Compromising Miss Tisdale (11 page)

Richard touched a hand to his chest and concentrated on steadying his breath. He found a chair, moving aside a discarded piece of clothing to take his seat. “You were always my favorite, Duncan. I saw a certain light in you that your brother Jason did not have. But you held such disdain for the rules, for propriety. I had thought the time away would have softened your distaste, but it seems only to have amplified it. And you’ve buried that light so deep, I do believe it has fully extinguished itself.”

Then he looked up at Duncan, tears glistening in his old, sad eyes. “I see it’s of no use. You don’t want this life. So, you have my regretful blessing to return to your home up north and resume your wicked ways. You’re the Earl now, you could even return to Bristol Crossing and take up household there if you wish. I doubt that you’d want to though, with it being a
proper
estate and all.”

Duncan closed his eyes. His uncle was thinner yet, and his voice was graveled and tired. His time left on earth was surely limited, and the guilt washing over him was more agonizing than any of the bruises and scrapes he bore. Jason had devoted the whole of his adult life righting his parent’s wrongs, and all Duncan had contributed was further harm. He detested the precarious state of his family’s good name and dissipated fortune, but instead of trying to remedy the problems, his behavior had only exaggerated it. He was no better than the parents he hated and vowed never to become.

He knew he couldn’t change completely, but he could at least fix what was in his control. He could restore the finances and publicly try to repair the Bristol name. It would mean a certain amount of sacrifice, but it would only be temporary until he could get back from whence he came and resume life as normal.

“I have a prospect.” Duncan said quietly, unsure of how the statement would be received.

“Prospect?” Richard asked, looking up, hope in his voice.

“For marriage.”

Richard’s slumped shoulders began to straighten. “You’re not serious?”

“Most serious. I’m afraid Lord Kenning and I were celebrating last night and may have gotten carried away.”

“Why, this is a different matter altogether. I had thought you weren’t taking your new position seriously. But I’m happily mistaken. Who is she, then?”

He swallowed. To recant now would be the death of his Uncle, and Duncan did not want blood on his hands.

“Miss Tisdale.”

Richard’s eyes grew wide. “One of Viscount Tisdale’s daughters?”

Duncan smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Of course, one of his daughters. Isn’t there but one Tisdale family? I’m interested in the eldest—Miss Ambrosia Tisdale. From what I’ve come to know of her, she is quite an upstanding young woman and I believe she’ll provide a solution to all our family’s problems.”

“Enough of that, I’m so happy to see you’ve found someone. So, you intend to ask for her hand? Soon, I hope?”

“When the right time presents itself, of course. But I assure you it will be done before the end of the Season.”

Richard smiled. “The Tisdales are quite a distinguished family—a
rich
, distinguished family. Tisdale may only be a Viscount in rank, but his power rivals that of any superior. And the Viscountess is always the picture of beauty, so there is little doubt that her daughter would be any less with age. ‘Tis an excellent match, indeed.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Are you sure she’ll have you?”

Duncan exhaled deeply.

Even his own flesh and blood doubted him.

“Of course she will have me,” he lied, confidently.

Richard stood up and embraced Duncan, patting him on the back and singing his praise. “You have done me most proud! I knew you had it in you.”

Duncan returned the gesture and stood back, distancing himself from his uncle’s embrace, his words, and guilt.

Chapter 11

Ambrosia stared at the items on her vanity. Each tortoise shell comb was positioned carefully in its rightful place. She turned and looked at her bed. There was no wrinkling in the cream colored linens, nor were the pillows laid askew or tossed to the side haphazardly. Everything in her room had a place.

Order. Routine. Schedules.

Control.

She controlled everything around her. She had always been a bit predictable, but since Thomas had died she had organized her life to the minutest of details. She always knew what to expect and when to expect it. Until now.

Until
him
.

She was nervous and she was
never
nervous. Going to a ball was as natural as breathing. But this ball was different.

He
would be there.

There was no denying that the man’s very presence, unwanted or otherwise, had a profound effect over her. She had no choice but admit to a mild attraction. He was, after all, terribly handsome and quite charming when he chose to be so. But whenever he was in close proximity, she simply could not trust herself. She blushed, she fidgeted, she rambled, and she even
kissed
. She just wasn’t herself.

