Compromising Miss Tisdale (21 page)

Ambrosia bit her lip. “Perhaps the men would prefer to explore on their own?”

“Nonsense!” William exclaimed. “It would give us all a chance to become better acquainted.”

Better acquainted
? Ambrosia feared the consequences of such a prediction. Luckily, the footman announced a visitor so she had no time to dwell on all the possible implications of such a remark.

Chapter 20

“He’s lost it all!” Amelia sobbed, collapsing in a heap of frills upon the sofa.

Ambrosia reached over and began stroking her curls. “You can’t just keep repeating yourself over and over. Who lost it? And what exactly is it that’s been lost?”

Lady Middlebury had accepted her invitation to the Tisdales’ yearly house party as she had every year since she was old enough to visit without the company of parents. Ambrosia had barely entered the salon where her friend waited before she was assaulted by the wails of an inconsolable woman.

She had found Amelia in hysterics, wailing over a tray of pastries.

Howling, really.

“Oh, Ambrosia! How could he?”

Ambrosia kept petting. “I suppose it would help if I knew exactly whom
he
was.”

Amelia sat up and wiped her nose with the back of a gloved hand. “Why, James of course.”

“James?” Ambrosia repeated, staring in dismay at the glove in question.

“Of course it’s James! You don’t think my husband would be foolish enough to lose our fortune, do you?”

“Um, of course not,” Ambrosia stammered, not quite certain as to the correct answer.

“James lost it all! The home in Sussex, the cottage in Kent, the townhome in London—he’s got paper all over London. We have only a few estates left.” Amelia took a bite of a cracker, sending crumbs flying all about both their laps.

Ambrosia tried to dust off the mess. “But how?”

“He’s a gambler. Cards, investments—the fool doesn’t have a lick of sense when it comes to any of it.”

“But when? I thought your family was well off?”

Amelia took another messy bite. “Everyone did. It wasn’t till a couple of years ago that I began to suspect there might be a problem. He came to me, asking for money. He told me his primary source of income had unexpectedly stopped.”

“Did you give it to him?” Ambrosia asked, in a state of shock from the unexpected forthcoming.

Amelia shook her head. “He’s my brother. I gave him what I had saved from my allowance, but my husband would never consent to something like that. He doesn’t believe in loaning family money. Says it sets a poor precedent. You know how strict my Lord Middlebury is.”

Ambrosia handed her another handkerchief. Middlebury wasn’t necessarily strict, but rather wise as to Kenning’s reputation. “That’s not the end of it, is it?”

Amelia patted at her nose. “If it was, do you think I’d be here now?” she barked.

Ambrosia folded her hands in her lap, opting for silence.

“Then a few weeks ago, he had come to me asking for money again. That’s when he told me about the wagers and how he was forced to put up some of the deeds to our homes as collateral on loans. He promised me he had a profitable investment in the works and he just needed another loan to get him through. He gave me this card and told me to present this man with the proper finances or else. Can you imagine?” Amelia thrust the card at Ambrosia.

She ran her finger over the embossed name of the solicitor. The address was in a rather deplorable part of London—a far cry from Mayfair, to say the least.

Ambrosia cautiously refrained from speaking.

“Well, aren’t you going to inquire about what happened next?” Amelia whined.

Ambrosia took a deep breath. “What happened next, Amelia?” She implored rather unbelievably. There was just no winning in a situation such as this.

“I lied to my husband! I told him I needed the money for a charitable contribution. For your silly Ladies’ club!”

“And did he believe you?” Ambrosia knew the story was implausible—Amelia would never willingly donate to anyone.
She
was the only charity she believed in financing.

Amelia nodded. “Yes, and he was quite pleased. He’s forever encouraging me to be more philanthropic. Whatever that means.”

Ambrosia handed her a cake, which she accepted without hesitation.

“James came back last night. He said he simply wanted to visit, only he neglected to bring his wife, so his presence was suspect to say the least. I should have locked the door. Then he asked for even more money this time, citing the same nonsense how he’d be coming into a fortune soon enough. When I refused, he threatened to tell my husband about the last money I loaned him unless I give him what he wants.”

