provocative

Twenty-Five | The Honble. Ambrose St. Clair Earldom of Ralston

hey y’all! i’m maddy and this is my problematic son ambrose. please like if you’re interested in plotting something or just want me to drop in and say hi!

AMBROSE & ISABELLA

once they were too far away to be caught, ambrose stopped rowing so bella could catch up and discuss their next move. “that was much easier than i expected it to be. part of me thinks she let us go on purpose.” he grinned, grabbing onto bella’s rowboat to keep them from drifting apart just yet. “all we said was that we’d go rowing. what are we supposed to do now that we’re out here?” ( @isabella-aldwyn​ )

wipe away their tears.

ambrose intentionally lingered back on the walk to the ice rink so he and bella were walking side by side. “it’s a new year, miss aldwyn. how many songs did you sing last night?” he asked with a grin, knowing how much polite conversation irked bella, especially coming from him. “more importantly, are you ready to look like a buffoon compared to me on the ice? i can skate circles around you.” his eyes flashed with mischief. “we could make it a competition.” ( @isabella-aldwyn​ )

-

Isaac blinked and narrowed his eyes as Sinclair patted him on the arm in what seemed to be a gesture of pity. Yes, well, it was stupid… If they were out on these boats, at least the boats could be racing each other. That would make things a lot more exciting.

“Isaac Ackerley,” he said, finally catching the other man’s actual last name. Had he ever called him by the wrong one? Or his sister, he had a sister on board too, didn’t he? Somewhere. “How many times do we do this during the Season? The boats, I mean. Is it a one time event, or are there going to be more boats that are incredibly slow?”

He assumed that St. Clair knew since he knew that this wasn’t a real damn race. Why was everything here so complicated or obscured? Nothing was straightforward.

-

ambrose shook his head and grinned. he supposed if he had grown up somewhere completely different and was dropped into the season with no warning, he’d be confused too. “no, no. regatta’s are rare. other events, though, if you’re eligible, you’re expected to show.” he shrugged. “you have to learn to make your own fun. usually the dances aren’t so bad–at least we aren’t being harassed by chaperones–but the mamas are ruthless. show any interest in their daughter and you might never hear the end of it.” 

The two were always like this. They had the magical power to entertain themselves and make fun any place, any time. And bella blamed it on the drink, or maybe it was too much sunshine, but when he leaned in to whisper, she felt the oddest feeling. A foreign one. Immediately shaking it off, she reacted by play swatting him. “None of that, Ambrose St. Clair. You’re drunker than I.”

One thing led to another, and even as she fell over the railing, the only thought in her head was the irony of it all. Only moments earlier, she had been standing on a railing, only balancing by holding onto a pole. She had managed to avoid falling into the water then. But – here she was.

Bested by a stray rope. And Ambrose.

Disoriented, her eyes closed instinctively as soon as she hit the water. On cue, her body reacted. Legs and arms remembered years of playing in swimming holes in the country, and she shot up to the surface, sucking in a deep breath of air. Another splash. A swelling of water, and Ambrose’s head popped up beside her, “Ambrose!” She shrieked, lifting wet hands to wipe her dripping face. Droplets rolled down her face and over her grin. If she wasn’t treading water in the THAMES, bella would be bowled over in laughter. Instead, she could only surrender to her cries of mirth as she kept her head above water. Her hair, her light make up, her dress. All ruined, and somehow Bella could not be happier. The hilarity and ridiculousness of the whole situation fed her spirit. 

“Wh- why did you jump in too? You idiot.” The girl continued to laugh, before swimming right up to the man and swatting water at his face. “I know I said I wanted us to swim today, but – oh Lord. You are going to be the one explaining to my feisty Mother why I have tumbled overboard rather than following her agenda of seducing men on a boat.” 

Their bright sunset-shade of a barge continued to trudge along down the Thames, leaving the two runaways behind. A green boat, just a bit aways began to come closer. 

