Blake gave her a surprised look. “Because it is pompous and pretentious. I may be arrogant at times, but I do not have any wish to be some hoity-toity man who lords his status above others.”
Jane mulled this over. She had only met two other men named Ambrose. Both had been overbearing, presumptuous bores who epitomized what it meant to be pompous.
Perhaps he has a point about the name.
“I will confess, I have never met an un-pompous Ambrose. It is a shame, given the origin of the name,” Jane said thoughtfully.
“The origin?” Blake tilted his head towards her. “What is the origin of Ambrose?”
“It comes from Ambrosia,” Jane explained.
“Which is?” Blake looked at her, nonplussed.
“I am surprised you do not know. I thought every well-to-do boy was practically raised on Greek and Roman myth,” Jane teased.
“As you have seen from my fencing, my education has been far from perfect.”
An odd, hard look flitted across Blake’s face, but it was replaced a moment later by his usual self-satisfied smile, though Jane sensed there was some hidden meaning in his words.
“That is true.” She smiled, sensing that it was a subject Blake did not want to dwell on. “Well, in Greek mythology, Ambrosia is known as the Nectar of the Gods. It is what gave them their immortality—what kept them alive and powerful.”
“Are you saying that I am Godly?” Blake’s tone was teasing.
“I am saying that your name is,” Jane explained.
“It is not my name. Or at least I do not want it to be.” Blake scowled at the ground, his fists clenched.
Something dark seemed to fill the space between them as Blake stared into something Jane could not see.
“You seem to have strong feelings for something that is only a name.”
“Is it only a name? A name is something we must carry with us. It is at once a declaration of who we are in the world and who we should be. Should a name not feel like it is ours? Should it not be something we want to be?” Blake looked at her, and Jane saw a flicker of pain on his face. “Blake is who I am. Ambrose was never who I wanted to be.”
“We do not all get to choose to be who we want to be.”
“Perhaps we should.” Blake’s blue eyes met hers, practically crystalline in the sunlight.
Jane did not know what to say, and for a moment, the silence stretched between them, only interrupted by the occasional nicker.
“You said that there were other reasons for using Blake?” she asked after a while.
“There are. You may know that my mother died shortly after I was born.” Blake had begun to pace again.
Jane felt a twinge of sadness. “Yes. I am sorry, I cannot imagine how hard that must have been.”
“It was a long time ago. Besides, I never got the chance to know her.” Blake waved his hand, as though dismissing an idle thought. “It is rather hard to miss someone you never knew.”
“I suppose it must be. Though it is possible to long for something you have never known.” Jane moved towards him, almost reaching a hand towards him before catching herself.
What am I doing?
Blake stopped pacing and gave Jane a sharp look before he said, “She loved the name Blake, and it is in her honor that I have a middle name and that was chosen.”
“Your father would not allow it to be your first name?” Jane asked.
“No, he did not feel it appropriate. After all, it is not a common name in our family.” Blake shrugged, but Jane could hear the bitterness in his voice. “However, he is the only one who ever called me Ambrose. It has always felt like the name Blake was a way of keeping her memory, perhaps even her love for me alive.”
“That is a lovely reason to have chosen the name for yourself,” Jane murmured.
