Page 4

The doors closed, leaving Ambrose in silence.

He spent the morning in his chamber. He had already taken breakfast and wasn’t in the habit of eating again until dinner.

Most days he might wander to the library and read or meet with the steward but this day, he had business with nobody and thus remained in his darkened chamber.

It was just as well, as his face burned more than he could tolerate. It wasn’t until there was a knock on the door that he rose again.

It was past five, and evening was approaching.

“Yes?” he said as he opened the door.

The housekeeper, Mrs. Dalton, stood there. “Excuse me, Your Grace,” she said, “you are needed downstairs.” She was a tall, plump woman with the air of a comfortable older aunt.

He frowned. Mrs. Dalton had worked for his family for almost as long as Ernest and was one of the few who did not fear him or show any disgust even when he looked the way he did at present. Even so, she did not normally approach him in his chambers.

“Very well. If it cannot wait.”

“It cannot,” she said with a tone that brooked no argument. She and Ernest made quite the pair for they spoke to him with an audacity that would see other servants unemployed.

Ambrose raised his brows, then inclined his head once. Without further ado, he followed his housekeeper.

They crossed the next corridor and went downstairs, and then he saw it. The sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

There, on a table in the entry hall, was a bassinet.

The sight stirred a feeling he could not at first describe. His stomach twisted, and bile pushed up his throat.

There was only one meaning behind such a sight. There was only one reason for a bassinet.

He had not seen one in twenty-four years, not since the very first day he looked upon his baby sister.

He took a step forward, then another, until he was close enough to reach it. Then, cautiously, he looked inside.

There was a baby. Not just a baby. A beautiful little girl slept peacefully beneath a soft blanket. She was unaware of the dark manor surrounding her.

He knew who she was at once, for she looked just like her mother.

He swallowed hard, a sense of loss and longing overcoming him.

“A note came with it,” Mrs. Dalton said and handed it to him, just as Ernest joined them, summoned from wherever he had been. Ambrose opened it.

Dear Ambrose…

The first words were enough. There were not many with the boldness to call him by his first name. In fact, there was now only one left in the world. Still, he finished reading the note, even though he knew what it would say before he read past the greeting.

When he had finished reading, his eyes remained fixed upon the letter until his hand tightened and the paper crumpled beneath his fingers.

He’d known this day might come. He’d dreaded it. But now that it was here, he was not entirely sure how he felt. There was joy in this unexpected arrival but with it came fear of what the future would hold now.

“We shall require a wet nurse,” he said at last, his voice unnaturally controlled. “And prepare the nursery.”

Ernest stepped forward. “How long shall the child remain with us, Your Grace?” he asked respectfully, already considering the necessary arrangements. “I should know how permanent the preparations must be.”

Ambrose drew in a slow breath, and his green eyes returned to the sleeping child before he answered quietly, “Forever.”

“She shall need a name, then,” Mrs. Dalton said as she bent down to cover the child better.

“She has one. It’s Emma.” The name might as well have been a blade, for speaking it cut Ambrose deeply.