Ambrosia was speechless.

“Say something!” Amelia shouted.

Ambrosia swallowed. What did a lady say in the face of familial blackmail?

“You have to tell your husband.”

Amelia childishly stuck out her bottom lip. “Say something else!”

Ambrosia sat back into the sofa. “I will not. You came to me because you wanted to know the right thing to do. Well, honesty is clearly the only way to correct this situation. Surely, your husband will understand that you are the victim and perhaps he can right this entire situation with James.”

Amelia exhaled deeply, her shoulders sinking. “I knew you’d say something like that. You’re always rambling on about what is right and such nonsense.”

She smiled in return. “Which is why you’ve come to me. I am your moral compass.”

Amelia shook her head, adding bounce back to the blond curls that had been mashed down. “I promise not to let this unfortunate turn of events spoil our time this week. I just love your mother’s parties.”

Ambrosia nodded. “I understand. But you must speak with your husband before the situation becomes even more dire.”

Amelia looked down at her hands. “I know James is depending upon our familial bond to see him through. He believes that simply being related prohibits me from any rash behavior. But it’s strange what happens when you fall in love.”

“What’s strange?” Ambrosia asked earnestly.

Amelia stood up and starting smoothing down her gown. “I used to think that I would do practically anything for my family, but I simply cannot betray my husband. There was a time I would have sided with James no matter what. But at the same time, I know I will forgive my brother for his behavior. Not anytime soon, mind you, but one day.”

Ambrosia escorted her friend out of the room. “Love makes us act in the strangest of ways,” she said casually.

Amelia stopped. “Are you in love, then?” she squealed, eliciting stares from the surrounding staff whom were busy polishing the banister.

Ambrosia stopped and contemplated her friend’s accusation. It was not a mere question—Amelia had made a damning statement. And when confronted with the truth, even if the bearer were a perky, ringlet headed blond, the words were almost prophetic. Could love cause someone to change even their strongest held ideals? Could love change even the hardest conditioned behavior?

English weather was shrewd, reserving her finer days like a miser with a ha’ penny.

Duncan looked out onto the impeccably manicured grounds from the library’s window, the rain pounding down against the glass. The house party was not going as he had anticipated. He had planned to be indifferent, to walk around with the same sense of bravado that he’d adopted since first being left on his own. But indifference was becoming harder and harder to maintain. The last few days at Brightly had left him feeling . . . changed.

In all his years, he hadn’t imagined families like the Tisdales existing. As a child, he wanted nothing but some sort of attention from his mother and father. They, however, were far too involved in themselves to ever notice, so he would simply barricade himself within his nursery and conjure up images of his ideal family. Even his make-believe ideal paled in comparison against the reality of the Tisdales. Amongst the ton, families like the Tisdales were a deviation from the established norm. Husbands of thirty years didn’t flirt with their wives like the Viscount flirted with his. The round, ruddy faced man practically chased his bride like a lecher chases a young parlor maid. Young, virile men like Lord Colton didn’t stay faithful and devote themselves as whole heartedly as the Adonis had to Lillian. Young girls, who didn’t pay attention to fashion plates and preferred a hard run on a stallion to a leisurely stroll in the park like young Tamsin, surely did not really exist amongst London society. And even bookish Rose was a rarity amongst her peers, who typically couldn’t hold a conversation or claim to be nearly as knowledgeable as the youngest Tisdale.

And then there was Ambrosia.

A family like that didn’t need someone disrupting their lives. A woman like her didn’t need to fall for a man like him.

He didn’t turn when he heard the door to the library open. Rather, he sensed her arrival with every fiber of his being. Duncan inhaled deeply, the scent of mint preceding the girl he was certain would follow. All at once, his senses came alive. His ears detected every sound, listening intently for the whisper of silk slippers crossing the tasseled rugs. The coarse black hair on his arms stood up, anticipating her proximity. He turned, only when he could no longer stand the suspense.

She startled, stepping back before stepping forward.

“Lord Bristol,” she acknowledged frostily.

