Compromising Miss Tisdale (27 page)

“You couldn’t have had any idea we were in the garden. I told no one-”

James snorted. “You told your Uncle you were leaving. He in turn, informed me. I followed you, and when I saw what was about to happen I made certain that I brought along a witness. We made it back inside before it rained, luckily enough. She was supposed to have told Lady Tisdale all about it, ensure that an engagement was guaranteed. But somehow it didn’t get done and now the damn girl’s vanished.”

“No she hasn’t.” A new voice joined the discussion from the doorway.

Duncan froze, sensing the floor of his life about to drop out from under him.

Ambrosia stepped forward. “She didn’t vanish. She was fired, but somehow managed to recover her position. Probably by using that little gem of information you just spoke of.”

Duncan finally turned to face her. In his time on the earth he’d been caught red handed a number of times. But not once could he remember ever feeling this particular piercing through his chest, the kind he felt now as Ambrosia stared at him with eyes full of . . .

Ice
.

She simply stood there with all the regality of a queen. Her shoulders back, her neck held tall. In such presence he felt lowly, insignificant.

“Ambrosia?” That was the only word he could muster to say. He meant it as a question, a request, an apology, and a plea. And above all, it had been a prayer. Duncan had never considered himself a spiritual man, but at that moment he knew he had finally found religion and hoped desperately God would make it so she hadn’t heard the damning conversation that would end the briefest happiness he’d ever known.

Ambrosia raised one eyebrow. “It appears you had quite the complex strategy. I had no idea that I was worth that much effort. How much is my father offering now for my hand in marriage? Twenty thousand pounds? Thirty thousand? An estate or two? Whatever my current rate, I am certain no two men have ever demonstrated such effort in trying to secure it.”

And with that, Duncan had his answer. God indeed did exist. And was giving him exactly what he deserved.

James raised his glass in the air, a salute to her cool demeanor and self-preservation.

“I hadn’t told him yet, James.”

The look on his face almost made up for the hurt he’d just inflicted.

Duncan felt his jaw tense. “What money, James?”

James recoiled, then finally spoke. “I’d taken money from your brother’s accounts. I had creditors demanding payment. My solicitor arranged it all. The investments, some of them weren’t even real.”

“That’s not all,” Ambrosia interjected. “You’d also planned to steal from Duncan. That’s why you were so adamant that we be married. You needed my dowry to pay toward your newest collection of debts. That was the fortune Amelia spoke of that you were supposedly coming into.”

James glared at her, but had been rendered silent by the weight of the truth that was now pressing down upon all whom stood in the library.

Duncan’s head was reeling. She could have easily stormed out from the room, leaving him in the dark regarding James’ transgressions. But instead, she stood in front of them and endured what had to be a myriad of emotions; humiliation and outrage not being the least among them. All so she could expose James and make right the wrong that he had done to him. It was an act of selflessness that he could not possibly deserve at such a moment.

Duncan glanced briefly at Ambrosia, then fixed his gaze upon the man whom he believed to be his friend. “Jason spent his life trying to restore my family’s fortune.”

James ran a hand through his blond mane, never mussing a piece. “And he succeeded. The man was quite astute. But far too trusting.”

Duncan nodded his head, as if in agreement with his inference that Jason was the one truly at fault.

And in a way, the logic that the victim’s ignorance rendered him the guilty party was particularly fitting considering the predicament he now found himself in.

“I expect you to replace every pound, every farthing, every ha’ penny that you stole.”
This
he delivered with a tone thick with menace.

“How? I have nothing,” James argued. Unwisely.

Duncan shrugged. “You have estates. Cattle. Jewels. You’ll sell whatever it is you must to repay your debt.”

The two men stood in a way that only males did, one posturing for the other. James cast him a sideways glance as if summing up a threat.

“Or I assure you, I will ruin you in whatever way I can—socially and physically. You know better than anyone that I have no scruples when it comes to revenge. After all, I’m not the one with a reputation to maintain.”

