“Of course, Your Grace.” He handed Ambrose his gloves. “But if I may point out, your only confidante is your valet.”
“Not so. I confide in my brother, as well.”
“When Lord Jonathan is present, yes.”
“Your point?” Ambrose saw nothing wrong with that. Most gentlemen were tedious in any case. Benson at least added some impertinent spice to his life. And he was meeting his brother at White’s in a few hours.
“Change is an uncomfortable occurrence,” Benson shrugged. “It is also necessary. And perhaps it is time to make a newfriend.”
“You mean my wife?” Ambrose said dryly. “Do you ever give up?”
Benson appeared unperturbed. “It is important to note that even though Your Grace does not deal well with change, without change, England would not be the formidable country it is today.”
What the bloody hell was Benson getting at?
He was formidable enough.
He was also happy for his life to remain forever unchanged. But that was no longer possible. Change was happening whether he liked it or not.
“I only mean to say that oftentimes we make life harder than it needs to be.”
“Spoken like a true philosopher.” Ambrose raised an artful brow. “Any advice on how to silence an impertinent valet?”
“Perhaps a gold signet ring is in order?” Benson suggested, and Ambrose laughed.
If only he could snuff out all the enchanting thoughts of his wife that stubbornly clung to his brain.
One piece of good fortune was his mother, who had been overjoyed to retire to Bath. Ambrose had expected more tears. Instead, he’d been greeted with a rare smile.
Ambrose would never understand women.
Shrugging on his gloves and accepting the hat from Benson, Ambrose wondered whether there was more to the primal urge he had to claim his wife in every possible way. And since Ambrose was not a man to wallow in denial, he wondered whether he would arrive at the end of this battle unscathed and unchanged.
He bloody hoped so.
