced at his pocket watch. Three in the morning. Two more hours before he’d need to head to the flower market to get the first pick of posies. Re-energized by his plan, Ambrose marched up to his chambers and fell upon his bed. A quick nap and then he’d start wooing Daphne as he’d originally set out to do. He’d deal with his doubts once they were officially engaged.