Page 12 of Moaning Under the Mistletoe
“No. You’ve been delightful.” He tried not to sigh, but it was almost Christmas and his family would want to spend up large on the occasion. The Earldom could afford it now and he knew it was an argument he’d never win; his mother had been accustomed to a certain level of expenditure while his father was alive, and her and his siblings continued in the same vein. All spending and no responsibility. His mother had remarried, yet she often outspent her pin money and begged him for more when her new husband refused her.
“What is the problem?” Mr Mardin reached out and almost touched his hand, but then snatched his own back much to Ambrose’s disappointment. Did he want to be comforted by him? Oh fuck, he did.
“I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my problems.”
“It would imply that we are friends.” Mr Mardin’s gaze twinkled.
Ambrose sipped some wine to hide his gasp of understanding. “I don’t want a substitute for Ismail.”
Mr Mardin shook his head. “I don’t follow?”
“Your uncle was an excellent friend, a mentor when my father died, and something of a grandfatherly figure to me. I don’t need you to replace that.”
Mr Mardin scoffed. “Grandfather. If he was my father’s brother, he would not be old enough to be a grandfather.”
“This is true. He was a similar age to my own father when we met a decade ago.”
“Then he was a father figure to you?” Mr Mardin asked.
Ambrose mused on this for a while. “No. He was nothing like my father. Ismail was kind. Generous with his advice. I’m sorry that you never met him.”
“I’m sorry too. My own father has just turned sixty. Was Ismail older or younger?”
Ambrose had to work to maintain his expression, shocked at the understanding that Mr Mardin truly knew nothing about his uncle. “Ismail was sixty-five when he died. He’d always stayed fit and probably looked younger than that. It was a shock, a sudden decline in health, that he hid from me.” He wished Ismail had been honest with him; he’d have ensured he had better doctors than whatever quack had seen him.
“I don’t understand how my father could have cut him off like that. I can’t believe I had a whole uncle that I’d never met.” Mr Mardin’s eyes softened, shiny with unshed tears, and Ambrose had to get them both out of here.
“Come.” He stood up and waited until Mr Mardin stood too. “We are leaving.” He hustled Mr Mardin out of the room, informing one of the footmen that they’d be back to finish the remaining courses tomorrow.
“Why?”
Chapter Six
Oscar shouldn’t loveit when someone commanded him like this, and he was a little confused as to why Bennington was suddenly keen to drag him from the room. They’d hardly been flirting. It was hard to flirt when discussing a long-lost uncle that he’d never met. Bennington waved at a hackney and basically pushed Oscar inside. He plonked on the seat with a little oomph and had barely enough time to draw a breath when Bennington joined him.
“I’m sorry.”