The location was not lost on him. He could feel his abdomen tighten at the memory.

Libraries
. The smell of leather-lined volumes would forever more trigger a hardening in his trousers.

“Miss Tisdale,” he returned. “No pianoforte today?”

“This isn’t Wednesday,” she said as if he were gravely mistaken, rather than mocking as he had intended. “I thought this afternoon I could sneak into the library and steal a few books. I apologize for disturbing you. I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”

He nodded toward the weathered trunk set near one of the desks. “I wish I weren’t, but duty calls.”

She did not speak an acknowledgement, instead made her way toward one of the shelves and quickly removed two books.

“Please, don’t rush on my account.” He peered out toward the pond from between the heavy velvet drapes again. “Arduous work, reviewing accounts and such. I’ve only just opened the one book and I’m already thoroughly bored with it.”

“It’s not as bad as all that. I find numbers to be cathartic. There’s peace in the absolutism of arithmetic. There is always a correct answer and no ambiguity—quite a change from everyday life.”

He dropped the curtain and allowed his gaze to casually graze over his shoulder. “If you find reviewing ledgers so enjoyable, then I do say, Miss Tisdale, you really should get out more.”

He saw her struggling to repress a smile and he felt a tugging at his chest that he blamed on whatever he’d had for midday meal. Ambrosia had worn a gown of white muslin, her hair pinned in a casual chignon at the base of her neck. Her skin was a shade darker than cream, a unique trait amongst a population that prided itself on its fish-belly pallor. She looked like summer.

Duncan cleared his throat and looked back out the window. “It seems fitting, though,” he declared in his best attempt at the ennui so prevalent amongst his peers.

Ambrosia hugged her books against her chest. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

He shrugged, sensing her defenses going up again. A part of him knew he was goading her and welcomed her pique as opposed to her indifference. “I meant nothing except that I would expect someone as regimented as you would enjoy a task so monotonous.”

She did not seem happy about the comment, frowning so that small lines gathered at the corners of her mouth.

How he wanted to kiss them.

“Lord Bristol, it is not the monotony that I find enjoyable, but rather the predictability. Is that such a bad thing? To know what to expect? Personally, I find it rather comforting.”

“But boring,” he countered.

“Of course you would say that.”

Duncan leaned against the wall by the window and crossed his ankles in front of him. “And by that, what are you implying?”

She jutted her chin out. “You’ve said it yourself. You are a rake and thrive upon spontaneity and throwing caution to the wind. Obviously, you love to be shocking. Isn’t that why you don’t subscribe to all the latest fashions? And your gambling? It’s all for shock value, isn’t it? The public brawling, showing up late to every event, even your mistress?” Ambrosia had whispered the last word almost inaudibly, but the very fact that she had actually uttered those most improper syllables made him stand to attention.

So, obviously, she did subscribe to
some
gossip.

“Mistresses,” was all he said in rebuttal.

Ambrosia’s eyebrow raised inquiringly. “Pardon me?”

“Mistresses—plural. Having one mistress is hardly shocking. But having several certainly does make an impression.”

Duncan gave her a moment to get over her surprise. “Are you angry at me?”

Ambrosia opened her mouth to say something, but quickly shut it. Her nose flared a bit as she visibly relaxed her shoulders. “Should I be?”

He knew this game. And she wasn’t very good at it. “Is this about what happened in the garden? Do you feel wronged in some way? Is that why you’re mad?”

“Of course not,” she answered nonchalantly as if she had this kind of conversation daily. “What happened in the garden was of no consequence, I assure you. You made no promises, I held no preconceived notions—I know exactly what kind of man you are. You made that abundantly clear.”

“Most women appreciate honesty.”

“And I do. Your honesty was . . . refreshing. If only all men could be so
damn
honest.”

The tension in the room had just shifted from uncomfortably palpable to wholly suffocating, when Lillian burst into the room. A tornado of taffeta and energy, she had entered rambling something about traveling out of doors obviously meant for Ambrosia. She saw Duncan at the window and instantly quieted. “I apologize, was I disturbing anything?” she asked with feigned innocence, looking between the two of them.