"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?"

"Tell me, Mrs Ambrose—when have you last seen a landed gentleman, let alone a lord, running a business enterprise?"

I snorted. "Well, obviously never. Something like that simply can't be done. Nobles just sit around enjoying the rents from their tenant farmers. I think those stuffy old goats would die of a coronary before they dirty their hands with wor—oh..."

"Exactly."

Slowly but inevitably, a horrible realisation dawned on me. It felt outrageous. Impossible. Horrendously, sickeningly wrong. And yet it had to be the truth.

"He..." I gulped. "He wants you to give it up. To give up your business."

"Indeed."

"H-how much?"

"Everything." His icy eyes bored into me with an heretofore never seen intensity. "If I wish to become the Marquess Ambrose, I am to relinquish every building, every ship, every factory, and every single stock I hold."

The explosion of curses that erupted from my mouth was quite impressive, if I say so myself. Had they actually had any effect on reality, Mr Ambrose's dear father would have been a dickless, headless, slobbering pile of sludge by the time I was finished.

"Mrs Ambrose!" My husband sent me a remonstrating look and gestured at the corner, where Berty was still soundly asleep. "Language! What if he were to hear you?"

"Then he'd learn a few interesting words that are neither 'mama' nor 'papa'?"

The look he sent me in response made it clear he was not amused.

I met his stare head-on. "Do you expect me to apologise? My words were entirely appropriate. That bloody gormless wanker actually wants you to give up everything you've worked for during your entire life! I'd be disappointed if any son of mine didn't curse up a frigging storm when hearing this!"

"I would not have used such...flowery language." For one second, one single second, I thought I could see something almost akin to warmth in Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes. "But in essence, I concur."

Taking a step towards him, I placed a hand onto his cheek, forcing him to look at me. "Is...is he actually for real? He wants you to give up everything you've worked for so hard for all these years? Just like that? Just because working for a living isn't, what...seemly?"

If there had been a hint of warmth in his eyes before, it was gone now. "Essentially, yes."

I snorted. "Well, that's easy, then. Tell him to go get stuffed."

I waited for his agreement. And waited. Yet...all I received was silence.

"Mr Ambrose?"

Again, silence. By now, my husband had turned his head away and was not looking at me anymore.

"Mr Ambrose? It is that easy, isn't it?"

Another moment passed without a single word from him. Eventually, Mr Ambrose turned to face the window once more, staring out at the murky, greyish sky. Outside, in the distance, an owl hooted.

"When I was young," Mr Ambrose's voice cut through the silence, "it wasn't just my father who wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I wanted it. Even when I ran, when I tried to find my own way in the world, I wanted nothing more than to return triumphant and earn my father's approval."

My eyes widened in total shock, which was only partly faked. "Not...not even earning money?"

For that, a patented Ambrose glare was thrown at me over his shoulder. "I was not always the mature, sensible—"

...greedy, bloodsucking, power-hungry...

"—right-minded man I am today."

"You don't say, Sir."

There was a long moment of silence. When he finally spoke, I hardly recognized his voice. No longer was it cold and smooth as ice. No. It was raw. Open. Like a gaping wound.

"Back then..." His finger twitched ever so slightly. Words left his mouth not as if spoken, but as if dragged from his throat by force. "I... I was just a child. A child who wanted to make his father proud, and who instead plunged his family into poverty. All the time I was working my fingers to the bones in the colonies, I wanted nothing more than to make up for that."

He fell silent. Absolutely. Completely. Silent. I didn't dare to utter a single syllable, let alone a word. Tentatively, I reached out to place a hand on his shoulder—only to hesitate halfway.

"In the early years, out there all alone, coming home and being worthy is all I ever thought about." His voice was a whisper now, hardly audible. But somehow, I didn't miss a single sound. "All I ever wanted. And now?"

I saw his fists clench.

"Now I can. Now I've returned and restored my family properties. I have a wife. A family. An empire that means no one can ever even think of harming them! And he...that man... he has the gall to demand I give it up!"

Suddenly, I could move again. In a blink, I was right behind him and sliding my arms around his waist to embrace him fiercely.

"Then don't," I whispered.

For a moment, he didn't say anything. Beneath my touch, I felt him tremble ever so slightly.

"If I don't, Adaira will lose her freedom."

"If you do, you will lose yourself." I tightened my grip on him. "You are Mr Rikkard Ambrose, professional skinflint, money grubber, nightmare of the working class—"

"Don't stop complimenting me, Mrs Ambrose. It feels so good."

"—and multinational industrial magnate," I finished without batting an eye. "If you bow to that son of a bachelor who calls himself your father, you won't be yourself anymore. Do you think Adaira would want that? What would she say to you if she heard you talking like this?"

"Quite a few uncomplimentary words that are unsuitable to be spoken in the presence of an infant, I'd imagine."

Leaning into his back, I smiled. "Indeed."

