Compromising Miss Tisdale (20 page)

She gathered the cards. Lord Bristol walked over to the buffet and refilled his glass. “Why are you no longer a member?”

She paused a moment from her shuffling. “In light of my recent actions, I found the Society and my personal activities were no longer in accord with each other.”

“It was so important to you,” he said, more for his benefit than hers. “You said you loved the work. Won’t you miss it?”

Ambrosia kept her hands busy. “I most certainly will. Especially come summer’s end when it’s time for the harvest baskets. But I’ve done my duty and it’s time for someone else to step into the role. You see, the assembly of the baskets used to be sheer chaos. These are the ladies of the
ton
we’re talking about and the concept of work was quite novel to them.”

She sighed, and he thought for a moment she was going to smile. “I abhor such commotion, so one of my first acts as chairperson was to create a plan and orchestrate the entire event with military-like precision. It worked, of course. And the ladies were able to distribute more baskets than ever last year. I shall miss it, but it was time that I move on. Perhaps someone new can leave their mark on the event now?”

Duncan was quiet, swirling his port around in his cut crystal glass. “You revoked your own membership because of what transpired between us?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Do not flatter yourself, Lord Bristol. It’s hardly as dramatic as all that.”

He was far more pensive than she was used to. A serious Lord Bristol was almost intimidating to be around.

William returned first, thankfully. “Lilly is ready to retire for the evening. I told her I would be up, straight away. I hope you don’t mind if I turn in my cards and retire early?”

Duncan grinned widely, William winking at him in some sort of gentleman’s code that was entirely lost upon her.

“If you don’t mind, perhaps you can escort me to my own chambers. The night has lasted far longer than I had anticipated,” she said, thankful for any excuse to escape.

Will obliged, holding out the crook of his arm for her to grab hold of. She could feel the intense gaze of Lord Bristol burning into her back, but did not care to turn to meet it. Her nerves had all they could take for one evening.

Duncan watched the gentle sway of her hips as she strode away. Even though Ambrosia was related to Lord Colton by marriage and the gesture meant nothing, he still found himself staring down the green eyed monster that seemed to creep about in the most unsuspecting places.

He hadn’t expected to see her that evening. He had taken dinner in his rooms, unwilling to face her just yet. He’d been intent on forgetting his feelings for her, and had hoped to at least attempt to avoid her best he could. But there she was in the most unlikely of places. The vision of Ambrosia sitting at a card table, a tower of chips in front of her, and a glass of sherry had nearly knocked him on his backside. She seemed perfectly at home surrounded by the putrid smell of cigar smoke, with men casually lounging about in a drunken state. Yet there she was, still impeccably dressed and her manners faultless, as if she was sitting on a settee at a French salon. Or upon a throne surrounded by diligent subjects. Even that slight scent of mint she wore was able to pervade his senses through the stench of his cheroot.

If he wasn’t so damn resentful toward her, he could have very well fallen in love with her for that.

That was the feeling he had settled on.
Resentment
.

He knew it was only a short time before he swept some unwitting girl off her feet and then a substantial dowry would repopulate his starved accounts with much needed sustenance. He would craft a story for his uncle that would explain his sudden disinterest in Miss Tisdale. He would, in the end, win the game. But it was not because of his efforts. His efforts had resulted in failure. His efforts had been stalled, because somehow this genteel woman had bewitched him and stolen his sense of self, debauched as it was, right from under him.

And for that he was resentful.

Chapter 19

The next morning, Ambrosia arrived in the breakfast room first. She was an early riser, rivaled only by Tamsin who preferred to go out for a ride before any of the others were awake. Ambrosia suspected it was so the girl could wear breeches and ride astride, but she had only the suspicions of a dutifully observant sister and no real evidence.

Even though her suspicions were seldom ever wrong.

Ambrosia helped herself to her usual morning meal—kippers and toast. She sat at her usual seat facing the windows that framed the hills surrounding the estate. She took her tea as usual, two cubes of sugar and a dash of cream. As soon as she finished, she would take a turn about the front garden, her usual exercise when in the country.

It was morning as usual for Ambrosia Tisdale.

But it was different.

The most desirable, unattainable man in the world would be coming to join the family for morning meal and only the Lord knew what else. At this point, the only thing she could count on were her kippers.

The Earl of Bristol was obviously
not
an early riser. He arrived in the morning room puffy-eyed and only speaking in one syllable grunts. She found it terribly rewarding and stifled the urge to smile at his misfortune. It would be terribly unladylike to mock him in such a public manner.

Amusing, but unladylike nonetheless.

He took two pieces of dry toast and coffee, swearing off all other forms of nourishment, and found his seat across from her.

Tamsin strode in from her ride only moments after he was seated and made her place next to him. The hem of her gown caked with mud, still wearing her boots that had obviously seen their way through the stables.

Ambrosia practically swooned at the girl’s appearance.

“Perhaps you should change your dress before joining us at the table, Tamsin. Or at the very least, your shoes,” she said as discreetly as possible, the pungent odor of horse clinging to the air around them.

“But I’m hungry now. Honestly, Ambrosia, I can think of far worse things I’ve done than sit at a table smelling less than fragrant.”

Lord Bristol raised his eyebrows, but only for a moment as if the effort required too much energy.

“Good morning, Lord Bristol!” Tamsin exclaimed. She was flushed from her ride, wide–eyed, and spoke far louder than necessary. “How are you doing this morning?” she yelled as if he were hard of hearing.

He grunted.

“Excellent!” she returned.

Ambrosia inhaled the heavenly aroma from her tea and thanked the Lord for giving her such a sister, a rare occurrence indeed.

The rest of the Tisdales arrived at the table, each one in their own particular phase of waking. The Viscount had obviously imbibed a bit too much, opting for strong black coffee and the curtains to be drawn. Lord and Lady Colton were fawning at each other playfully, which was apparently customary for newlyweds. Rose was quiet and unassuming, but Flora’s boisterous presence made up for where her youngest was lacking. Again, Thomas was present in the form of a portrait, joining the family for morning meal.

“Lord Bristol,” Flora was the first to address their guest. “Do you have any particular plans for the day?”

“Not particularly,” he answered. The coffee had obviously taken affect and he was once again verbal.

“We have an expansive piece of property, so you should find plenty to occupy your time.” Flora took a petite bite of her fish. “I’m sure you and Lord Colton can find trouble somewhere about the grounds. Perhaps the girls could accompany you?”

Did the woman ever take time off from her incessant match-making?

“It’s Wednesday, so Ambrosia will be practicing pianoforte after her walk,” Tamsin said between mouthfuls. “I doubt she’ll be able to join you then.”

Lord Bristol took another sip. “Pianoforte on Wednesdays?” he asked dryly.

Ambrosia chastised her sister with a glance. “Yes. Pianoforte on Wednesdays.” She took a dainty bite of her toast. Just being in the same room with him had made her unduly cognoscente of all her actions. Suddenly, it was as if eating had become a performance.

“Embroidery on Tuesday, pianoforte on Wednesday? Is everyday scheduled?”

“Yes,” Tamsin and Ambrosia answered together.

“I do like to keep to a certain routine, yes,” Ambrosia answered. “It is how I organize my life.”

He took a sip of coffee. “Doesn’t it become boring, always knowing what’s coming next?”

Tamsin snorted from across the table. Ambrosia seriously debated if her extended leg possessed the necessary length to reach her from under the table.

“Boring? No. Predictable? Perhaps. But then again, isn’t that the idea of a schedule?”

“Are you accomplished at the pianoforte then?” he asked casually. It was bored conversation, as if he spoke only because it was expected of him.

“She’s perfect at everything she does,” Tamsin interjected, unexpectedly more defensive than teasing.

“I am hardly perfect,” Ambrosia contradicted. “For some people, it may come naturally. But I fear almost nothing comes naturally to me. My brother—he only had to put his mind to it and it was as if he had been doing it his entire life. I, however, must work diligently at everything I wish to achieve. It may look easy now, but behind all my accomplishments is a substantial amount of effort.”