-

the two of them had swam and played in watering holes much of their shared childhoods, and then later as adults they frequently went sea-bathing, so ambrose was incredibly glad his initial concerns were baseless. still, he swum closer to bella, ready to offer her his shoulder or arms if she so needed to stay afloat. panting from the effort it took to keep himself floating in such a large body of water, ambrose laughed and threw his hands up. “i thought a dip might help cool me off!” he gasped in faux offense when he was splashed, retaliating with one of his own at her. 

ambrose glanced back at their barge, frowning slightly as it continued to float away. for a moment, he considered trying to catch up–he was quite the accomplished swimmer, after all–but realized the endeavor would be entirely fruitless, especially when another was coming right up behind them. “it wasn’t my fault you’re an incredibly clumsy person, bella!” he called, confident that no one else could hear either of them above the current of the thames. 

occasionally he would begin to float away from her, taken by a shift in the current or something or other. finally, he just reached out and wrapped a steady hand around her wrist. “we’ll be much easier to retrieve if we stay together,” was the excuse he voiced to bella. “besides, i’m not so provincial that i am not aware of how many layers you ladies are often expected to wear. you’re weighed down much heavier than i.” he grinned, splashing her with his free hand. 

then, it dawned on him. byron was on the green boat. “do you think the peach boat is too far away for us to catch up to it?”

It was when ambrose repeated her words at her that bella knew he did not agree. Either that or his mind had already fled their conversation, stolen away by his own loathing thoughts. Either way, she had lost him. Biting down the urge to convince him otherwise, to push the man to believe her insistence that the problem would be solved, she pulled the man closer against her instead. 

Part of her sought to shelter the man with her own body, as if she could squeeze the very pain out of him. Turning her head, she pressed her lips to the side of his head and breathed ambrose in. Breathed in the warm tinge of sweet and spice, and the sharp musk of leather that always followed the man. She had always loved the scent.

“Never.” She said softly against his hair. “I would never look at you differently ambrose. You have a heart in the right places no matter how much you lie to yourself, or lie to others. Or lie to me.  But I know. I see you. You are more good than you are willing to deem yourself. You are, ambrose.” Which was exactly why he was tearing himself apart inside over his mistake, organ by organ, thought by thought. 

Moments like these bella found her words often failed her, especially with ambrose. Her free hand cradled the side of his head, as she moved to lean her forehead against his. She breathed slowly, in and out. Bella did not even remember that they were hidden away in the shadows of an alcove in the middle of town, where if they were so unlucky an unfortunate soul at the wrong turn could stumble upon them. Ambrose and her were always in their own little world. It had always been that way. Just them.

“Do you believe me.” She whispered.

-

why did she have to see through him, every time? sometimes it felt like she knew him better than he knew himself. at least their unspoken bond had one benefit: isabella aldwyn knew exactly what he needed, every time. despite how uncouth it was, she eagerly shared with him the affection he so desperately craved. if it were anyone else, he’d expect them to have pulled away by now and gone about the rest of their day. isabella stayed with him, allowed his embrace, and understood that sometimes, the only way to communicate with ambrose st. clair was through touch.

again, ambrose wished they had simply retired to the library, or somewhere within one of their respective homes. maybe then they could retreat to a hidden away room where they could be affectionate openly and comfortably all day, like they had been right after edmund and charles’s deaths. it was a bad habit they had started, and nancy had only turned a blind eye because she understood the overwhelming grief both of them had felt. now it had spun out of control–the six months of mourning were meant to be over, social graces forgiven in tragic circumstances meant to be back in place–but the two of them still clung to their intimacy. 

“i cannot stand the way you see me. when you look at me, it feels as though i’ve never been truly looked at before you. it makes me feel . . . naked.” he had not missed the soft lips against the side of his face but did not acknowledge them, but now he was faced directly with their closeness, and ambrose found himself taking a shaky breath. instinctively, he followed her breathing, matching his to hers. it was another habit formed from those fateful six months, when one of them would get so upset it seemed impossible to calm down. 

he nodded imperceptibly, before very softly confirming with a broken, “yes.”