Page 86 of A Duke to Steal Her
“Make me,” William said mildly. “Though I should warn you, I’ve been taking boxing lessons. Might not be as easy as you think.”
The fight went out of Ambrose as quickly as it had come. He slumped back into his chair, suddenly exhausted
“She’s better off without me,” he said quietly. “Emily deserves a man who can put her first, always. I’m not that man.”
“Because you won’t let yourself be.” William leaned forward, his expression intent. “You’re so afraid of betraying Lavinia’s memory that you’re betraying your own happiness. And Emily’s.”
“You don’t understand?—”
“I understand perfectly. You feel guilty for being happy when Lavinia never got the chance. But destroying yourself won’t bring her back, Ambrose. It won’t give her the life she lost.”
Ambrose closed his eyes, feeling suddenly ancient. “I promised her I’d make him pay.”
“When? When did you make that promise?”
“When…” Ambrose’s voice trailed off as he tried to remember.
Had he actually promised Lavinia vengeance? Or had he simply assumed it was what she would have wanted?
William seemed to read his thoughts. “She never asked for revenge, did she? You decided that on your own.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with implications. Finally, William rose to leave.
“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I think Lavinia would want you to be happy. And I think she’d like Emily very much.”
Three days later, Ambrose knelt beside Lavinia’s headstone, his fingers tracing the carved letters of her name. The cemetery was quiet in the early morning.
“I’ve made a mess of everything,” he said quietly. “Just like I did twelve years ago.”
The stone offered no answers, no absolution, just his own voice echoing back from the marble, hollow and broken.
“I thought I was honoring you. I thought if I could destroy him, it would somehow make up for failing you.” His voice cracked. “But I’ve lost her, Lavinia. I’ve lost the only good thing that’s come into my life since you died, and I don’t know how to get her back.”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool stone. “I’m so tired of being angry. So tired of carrying this weight. But I don’t know how to let it go. I don’t know how to forgive myself for not protecting you.”
“Maybe,” a familiar voice said behind him, “you should start by forgiving yourself for being human.”
Ambrose didn’t turn around. “How did you find me?”
“Lucky guess. I went to your house, but your butler said you left early.” William’s footsteps crunched on the gravel as he approached. “Where else would you go this early?”
“I pushed you away. Again.”
“Yes, you did. Most ungentlemanly of you.” William’s tone was light, but when Ambrose finally looked at him, his friend’s expression was serious. “Good thing I’m persistent.”
“I’m sorry,” Ambrose said quietly. “For the other day. For…everything.”
“Apology accepted. Though I do reserve the right to gloat about occupying the moral high ground and reading your feelings correctly.”
Despite everything, Ambrose felt his mouth twitch. “Naturally.”
William settled on the grass beside him, apparently unconcerned about his expensive morning coat. “Want to tell me what really happened with Emily?”
So, Ambrose did. He told William about the confrontation with Peirce, about Emily’s pleas for him to choose their future over his past, about the terrible words that had driven her away.
“You told her she wasn’t family,” William said when he finished. It wasn’t a question.
“I was angry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. But I did not use those exact words.”