James took a step back, a retreat. “Very well, then.”

“And James,” Duncan added, stepping toward the mantle. He looked into the mirror, his eyes focusing on Ambrosia’s reflection in the glass. “When you leave here today, know that I will never speak to you again. When I see you in public I will nod and acknowledge your existence, but only because I do not care enough about what happens to you to give any more consideration than that. I will not hate you because that would require far too much effort on my part. Nor will I forgive you. You will be nothing but a stranger to me, and after this day I will never give you another thought.”

“I bid you both farewell, then.” James turned to Ambrosia and bowed curtly. “You did this. He would never have turned on me before he met you.”

“You did it to yourself,” she contradicted.

James turned on heel and proceeded to escort himself out of the home.

The door shut, leaving Ambrosia alone with Duncan. He did not turn, but instead stared into a mirror above the fireplace. She knew it was not his own reflection that deterred his focus.

Ambrosia broke the silence first, her words soft, but firm. “I assume I can expect you to observe a similar code of conduct as you have presented to James.”

Duncan took a deep breath. “You wish me gone from your life?”

The words cut another gash into her now mortally wounded heart. “Yes.”

No.
But there was no other choice.

“I cannot do that. Not after last night,” he stated determinedly.

Anger seared through her. “A night that happened because of months of your careful plotting and scheming.”

He turned, vehemently shaking his head. “No! A night that happened because we both very desperately wanted it to. I cannot tell you James was lying because he was not. You must believe that although I began with the most perfidious of intentions, I stand before you overcome with the most sincere purpose. I love you.”

Ambrosia’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding with such force that the words were almost obscured by the drumming.

Duncan continued. “I told James months ago that I wanted to end the farce and I had every intention of never seeing you again. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I needed to protect you. I didn’t feel as if I deserved someone as perfect as you. And even now, I am humbled by your strength and courage and-”

“Enough,” she said, louder than she had intended. “For someone who so fervently wanted to protect me, you certainly have a strange way of showing it. The damage is done, Duncan. I believed you to be deserving. I would not have given myself to you if I did not. I believed you to be a virtuous man, even if you didn’t believe it of yourself. But it is that doubt in yourself that leads you down these dubious roads, that cause you to make unwise choices. It’s as if you’re unable to accept your own goodness, so you go out of your way to prove the very opposite of your true nature. How can I believe you now, to trust that you have changed? That I am indeed not just a dowry to you? I would rather spend my life a ruined spinster, than as an object used to elevate your status.”

Ambrosia delivered those last words with such finality, it was as if she’d just shut the book and ended that chapter of her life, the one that should have ended happily.

He said nothing, but his hazel eyes betrayed his silence. The green was more grey and the gold flecks were not nearly as noticeable as they usually were. They spoke volumes, all of which she refused to hear.

How could a man that wore his feelings so evidently ever succeed in any game of cards?

She stared at him for a moment, drinking in the visage before her as if it was her last chance to quench a thirst that would remain for a lifetime. Duncan stood still, firmly planted in front of the mantle. His hair brushed casually against is collar, far too long to be considered fashionable. He wore a dove-grey waistcoat with simple buttons. He hadn’t been wearing his jacket and his shirt sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose the lanky muscles in both his forearms. A smattering of dark hair covered those bronze arms and a small tuft was exposed by the open buttons at the top of his shirt. He wore no cravat.

Then he reached out his hand toward her, his final gesture.

She wanted to flee, to escape, but such an exit was hardly befitting a young lady. Instead she curtsied. Then made her way from the room, never stopping to turn and look behind her.

It was ever a respectable departure.

Chapter 27

Two weeks had come and gone, and finally all the visitors at Brightly had found their way back to their own respective residences. The house party was over with only the Tisdale women remaining at the Estate after both William and Lord Tisdale were beckoned back to London for business. Ambrosia found herself seated at the pianoforte, perfecting a sonata she had recently learned.