She lost control.

Control of the situation, control of her emotions, even control of her very body seemed to vanish while in Duncan’s presence. And at such a crucial time in her life, she could hardly tolerate lapses in character or judgment. She needed to settle upon a husband—soon, while the choice was still hers to make. Every Season that she remained unmarried forced her toward a moment when she would no longer have choices available to her. Her beauty would one day fade and she would no longer be the master of her own fate with the world as her oyster and every man an option. Every Season that she remained unmarried brought her a bit closer to losing control and her future would no longer be hers to influence.

The Earl of Bristol was an unwarranted complication and a wholly unwelcome distraction.

And of all the evenings to be distracted—this was certainly not one of them. Ambrosia knew the motives behind tonight’s ball all too well. She had seen the guest list, a flagrant display of influential parental match-making. All of London’s finest bachelors would be in attendance. Lord and Lady Tisdale couldn’t have been more obvious than if they had placed her upon a silver platter and presented her at dinner to a room full of men.

Her fourth Season.

And there could not be a fifth.

A knock at the door startled her back to the task at hand.

“Oh, Lilly,” Ambrosia breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

“Of course it’s me. Who else would it have been?”

“Mama,” Ambrosia answered bluntly. “Rose maybe?”

“Or worse, Tamsin.” Lilly settled into the chaise facing the vanity. “You’re lucky she’s not yet old enough to attend. I fully expect the girl will shock us all and make her debut in a pair of breeches.” She hesitated before continuing on. “Is everything all right? You seem nervous.”

Ambrosia balked, dismissing the accusation with the back of her hand. “Don’t be absurd. I am certainly not
nervous
. After all, I never get nervous.” She bit her lip. “But it is incredibly warm. I dare say I am absolutely wilting from this heat. A lady never wilts . . . or perspires for that matter. Good gracious, why is it so warm in here? Is the fireplace lit?”

Lilly eyed her suspiciously. “It’s nothing but embers. And
I
do not feel warm.”

“If it gets any warmer, I’ll simply have to make my appearance clad only in my chemise and nothing else,” her voice had escalated and was bordering upon shrill.

Lilly picked up a fan from a nearby table and worked on creating a breeze. “Now, now, there’s no need for such rash behavior . . . or state of undress. Ambrosia, are you certain that you are not unwell? Your face is quite flushed. Perhaps it is your choice in gown? It does cover you quite completely from neck to ankles. And what is that fabric—wool? Or perhaps it is burlap?”

“I would appreciate it if you could please stop harassing me regarding my choice in gowns. I looked like a common Cyprian in the last one you chose for me. This is a proper gown, with a
proper
cut. All questionable parts are
properly
contained.”

“Properly hideous. What is that color? Baby excrement? Is that what is popular on the continent right now?”

Ambrosia looked down at what she had regarded as
dark mint
colored sleeves. “What is wrong with the color? It’s a lovely shade of green.”

“Lovely? Your gown looks seasick. Now heed my warning—that color will most certainly repel men. Is that what you want? To actually
repel
men?”

“Of course not. I want nothing more than to find a suitable husband, tonight if at all possible. What else would you have me wear?”

Lilly made her way into the closet and came out with an ivory gown with gold trim about the skirt and bodice. “This gown is divine! You absolutely must wear this one. I’d change into it myself if I had the figure you do.”

Ambrosia took the dress without dispute, slipped behind a screen, and began undressing.

“Are you sure you won’t tell me what’s wrong?” Lilly asked, handing Ambrosia a matching ribbon.

Ambrosia popped her head out from an ornately painted dressing screen, eyebrow raised. “Whatever leads you to believe there is something wrong?”

Lilly grinned proudly. “Because you just took my advice without any argument whatsoever. You, Ambrosia Tisdale have the firmest personality of anyone I have ever met. To see you so easily swayed is both uplifting and eerily disturbing.”

Ambrosia quickly came out from behind the screen for her sister to assist her in fastening the gown. The ivory of the dress did compliment her peaches and cream coloring, while the cut hugged her figure quite closely. The light played off the elaborate gold embroidery, drawing attention to all her best assets. Her hair was piled high upon her head with an ivory ribbon weaving its way in contrast through her thick, dark curls. She retook her seat at the vanity while her maid strategically placed gold beads throughout her chestnut tresses as she sorted through her collection of gold and diamond jewelry.

“I suppose I am a bit anxious about finding a husband. I thought I had more time, yet I do not. Tamsin is close to coming of age and being introduced into society. I must accept an offer soon or step aside for the other girls.”

Lilly folded her arms over her chest. “I wish I knew what it is that you’ve been waiting for. With all the offers you’ve received, how could you possibly find reason to refuse every single one? If it is a fear of matrimony, let me put your mind at ease. There is something particularly reassuring about being off the market and no longer having to worry about finding a husband. When I fell in love, it was as if a great burden was lifted off my shoulders.”

“Tell me again about your courtship with Lord Colton.” Ambrosia slipped a gold bangle over her ivory glove. “What made you certain that he was indeed the man you wanted to spend your life with? Because quite honestly, at this point, there are very few I can imagine spending more than a dance with, let alone an eternity.”

Lilly exhaled deeply and her gaze drifted off as she slipped into some romantic reverie. “At the time I didn’t believe it to be obvious, but on reflection I was a fool not to have seen it sooner.”

“So, it was love at first site then? Like in one of those gothic novels Rose used to hide under her mattress.”

“Quite the opposite, actually.”

Ambrosia slipped on a dainty gold slipper. “What do you mean? You just said it was obvious.”

Lilly straightened a wrinkle out of her gown, smoothing the taffeta down repeatedly as she spoke. “It was obvious only in the fact that it was hardly subtle. I’m afraid the whole thing was most uncomfortable. It wasn’t suddenly disabling, but rather it came on more gradually, much like a chronic condition of sorts.”

“Love as a chronic condition?”

“Well, yes,” Lillian continued to explain. “I would tremble horribly whenever he was near me. My mouth would become dry, my back would sweat. I would have an overwhelming sense of nausea whenever he came about. Not to mention I behaved like an incomparable idiot. The whole thing was most dreadful.”

“That doesn’t sound like love. It sounds like ague.”

Lilly paid no mind to the remark. She was used to her sister’s derision. “Well, I told you it was a chronic condition of sorts. I have to admit that it does sound a bit like illness, but I assure you, even when it was the most uncomfortable, it was also the most wonderful feeling I ever had.”

Ambrosia was skeptical. “So you were
ill
with love? Sounds exhilarating. I can hardly wait.”

“Why are you asking about this now?” Lilly asked, taking it upon herself to sample Ambrosia’s perfume, spritzing liberally across the bosom. “Is there a certain man whom you hope will make you feel all those wonderfully dreadful feelings?”

Ambrosia turned her attention back to perfecting her appearance. “Well, there are plenty of men whom make me ill, but I am afraid none for the better.” She stood up and spun around for the benefit of her sister’s appraisal. “What do you think of all your hard work? Am I finally acceptable?”

Lilly clasped her hands together enthusiastically. “Magnificent! You look almost Grecian with your hair arranged like that. A true goddess! I simply cannot fathom how any man could possibly resist you. You are truly a beauty and I am certain tonight you will finally decide your husband.” She reached over and took Ambrosia’s hands in her own. “You realize Mama has the highest hopes for you tonight?”

She took a deep breath. “I assumed as much.”

“She’s gone through the trouble to pad the guest list with every eligible bachelor left in London.”

Ambrosia dismissed the comment with a flip of her hand. “All of whom I’m sure I’ve met before. She desperately needs to find new stock if she expects me to settle down anytime soon.”

Lilly cast her sister a sideways glance. “Are you positive there isn’t anything else the matter?”

She put on a brave smile, uncomfortable with this new sense of vulnerability. “No, of course there isn’t.” She needed to marry, her prospects were drying up, and the Earl of Bristol was complicating an already complicated situation. “Things are practically perfect.”