Glancing over his shoulder, he threw me a look. "Be careful, or I might sue you for copyright infringement."

I beamed. Now that was the man I fell in love with!

As if he heard my thoughts, he turned around and enfolded me in a tight embrace. I hugged him back, trying my very best to convey the feelings from deep inside my heart with every single touch. He would not be alone in this. He would not.

"What should I do, Mrs Ambrose?" His whisper reached my ears, so low it was almost inaudible. "I don't want to submit to my father's demands. But if I don't..."

He didn't finish the sentence. I understood. Rikkard Ambrose wouldn't be Rikkard Ambrose if he admitted there was someone he cared about more than himself and his purse.

"There must be a solution," I told him. "Isn't there someone else who can inherit? I might not be an expert in these matters, but, from my experience, for every inheritance, there always at least a dozen eager heirs, be they real or fake."

He shook his head. "I am his only son. There are no other male relatives. And as for fakes..." He cocked head. "Do you think anyone would be daring enough to try and steal from me?"

"Probably not."

"Indeed."

"More's the pity."

"... I would never have thought I would find myself agreeing with that statement."

I smirked. "Yes, where are the confidence tricksters and imposters when you need them?"

My dear husband cleared his throat. "When you put it like that..."

"...it sounds like you've been seduced off the path of righteousness?"

He sent me a look. "You took care of that a long time ago."

"Oh, I did, now, did I?" Batting my eyelashes, I snuggled more closely up against him. "And what are you going to do about that?"

"Simple." He leaned forward, his voice lowering into a growl that sent delicious shivers down my spine. "Punish you."

In a blink, his hand had a tight grip on my neck. Leaning forward even farther until there was only a hair's breadth between him and me, he—

"Waaaah! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

He froze.

I froze.

"Apparently," I stated, doing my best to keep my voice calm and composed, "someone decided to take care of the punishment for us."

"Indeed."

"Waaaaaaaaaaah!"

"And he seems rather impatient."

"Indeed."

I narrowed my eyes up at him. Did he just have the gall to sound proud?

"You like that, don't you? Are you trying to turn our son into a punctuality-obsessed workaholic just like you?"

"No comment."

"Well..." I smiled at him. "If that's the case, you can go take care of him. I'm sure he'll love some more bonding time with his father. Just as I'm sure his bottom would love some bonding time with his father's hands and some fresh diapers."

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Oh, I don't think I'll be able to."

My eyes narrowed in return. "Chickening out?"

"Not at all, Mrs Ambrose. It's just that our son already had his diapers changed about half an hour ago. What he wants now..." His gaze meaningfully lowered to my chest. "...I'm afraid I don't have the right equipment to provide."

I stared at him for a long moment—then the penny dropped, and blood shot to my ears.

"You...!"

"...insightful parent?"

"Lecher! Pervert! Give our son here before you corrupt him!"

"Naturally. I shall leave the corrupting to you."

Grumbling, I stalked past him and snatched Berty into my arms. While holding him with one arm, I used my free hand to start unbuttoning my dress—until I noticed the still present company. My head snapped up to stare at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who was still very much in the room, not at all trying to disguise his interest in my cleavage.

"You are still here."

"Is there any reason I should be leaving? Any good businessman should inspect his assets at regular intervals."

"You...out! Out, now!"

Wisely, he decided to depart from the room without any further protests. I finished unbuttoning my dress and moved to—

"Waaa! Mmmm!"

Never mind. Berty had already latched on, the greedy little bugger. He really did take after his father, didn't he?

I should be pissed off about that, right? So...why do I have a smile on my face?

"Greedy, granite-headed son of a bachelor!" I muttered. "Not just corrupting our child, but also me in one go? Despicable man!"

And speaking of despicable...

My smile vanished as my thoughts turned back to the sorry excuse for a father who had just threatened to destroy my husband's life's work.

Three days. Mr Ambrose had three days to make up his mind as to whether or not he wanted to accept the marquess's oh-so-kind offer. And, as much as it irked me, I knew I couldn't interfere. This was his father. His family. His inheritance. This was a decision Mr Ambrose would have to make on his own.

As his dutiful wife, the only thing I could do during these three days was to give moral support. Hm...speaking of moral support, was there any way to cheer him up?

"Ah, yes!"

Snapping my fingers, I grinned. There was that. The thing I had planned on doing for quite a while, but had somehow neglected to mention to my dear husband. That would surely improve his mood, right?

--------------------------------------------

My dear Readers,

What do you think of Mr Ambrose's description of Sleeping Beauty? Enough to make the brothers Grimm cry, I would wager ;-)

By the way, the description of Victorian nobility and their tendency to detest anything to do with industry and trade in the above chapter is well-founded. One can find this in many novels and historical texts from the Edwardian and Victorian Eras. It's funny to think that those who were looked down on two centuries ago now have, in a sense, become the new nobility.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob