Compromising Miss Tisdale (7 page)

Ambrosia vehemently shook her head.

“I didn’t think so,” Flora continued. “She disappeared shortly after that. The last report I was privy to described her traveling the continent with a man from a less restrictive station when she fell ill.”

Ambrosia fought the urge to gasp.
Less restrictive station
was code in good society for stable boy or something similarly degrading. “Obviously, the eldest brother became the Earl and as we all know met an early demise last Season. But what of the younger? Why is it that Lord Bristol has not been known to me till now?”

Flora thought for a moment. “He was sent away so long ago, I doubt many people remember him.”

Ambrosia’s eyes widened. “He was
sent away
?”

“Banished, really. There was some sort of falling out and he was sent to live at one of his family’s estates up North.”

“
Banished
? My goodness, what on earth could he have done?”

Flora laughed. “It couldn’t have been all that bad if I’ve never heard the details. From what I’ve been able to gather, it was an issue within his family circle. But, he is newly returned and I have no reason to paint him with the same brush that marked his parents. Besides, every party needs a bit of excitement and that is reason enough for me to invite Lord Bristol.”

Ambrosia shook her head. “Being a blackguard is hardly what I would consider to be exciting.”

Perhaps just a wee bit exciting.

“Be it right or wrong, talk is talk. Besides, from what I’ve seen while he’s been in London, his are mistakes that are easily forgiven. Men will be men, after all, and when I met him at the Montgomery’s ball, I found him to be most interesting . . . and handsome. Wouldn’t you agree?” Flora sipped her tea, coyly eyeing her daughter’s response.

“I suppose he’s pleasing enough to the eye,” she answered with all honesty. There was no use in lying about the obvious. “In the kind of way most blackguards are,” she finished in a contemptuous tone.

Her mother cast her a sideways glance. “Snide remarks don’t become you, dearest Ambrosia. You could do far worse than marrying the Earl. The Bristol title is quite old and by all accounts quite wealthy. I do admit there is some concern over the history of the Maddox men’s conduct, but what man doesn’t have faults? Honestly, Ambrosia, I find it fascinating how you continue to cast aside any and all prospects.”

“Mama,” Ambrosia scolded playfully, “if you do not wish for me to continually reject your suitors, then it seems to me the solution would be to simply present me with better candidates.”

Flora pursed her lips. “Thomas’s fiancé-she was such a pleasure. Do you remember? Such a fine lady and he was so very in love with her. You know he would want the same for you. We all do. It would please your father and me to know you were finally settled down and happy—like Thomas was.”

Ambrosia stopped listening as her mind drifted.

It was absurd that her mother would even suggest the Earl as a potential suitor.

Men like the Earl were hardly suitable candidates for marriage, not that it mattered.

Lord Bristol was not the type of man that held much interest for her. He was too careless, too imprudent. And he was far too confident, walking around like a rooster in a hen house. He paraded as if he owned the room, despite being a virtual newcomer to the
Ton
. He may be an Earl, but she knew plenty of titled men. He was said to be rich, but her own family’s fortune had left her wanting for nothing. He was attractive, but many men could be labeled as such. To her, he was just another man with devil-may-care good looks. It was inconsequential that he had such carelessly mussed hair, a strong, lean body, with his perfectly sculpted jaw, and those kissable lips . . .

At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

Flora finished reading through the letter. “It is confirmed. Lord Bristol will be in attendance, as well as his Uncle, Mr. Maddox.”

“That’s just wonderful,” Ambrosia muttered.

“Pardon?”

“Wonderful,” Ambrosia spoke up cheerfully. “’Tis wonderful,” she reiterated.

She could hardly believe her own boorish behavior. She hardly ever mumbled, she never groused, and she certainly did not mutter ill-mannered thoughts toward her mother under her breath.

This Earl business was becoming most regrettable.

Her traitorous mind relived the memories of her meetings with the man whenever she allowed it to wander. When in his vicinity, in body or in memory, she felt herself lose control, lose her character, and lose her sense of self. For a few brief moments upon their first meeting she had felt it-utter abandon. She hadn’t felt such . . . relief before. Freedom.

Freedom that she could not afford. She needed to find an appropriate husband and finally start a family of her own.

Like Thomas would have done.

Her parents repeatedly spoke of her brother’s accomplishments and she knew their intentions were good. They just wanted the same for her. And like a dutiful daughter, she simply wanted to provide them with what they wanted. Especially since Thomas never would.

Powerless over her daydreams, Ambrosia knew the only way to restore order in her life was to control her reality the best she could. It was already a terribly arduous Season and she hardly needed the additional complication of a disruptively handsome Earl with inconvenient timing. Nothing good could come of any kind of interaction with a man like that.

She would simply have to avoid the Earl. If that meant refusing invitations and temporarily becoming a social recluse, then so be it. Regaining jurisdiction over her life was worth any negative consequence to her popularity.

But how could her plan work if the very man she was constantly evading came to be present under her own roof?

Days later, Ambrosia’s morning walk began rather uneventfully.

As per her usual routine, she paraded down the promenade in the park, nodding to those who passed her, and making light conversation as was necessary. Her mother had chosen to stay behind and help cook with the week’s menu, but fortunately her lady’s maid cheerfully agreed to escort her.

“Ambrosia!” called a familiar voice from behind her on the path.

She turned and saw Amelia sitting on a bench.

“Hello, Amelia! I didn’t expect to see you here. You don’t typically take your walk at such an early hour.”

Amelia held out her hand to examine her manicure. “I do make it a point never to venture out of doors ‘til I’ve had my morning soak and a pot of chocolate. But I wanted to see you so desperately that I made the exception.”

“I’m honored. Luckily, you picked a fine day to take a walk. It’s a bit cloudy, but I find the warmth to be most agreeable.” Ambrosia took her friend by the arm and the two girls began strolling, with their companions chatting eagerly behind them.

“You really should make more of an effort to be seen,” Amelia scolded. “I haven’t seen you out and about for nearly two weeks. You don’t want to be forgotten, do you? You’ll have tongues wagging that you’ve given up on a husband and reconciled with the notion of living out your life as a spinster.”

“Is that why you wanted to speak with me then? To reprimand me for not being social enough?” Ambrosia goaded. “I’ve been quite busy with my charitable endeavors.”

Amelia snorted. “You and those orphans! Or was it lepers this week?”

“Neither. It was simply some poor souls that found themselves in hospital. How dare they have the nerve to become ill whilst there are parties to attend!”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Enough about you, let’s talk about me,” Amelia primped her hair. “You are aware that James and his wife are in town for the Season? Well, there is a rumor that she is finally with child. Though James frequents the club so often I haven’t the faintest idea how she came about being
enceinte
in the first place.”

“Still playing cards then?” Ambrosia asked. James came from a long line of card players, none of whom had been very talented and were a bit of disservice to the game, really.

Amelia folded her arms in front of her chest. “Playing would imply that he’s actually winning some of the time. More correctly, James is still
losing
at cards.”

Ambrosia nodded, not surprised in the least. “Ah, I see. Well, it’s a good thing he has the ducal inheritance to squander then, isn’t it?”

Amelia didn’t answer straight away and the two girls walked in silence for a bit.

Ambrosia looked up toward the bright sky. The clouds were moving quickly, threatening to clear off the perpetual overcast that plagued London. “My mother received correspondence from your old friend, the Earl, this morning. She extended him an invitation to our ball, though I abhor the idea it becoming an exhibition like that of Lord and Lady Montgomery’s.”

“Lord Bristol,” Amelia exclaimed, clasping her hands to her chest.

“Yes, of course. Whomever else would I be referring to? There’s only one man that I’m aware of whom possesses the power to make any event revolve around him and his exploits.”

Amelia stopped walking. “Whatever are you going on about? Look, it’s Lord Bristol sitting right over there on that bench.”

Ambrosia followed the direction of Amelia’s gaze and saw the Earl a mere few feet away. He was indeed sitting on a bench and it appeared he was reading a book. At that very moment, the sun poked holes through the cloud cover to shine its light upon the park and all its inhabitants. The Earl closed his book and turned his face up, searching for sunlight, then allowing himself to bask in its warmth once he had found it. The scene was breathtaking, and for a brief moment Ambrosia was overcome.

“How beautiful,” she whispered. She had never used such a term to describe a man before. And even then, her description fell short. His particular beauty was surely the reason there were painters on earth. She was certain the clouds parted directly over his precise location just so the heavens could get a peak.

She quickly turned her face away. Ambrosia knew better than to stare directly at the sun for its dizzying and blinding affect. Presumably, the same rules applied to male splendor.

She looked uneasily at Amelia, convinced her inner dialogue was transcribed all over her face.

“Yes, beautiful day,” Amelia replied cheerfully, dim as ever. “I’m so glad I opted to come out today. Unseasonably warm and it looks as if the sun’s appearance might actually last the afternoon. What a lovely day this is starting to become!”

Duncan’s moment of solitude, enjoying the sun’s warmth, was interrupted by an intuitive feeling that he was no longer alone.

“Good day, Lord Bristol,” a voice called from the path.

Recognizing the voice of James’ sister, Amelia, he slowly opened his eyes.

Then he recognized her walking partner—Miss Ambrosia Tisdale. As he set his book on the bench and began to rise to greet the ladies, he took note of her appearance. She looked lovely in her pink striped walking dress and perfectly coiffed hair. But then again, he couldn’t imagine a woman like Miss Tisdale tolerating looking anything but . . . perfect.

“Good day, Lady Middlebury.” He bowed. “And good day to you, Miss Tisdale.” He bowed again, fixing his eyes on hers, never looking away.

Miss Tisdale curtsied politely and mumbled something about the weather being unseasonably warm.

Hardly the response he was looking for.

“Yes, it is truly a good day to be out of doors. Out of doors and
amongst such beauty
,” he added, gaze intently focused, narrowed on his target.

“Is there something wrong with your eyes?” Ambrosia asked, her voice firm.

Duncan gave her his best lopsided grin, a look he had perfected in order to evoke just the right amount of irresistible boyish charm. “Quite the contrary. I believe I am seeing things,
people
really, more clearly than I had before.”

Ambrosia narrowed her own gaze toward him. “You keep squinting. Does that commonly occur whilst you read? The same thing happened to my sister, Rose, and she had to start wearing spectacles. Perhaps you need spectacles, Lord Bristol? Or if it is not your failing eyesight it could be something a bit more grave. Possibly the start of some sort of eye ailment? You should hope for the spectacles, I have heard eye ailments may have quite serious effects and are said to be quite terribly uncomfortable.”

Duncan’s shoulders sank slightly.

He had agreed with James that the best, well, at least the quickest, way to accomplish his Uncle’s request would be to marry Miss Tisdale. James had insisted on orchestrating an elaborate plan, though Duncan believed the extra effort was unnecessary. He was, after all, quite confident in his abilities and didn’t see how the seduction of some rigid would-be spinster could prove any difficulty. He would simply stand by and be himself, and let her come to him.

After all, she had been willing enough in the Montgomery’s library.

Only she
hadn’t
come to him. Quite the opposite, really. In fact, if he were a vain type of man, he would go so far as to suspect the chit was purposefully avoiding him.

Kenning had made certain that Duncan received an invitation to every possible social gathering within a day’s travel of London. In turn, Duncan had gallantly made the effort to attend every musicale, every drum, every rout, and every dinner party that he received invitation to, only to find that Miss Tisdale was
never
in attendance. It was as if she had dropped out of society altogether.

And truth be told, it was particularly challenging to seduce a woman that you never actually saw.

To add insult to injury, he had learned that one of the betting books at White’s held a long running challenge regarding the engagement of Miss Tisdale. Apparently, faith was running low and the wagers rewarding her potential spinsterhood had increased dramatically. It would appear the task was far less feasible than he had initially believed.

And so, here he was. He had resorted to espionage, obtaining information from James’ sister that resulted in Duncan’s calculated positioning at Hyde so as to intercept the two ladies during their promenade.