It was Wednesday.

It was the same as any other day, but
different
.

Her life had been forever changed after experiencing love and the subsequent pain. She had been waiting for Duncan to find her and give her all that had been missing in her life. But now, she was no longer waiting, and more incomplete than ever.

She mindlessly tapped one of the keys. A brilliant
C
resonated sound throughout the carefully constructed arched ceilings of the Brightly music room. She followed that with an
A
, then a
D
. Soon, music filled the room.

But to her it still seemed so empty.

Flora made her way into the room and sat across from the instrument. She casually perused random sheets of music scattered upon one of the tufted ottomans that were scattered about the room.

Ambrosia finished the piece on a rather somber note. She peered over at her mother.

“Bravo, darling,” Flora applauded from her position on the settee.

Ambrosia nodded an acknowledgement. Her mother had been paying a discomforting amount of attention to her since she had returned from her two days in the city. Only Lillian knew what had happened. She had accompanied her on the ride from London back to Brightly. It was a silent ride, her sister’s intuition allowing her the space she needed. They never spoke of it again, though her mother had tried quite fervently to extricate the truth from them both.

“Really, quite fine work. We shall plan a musicale when we get back to London. Perhaps we could convince Tamsin to join with her violin?”

They both knew that was an impossibility.

“What do you need, Mother?” Ambrosia shuffled through the music.

“Why must I need something to speak to my own daughter?”

Ambrosia peered over the instrument at the woman who was nervously wringing her hands. She raised a solitary eyebrow in response to that ingenuous remark.

“I had wanted to inquire if you’d spoken with the Earl as of late.”

Ambrosia carefully maintained her shuffling, despite the sensation of numbness his name still managed to evoke. “No, I have not. If you have questions regarding Lord Bristol, they would probably best be answered by looking in the broad sheets. So I’ve been told.”

Flora bit her bottom lip. “There’s been nothing written about him for a matter of weeks. It’s as if the man’s fallen off the face of the earth.”

“I wouldn’t know. The subject of the Earl’s comings and goings have never held much interest for me.” It was a partial lie. She did still hold a slight interest, but believed that like the lips on her collar bone, it too would fade as time distanced herself from his memory.

“But I do not believe that to be completely accurate.”

Ambrosia stopped shuffling.

Seemingly satisfied she had finally gotten her attention, Flora continued. “I have come across a most distressing account of an incident between you and Lord Bristol.”

“And, pray tell, what exactly is this incident?” Ambrosia asked calmly.

Flora proceeded to speak in hushed tones, as if the whole of London were listening on the other side of the walls, dramatically pausing between statements. “One of the servants came to me after our ball in London and relayed that she had seen you. In the garden. Alone. With Lord Bristol.”

“And that is what distressed you?”

Her mother raised a hand to her chest, affronted by the confession. “So you do not deny it? You were indeed in the garden that evening?”

Ambrosia remained calm as the sea without wind. There was not a ripple in her appearance or even the slightest intonation that something may be amiss. It was as if she was discussing a routine trip to the milliner’s. “Nothing of consequence happened that evening.”

Lady Tisdale shook her head. “I suspected that perhaps the girl was exaggerating about what she had seen. But then she said you had her fired, so I assumed some amount of guilt on your behalf.”

“I had her fired because I found her under the servant’s stairs in the arms of Lord Kenning. Until recently, I was unaware that she had been witness to any transgression I may or may not be guilty of.”

“I offered her position back, along the promise of increased wages and a small sum to guarantee her silence. Of course she took it, but I had thought I might capitalize upon your interest in the Earl so I invited him to Brightly. I thought the time together would help cultivate the budding relationship between the two of you.”

Ambrosia smiled ruefully. “Then you thought wrong.”

Flora brought her hand to her forehead in a theatrical display that she had perfected for maximum impact.