Silence No More

33. Dreams and Duties

"It all started years ago," Mr Ambrose spoke, his voice as cold and emotionless as a polished piece of ice, his gaze staring off into the distance. "I only have vague memories of my childhood...my sister pestering me to play with her, my mother reading me a foolish story about a lazy girl who wasted decades sleeping in some magical castle...but there is one thing I do remember with absolute clarity: my father's obsession."

Taking a deep breath, he turned away and strode towards the window, his hands slamming down onto the windowsill, his stare fixed on the misty horizon.

"My father is nobility...old nobility. Old as in descended from the Saxon kings, from long before the invasion of William the Conqueror. There are kings and queens with less pedigree. We did not have riches, we did not have extensive lands, but what we did have was ancestry. And when people don't have much, or as much they think they ought to have, then they tend to be excessively proud of what they do have."

Oh my. Mr Rikkard Ambrose was...not getting to the point straight away? He was being...verbose?

This was bad. This was very bad.

"My father was obsessed with all things noble. And I do not mean noble in the sense of 'kind and generous'. From my earliest days, I could remember being drilled on how to walk, how to talk, how to behave and dress and live my entire life like a noble. I was taught exactly what to do and, more importantly, what not to do." A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Back then, I wanted nothing more than to please my father. To be a good son. To make him proud."

I blinked and opened my mouth, halfway on the way to asking "Not even money?"

But the look in his eyes made me think better of it.

"That's the entire reason that whole debacle with Dalgliesh happened, you know? The reason we borrowed money from the man I thought was my friend, the reason my family lost everything and I gained an arch-enemy. Because I wanted to please my father!" He spat out the words like poison. "When I had to flee to the colonies and find my own way in the world, I eventually realised the way the world really works. Nobility? Lineage? Family pride? Those things have no meaning. For years, I thought those silly things were long behind me. I haven't thought about any of that in years, and considering his only son was disgraced, neither has my father, most likely. But now I am back—with a wife and, more importantly, an heir."

I suddenly remembered the speculative glances the marquess had sent my way from time to time in the past, whenever I had appeared in front of him in female apparel. It was almost as if he were...hatching plans?

"You mean your father wants to...?"

"Yes." He gave a curt nod. "When I disappeared, my father abandoned all his plans for me. Now that I have returned with a wife and child, he is set on continuing his line. And the first step to that is to make me his heir. To make me the next Marquess Ambrose."

Oh my. Marquess Ambrose. Wouldn't that make me...Marchioness Ambrose?

A mental image popped into my mind: Aunt Brank bowing and scraping before me, calling me "Your Ladyship". I smirked. My oh my. This had...possibilities.

I opened my mouth to ask him if the title came with a fancy tiara when I caught sight of the way his shoulders were tensed and his fingers were clenched around the windowsill. It looked like the stone might give way any moment now.

Uh-oh...

Swallowing, I hesitantly asked, "He wants you to inherit his title? What's wrong with that?"

"In itself? Nothing." Slowly, he turned around, his eyes glittering darkly. "It's the conditions that come along with it that I object to."

"Conditions?"