by Cheryl Bolen
Unwanted suitor? "Did you fob off Sir Edmund on your poor brother?" Phillip murmured.
"Don't be ridiculous." She averted her gaze and picked up her pace.
"You did, but you do not want to admit it."
“Balderdash.”
Phillip chuckled as she stalked ahead of him. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be running away."
She stopped, crossing her arms impatiently while he caught up. "It is cold. I am trying to warm up, and we've fallen behind."
"I know how to warm you." He stood facing her, much too close for propriety and not near enough to satisfy the longing she'd awakened in him. "May I touch you?"
A small breath cloud drifted from her parted lips. He waited, holding still. Talking and laughter from the other guests grew fainter as the gap widened. The lantern light dimmed. Soon they would be left in darkness, but he waited.
Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "You may."
He removed his gloves, tucked them into his greatcoat pocket, and slowly reached for the top frog on her pelisse. She had neglected to fasten it. The backs of his fingers brushed against the luxurious velvet. She swayed toward him. He slid his hand to cup her cold cheek, his fingertips tucking into her winter bonnet to touch her silken hair.
"Is that better, my lady?"
"Yes," she answered breathlessly.
The drive to kiss her surged through his veins and trembled in his limbs. Once again, he found himself in a predicament. Ambrosia must choose him, definitively. He couldn't make assumptions.
"Thank you for sending Sir Edmund away," he murmured.
"You are not fond of him and I sensed...” Her tongue nervously flicked over her lips. “Is it uncomfortable to speak of the war, Phillip?"
Her inquiry was sincere and sensitive, but the memories it stirred weren't conducive to romance. He sighed and withdrew his hand. "I prefer not to dwell on my time abroad, but it depends on who asks. Sir Edmund is a stranger."
She blinked and dropped her gaze. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry for prying."
He should offer reassurance and explain he didn't view her as he did Sir Edmund, but it was easier to change the subject. "We should join the others before they send a search party." He offered his arm, not wishing to leave her with the impression she had angered him, and injected as much humor into his tone as he could muster. "I might have to take more drastic measures to warm you while we wait to be found."
"How ominous that sounds.” She linked arms with Phillip, feigning a shiver for dramatic effect, and spoke of lighter topics. "No one asked about my talents."
"An unpardonable oversight that I would like to correct. What are your special talents, my lady?" Aside from casting a spell on a man from the moment he meets you?
"I'm not sure I should say. Only my sisters know."
"Then I am doubly honored you are bringing me into your confidence."
She laughed—a tentative, nervous sound—and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I write stories for children, about Mr. Perkins and his adventures."
"That is a marvelous talent. Why do you keep it secret?"
She shook her head and laughed again. "I don't know. Maybe because I am afraid my writing is rubbish."
"I assume your sisters have read your stories. What do they say?"
"What any good sisters would say. They love Mr. Perkins's adventures. Laurel thinks I should ask Papa to help find a publisher for my stories, but I know they are not good enough for publication."
He drew her closer as a wave of protectiveness swelled beneath his breastbone. "I suspect you are too close to the project to be objective. Perhaps you would allow me to read your books. I already love the protagonist. How could I not enjoy his adventures?"
"Maybe I will, someday."
Someday hinted they had a future. He would accept it.
When they caught up to the others outside of the neighbors' home, the carolers were starting the first song. Phillip and Ambrosia lent their voices to God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen midway through the first verse. She was possibly one of the worst singers he had ever heard, but she was enthusiastic, smiling, and undeniably adorable.
And another piece of his heart was lost to her.
After three songs, the neighbors invited the carolers inside for refreshments. Welcoming fires crackled in the great room hearths, and a long table adorned with the finest white linens had been set up in the middle of one wall. Silver trays and china platters held an assortment of petit fours, biscuits, and sandwiches.
A pianoforte had been set up in the corner. A young woman, possibly one of the daughters of the house, sat on the bench to play lightly while everyone filled plates and mingled with one another. Sir Edmund found Ambrosia to resume conversation, and although she was polite and charming, she only strayed from Phillip's side when her sister Laurel requested her. He lost sight of the women when they headed into the corridor.
Sir Edmund's pleasant smile vanished. "I believe pressing my suit would be an ill use of my time," he said without rancor. "I am standing down. No need to thank me."
Phillip ground his teeth. For a man who'd professed his devotion to the lady forty-eight hours earlier, Sir Edmund's surrender had come too easily. His lack of fortitude and arrogance reinforced Phillip's poor opinion of him.
"Perhaps it is in the lady's best interests," he said evenly. "Lady Ambrosia deserves a steadfast mate."
Sir Edmund shrugged off the challenge to his character. “I am certain she will have one.”