“So, why do you do it if it’s all so hard?” Duncan applied a bit of marmalade to his dry toast.

Ambrosia thought for a moment, staring out the window in front of her. “I suppose because I can. I’d hate to squander an opportunity that so many others don’t have. It’s like dancing. I know my dancing is not up to the standards I would like it to be. So I practice and strive for improvement. I realize I still have quite a bit of work ahead of me, but the challenge only gives me cause to work harder.”

“I thought you danced quite well,” he said quietly enough that only she could hear.

The compliment caused her heart to flip. “Thank you.”

Duncan put his toast down. “I would like nothing better than to explore these grounds,” he announced to the table, “But there are some accounts that need reviewed and I was planning on spending most of the day laboring over all of those.”

“Of course,” Flora nodded her head in defeat. “I insist you use our library. It has the most brilliant natural light.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

“If you are in need of any assistance at all, please call upon my eldest daughter. She is quite the man-of-affairs where accounts are concerned.” The Viscount proclaimed through a mouth full of eggs.

The Viscountess dropped her fork and looked as if she would have an apoplexy.

“Pardon me?” Duncan asked, curiosity written in the smile that was emerging across his face.

“She’s really quite good with numbers,” the Viscount waved his fork, sausage stuck to the end of it, with every point. “Very quick. I’ve had her reviewing my books for years. It never hurts to have a second set of eyes in case the first set isn’t entirely honest.”

Ambrosia could feel her face burn with embarrassment.

Duncan didn’t seem to notice. “Your gift for numbers doesn’t apply just to cards then?”

“No,” Ambrosia answered quietly. Probably even more nefarious than her late night family gambling was her review of her father’s ledgers.

Propriety? What propriety?

Thankfully, no other mention was made of her
gift
.

“My uncle is too careful. Jason let his estate managers and solicitors manage his business. I’m simply going to appease my uncle’s request and look over a few of the books. I’m sure I will not require any assistance. It’s best if I do this on my own.”

Duncan looked even more uncomfortable that he did before, turning assiduous attention to the application of marmalade to his second piece of toast.

“Lady Middlebury is to arrive tomorrow,” Lilly proclaimed, cuing the gaggle to change the subject to something a bit more pleasing.

“I hope she doesn’t invite her brother this time,” Tamsin mumbled under her breath, pushing runny eggs from one side of the plate to the other.

“Why wouldn’t you want the Duke to come?” Duncan asked, quite a bit more lively than before. “I’d think a girl like yourself would enjoy Lord Kenning. He’s brilliant company.”

Tamsin sat up a little straighter in her chair. “Then what poor company you keep, my Lord. Though on second thought, perhaps the two of you get along so famously because you’re so alike.”

Ambrosia tried, but her leg was simply too short to come into contact with her younger sister’s. “I apologize for Tamsin. She sometimes offers her opinion a bit too freely.” Ambrosia glared at the girl as if her stare would somehow rectify the situation.

“I am curious as to what would cause you to have such a disparaging opinion of the Duke?” Duncan asked, unconcerned at the obvious assignation of his own character.

“My sister is being too kind. It’s not just my opinion, but that of hers as well. Lord Kenning is a lecher if I’ve ever met one—Ow!” Tamsin scowled briefly before refocusing her efforts back to rearranging the plate of food in front of her.

Ambrosia nodded her head and tried not to think about the pain in her foot.

“Lord Bristol,” William called down the table. “Would you like to go fishing the day after tomorrow? I would invite you for today, but I fear I have to return to London briefly on business. There’s a fairly large pond near the forest—plenty of fish available for catching.”

Duncan smiled, his hazel eyes made instantly livelier by the suggestion. “Fishing, you say?”

How she had missed those eyes flashing bits of metallic light all around. He wore his feelings quite transparently and those eyes betrayed him every time.

William nodded. “Quite good fishing. I’ve had nothing but good luck here at Brightly.”

Duncan nodded. “The day after tomorrow then?”

“We must bring the ladies,” William looked at Lilly who was already counting on one hand the supplies they would need to bring.

“We can picnic,” Lilly announced enthusiastically.