7. Ambrose #2
“Jack and Marigold have turned Somerset and Sons into an increasingly prosperous venture, returning greater dividends each year. One day you’ll take the reins at the bank, and you’ll need their support.
Which reminds me.” He puffed generously on his pipe.
“I have a position I’d like you to take soon.
It’ll help prepare you. And of course, Miss Winters’ involvement would be especially beneficial in growing our branch numbers. ”
“You’re wanting to expand?” I asked in surprise. Was the Bank really doing so well that my father could afford to establish another branch elsewhere?
“Where have you been in the past year or two, Ambrose?” came Marigold’s snide, poised voice, sounding much like the snake she held in my dream. “Certainly not thinking about the family business. Your head is always in the clouds.”
I shifted from one leg to the other and cast her a bitter look.
It was better than pulling up my middle finger at her.
Ignoring the talk about the bank, I glanced at my father and said, “I’m not the only one trying to court Annabelle.
You saw everyone around her today. I’m one of many who wish to court her. And Zeth Washer is one of them—”
“Zeth?” Father’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Hattie told us she’d seen him at the picnic, but I didn’t know he was pursuing Miss Winters. That certainly…”
“Makes things very interesting.” The annoyed expression that crossed Marigold’s features didn’t surprise me.
She never liked Zeth, and had endlessly lectured me about how rotten a scoundrel he was, and how he would drag me down with him.
The joke was on her. I ended up a failure on my own.
And Zeth? He wasn’t rotten, or a scoundrel, although he acted a bit like the latter earlier…
When my father heaved a long sigh, blowing out smoke with it, I raised my hands.
“But don’t worry,” I continued. “I’ll be taking tomorrow off work so Annabelle and I can spend the day together.”
“Oh?” Marigold perked up, as did my father.
“Yes… We’ll be taking a stroll to the lake.” I paused for a moment before I finished with, “To fish.”
Marigold’s eyes widened. She sometimes went fishing with her husband, Jack, so I wasn’t sure why she was so surprised. “Annabelle Winters doesn’t seem the type to do that sort of thing.”
“Well, she told me she hasn’t been in a while and agreed, so she must enjoy it.” I snipped, and when I crossed my arms, my sister smirked.
My father placed his pipe between his lips and grunted his agreement with her, eyeing me as if he was trying to decide whether to laugh or applaud me. Then he muttered, “Bring her flowers.”
“You don’t want him to overdo it,” Marigold intervened. She was right about that, at least. “But I do suggest a gift for her. Women expect gifts.”
I nodded, knowing well from our school days that a gift wouldn’t flatter Annabelle. She didn’t strike me as a material person, though she certainly had a lot of tea sets in that closet… What Marigold should have said was, only women like her expect gifts. My sister was vain like that.
“Right, you know, I'll ask Emiline what she thinks right now.” I clasped my hands together and turned to make my way into the kitchen.
“Oh, Ambrose,” called Marigold’s overly confident voice.
Freezing, I rolled my eyes before turning to meet her smug expression and waited for her to continue.
“Do be sure to wear something less… drab.” When she tilted her head, I shot her a sour glare before finally turning and leaving the parlor for the kitchen, where Emiline was shuffling around.
Our maids and cook had already been sent off for the night, so my twin held out a plate of leftover pork chops and vegetables for me.
“Thank you,” I told her. Leaning my elbow on the counter, I slowly took a bite of potato. Eager to talk about something other than myself, I asked, “How are you doing at the shop? Arthur give you any raises for all the extra time you’ve been spending there lately?”
Her lips tugged up at any mention of the tailor shop.
She’d been working there for nearly a year, and she loved it.
“I’m doing well. Arthur wants to use one of my designs for a dress to present at the showcase in a few months.
The Belle will be coming here from Port Winchester to make selections for their weekly fashion journal.
Ever since Anna went to the City in one of the shop’s dresses, we’ve gotten an influx of attention. ”
“Em, that’s amazing.” If anything could brighten my day, it was this. Seeing my sister beaming with pride warmed my soul. “I’m happy for you.” I hugged her, and she laughed.
“You can hug Arthur too. I wouldn’t be able to have this opportunity without him.” The way her cheeks flushed pink had me wondering if she liked Arthur. I knew he’d had eyes for her since he was ten, but I never told her. My dear friend made me swear an oath of silence.
“You’ll get your big break too, Amby,” Emiline reassured me, and I wondered if she’d taken my sudden silence as a reflection of self-pity.
She moved around the counter to grab some cups from the cabinet.
“I know you want more than a job at the bank. I feel like one day you’ll find it, perhaps sooner than you think. ”
I shook my head, hoping she didn’t mean a life with Annabelle. “I don’t want to talk about me.”
“No? Perhaps someone else then…” Emiline stood straighter as she set the cups on the counter, brown eyes glimmering in the lamplight. “You seemed rather upset telling me about Zeth earlier. So… what will you do when you come face to face with him again?”
I focused on the glass of the back doors. I didn’t want to think about what I’d do, but Zeth’s face swept through my mind regardless. All his callous words from earlier washed through me, and this time they reignited my anger. That almost-kiss he fooled me with pissed me off the most.
Jerk.
I shoved a piece of broccoli in my mouth, not at all wanting this food but forcing it down anyway.
“It doesn’t matter if I see him again,” I finally muttered. “ Thieves and bankers don’t mix.”
“Oh, Amby,” she hummed as she took a jug of lemonade from the counter and poured it into the cups for us.
“You’re not a banker. And Zeth isn’t a thief, no matter what the townsfolk have said about the Washers before.
Join me outside when you’re ready.” She grabbed her cup and made her way out of the kitchen and to the front door.
I only lingered for a moment, taking one last bite of food before picking up my cup and following her.
As I came into the foyer, I halted when I caught voices from the front porch.
A glance through the slightly open front door revealed my father with his arm around Emiline’s shoulders.
Father and Em always talked about their day.
That was their thing . It was clear in the way he held her close that he was proud of her place at the tailor shop.
He was proud of Marigold as well, enamored with her mind for business, and bragged about her to his clients and anyone else who would listen .
With Hattie, he doted on her acceptance into the nursing institute and spoiled her any chance he got since she was the last child.
And me?
There was nothing special between Father and me.
I was his beneficiary because I was a man, and I had downright disappointed him by getting into more trouble than I was worth growing up.
His lectures had always been about the school fights I’d gotten into, or the pranks I’d pulled with Zeth and Arthur.
He never cared to hear me explain that I never backed down from a fight at school if someone threatened one of my friends, or that I was just a kid having fun.
And later on, when I got older, he even knew I preferred men over women and allowed me to rendezvous with a few of them.
But at the end of the day, he expected me to marry a woman.
My father had no qualms with same-gender marriages; they’d been accepted for centuries.
However, in his own household, the Somerset ancestry was important.
His father had passed the house to him, and his father before him, and so on and on, over hundreds of years.
They all believed that if our paternal bloodline was broken, it would destroy our family’s fortune.
Who was I to ruin centuries of Somerset tradition?
So… I needed to prove myself to my father, to myself. I had to win Annabelle. If Zeth wanted to play games, I’d partake, but I couldn’t let him get in the way of carrying on the Somerset legacy.
I couldn’t let my father down.