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It would take several years or more for Greenbriar to be profitable again, or at least be self-sufficient, but even so, Ambrose wasn’t about to pin his financial hopes on the estate. Poverty had been a bitter pill to swallow, and one he vowed never to taste again. After the marriage contracts had been signed, Ambrose had paid a visit to Estwood. His friend had already invested a portion of Theodosia’s dowry. There was more than enough left over for Greenbriar.
Eventually, he’d found Erasmus, so drunk he could barely speak. The punch he’d thrown at his nephew, because he thought Ambrose to be a ‘frightening monster’ as he put it, missed. It did not miss the tankard of ale sitting on the bar, which splashed all over another one of the patrons. After a small fistfight which Ambrose had enjoyed more than he should have, he’d pulled his uncle up from the tavern floor where he’d fallen asleep once again. He probably should have just left Erasmus there with bits of dirt and sawdust stuck to his face, but he didn’t. Uncle Erasmus, for better or worse, was all Ambrose had left of his father. He considered Erasmus a sort of penance for leaving Greenbriar. A punishment for never mending things with his father before he died, something Erasmus reminded him of often.
Looking up, Ambrose remembered Theodosia’s ridiculous declaration that she would rather admire the ceiling than dare to enjoy being bedded by him. His chest still ached at knowing he’d hurt her. He was bound to do so again. The sound of her breathing, deep and even, met his ears over the mound of pillows and the scent of lemons caught in his nose. Placing a hand on one of the pillows, he pushed it down until he caught sight of Theodosia’s back.
“I’m hiring servants. An army of them,” Theodosia said clearly.
She hadn’t fallen asleep after all. Little faker. “I would expect you to. I’m only shocked the house isn’t crawling with them already.”
“Miss Emerson might know how to plan a menu, but I doubt she knows how to pick out the appropriate hue for a drawing room.”
Ambrose had no idea what Theodosia was talking about, nor did he care. What mattered was that she was speaking to him again. “Fortunate I compromised you and not Miss Emerson then, isn’t it?”
A small, feminine grunt was his only response.
His chest constricted as Ambrose’s feelings for his wife took on a more brilliant sheen, one he didn’t even try to push away. He wanted so badly to touch her and tell her again how sorry he was for hurting her.
Gorgeous, half-blind creature, I adore you.
