Page 28 of Moaning Under the Mistletoe
Epilogue
May 1830
London was stifling today. Ambrose would normally have retreated to the country by the start of May, but Oscar had been so keen to stay in town for the summer, and besides they were closer to the good doctors here for the end of Lady Bennington’s confinement.
“Welcome to Ambrosia’s Palace.” Oscar waved at the new dining room in The King’s Book Club, the one Ambrose had funded as a gift to his love.
Ambrose cleared his throat. “Ambrosia’s Palace?”
“Yes. A dining room fit for everyone with ....
“You named it after me?” He hadn’t expected that.
Oscar grinned. “Yes. I could hardly call it Lord Bennington’s dining room, funded by his good self. This way, we will be the only ones who know.”
Ambrose checked over his shoulder, even though they were the only people in the club right now, then kissed Oscar senseless, bending him backwards over his arm. He loved dipping him like this, loved kissing him, loved everything about him. And now Oscar—the cheeky wonderful man—had named his new dining room after him.
“This name is hardly subtle.”
Oscar’s laugh filled the room. “There isn’t much subtle about me.”
Ambrose nodded at that truth. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
“Speaking of which, how are you going to have me to celebrate your new room? I built it just for you. The tables are very sturdy.”
Heat spread through his veins. How Oscar could make him want so much, so often, was a mystery and one he hoped he’d never solve. “Shall we test them?”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Oscar wriggled out of Ambrose’s arm and ran to lie across one of the tables. The room hadn’t been dressed yet. It was just empty tables. Even the chairs were still stacked at the side of the room, yet to be put in their proper places.
A loud knock on the door halted Ambrose in his tracks, and Oscar leapt off the table, brushing down his shirt.
“Yes.”
Otto entered. “My apologies for the interruption. A message has arrived.”
“It’d better be something bloody important.” Oscar’s impatience mirrored the irritation in Ambrose’s chest.
“I believe so. Lady Bennington has begun her labours.”
“Yes, that is important news.” Ambrose glanced at Oscar who nodded. “You’d better get us a hackney cab.”
Once they were inside the cab, Oscar nudged him. “Is this personal growth? Months ago, I would’ve been annoyed at being interrupted.”
“I am annoyed.” He was still buzzing from the surprising thrill of having Oscar name the dining room after him, and this interruption—while for a good reason—was untimely. Why couldn’t babies arrive on a more convenient schedule? According to his doctor, the baby wasn’t due for another week. He’d planned around that date, and now he had to forgo time with Oscar celebrating his achievements.
“Yes, but I also know that there will be plenty more days with you. We can test the tables another day.”
“We can.” Ambrose leaned his head back against the wall of the cab. “I’m going to be a father. What do I do?”
“How can you ask that?”