Turning on his heel, he strolled toward the young woman sitting at the pianoforte. When Ambrosia returned, she didn't seem to notice his absence. She hooked Phillip's arm.
"Come with me. I want to introduce you to our hosts."
He hesitated a moment before giving himself over to Ambrosia's care, trusting her to guide him into a world that felt foreign now. Her ease with social graces and ability to engage with the other guests melted the frozen knot in his chest, and although he couldn't say he was enjoying himself, socializing was easier with her at his side. By evening's end, he'd begun to relax and was disappointed when it was time to say goodnight to her.
The lad Charlie was waiting for him when Phillip retired to his bedchamber. His valet apprentice was a quick study, and he set to work helping Phillip remove his boots and polished them until they gleamed. After Charlie left, Phillip removed his cravat and was hanging his jacket and waistcoat in the wardrobe when the lock to the hidden passage dragged against wood.
Orion dashed inside and leapt on the bed. Ambrosia stood in the opening, dressed for bed and a sheath of papers clutched to her chest. "Since I had my turn the last two nights, it only seemed fair to bring Mr. Perkins to you."
She held back, biting her bottom lip.
His heart expanded. "Have you come to read me a bedtime story?"
"I don't know. Maybe." She frowned. "It has been a long day. Should I go?"
He crossed the room and took her hand to coax her inside. "You should definitely stay. I'll not be able to rest knowing I missed a chance to hear you read of Mr. Perkins's adventures."
A pink blush infused her cheeks. He longed to kiss her until she forgot to be nervous, but once he started, he wasn't certain he could stop. She trusted him like he had placed his faith in her earlier. He wanted to be as worthy of that trust as she.
"You have nothing to fear, Ambrosia. I will love your story." How could he not when he was so deeply smitten with the author?
Chapter 10
Ammie woke with Mr. Perkins softly snoring at the foot of the bed. The room was cold, and she'd fallen asleep on top of the counterpane. Sunlight fell across her face and illuminated the unfamiliar burgundy wall coverings. She blinked, disoriented by the changes in her bedchamber. As the haziness of sleep began to clear, she gasped and bolted upright.
Phillip leapt from the bed with a guttural growl, his fists raised. His gaze shot wildly around the room. Sleep had rumpled his shirt and trousers and left his dark brown hair flattened
on one side. The rest rose like spikes from his head.
"Phillip, it is Ambrosia. We fell asleep."
As recognition filtered across his face, he dropped his fists.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and woke the dog, too. "I need to hurry before Laurel wakes. Where are my papers?"
Phillip plowed his hand through his hair, turning toward the side table by the chair. "Over here." His voice was rough from sleep. They had been up most of the night talking.
He gathered the sheets of her story while Ammie found her slippers. She had been too shy to read her stories aloud, so Phillip had done the honors, reading all four, one right after the other. Afterward, he'd spent a good hour singing her praises and asking about her ideas for future stories. She had been flattered by his genuine interest and stunned that he believed a publisher would be eager to put her words into print.
If you write a few more, he'd said, they could be published in a collection. He had connections at a publishing house he could contact on her behalf. Additionally, his close friend was a talented sketch artist.
But they are written for children, she had argued.
A good children's tale enchants the young, and the young at heart.
Ammie hadn't dreamed anything would ever come of her writing. Laurel was encouraging, of course, but Ammie's sister was hardly objective. When Phillip spoke enthusiastically about a future in publishing, she began to believe it was possible.
Phillip met her at the foot of the bed and passed the sheath of papers to her. "Thank you for sharing these with me," he said. "I am honored and serious about helping you."
Impulsively, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. "Thank you, Phillip. You have no idea how grateful I am."
His arms circled her, and they held each other longer than necessary. "I really should go," she said, reluctant to end the hug first.
He released her and smiled. "Yes, no more stalling. I am officially tossing you from my chambers." Gently, he turned her around by her shoulders and nudged her toward the hidden passage.
Mr. Perkins realized she was leaving and followed. "Your dog loves me better," she whispered, teasing.
He grinned. With his hair mussed, his smile lent him a boyish charm. "You spoil him terribly. How can I compete?"
Perhaps competition was unnecessary. If they were to marry...
The flicker of hope in her heart snuffed out as quickly as it had sparked. Her parents personally selected every bachelor attending the house party after a careful examination of reputations, finances, and connections. Every unmarried gentleman had received prior approval—all except Phillip. And Mama had taken a dislike to him immediately.
The backs of her eyes stung. "Leave the door open to light the way." She slipped into the dim corridor, not waiting for him to light a candle.
"Ambrosia, wait."
She hurried down the hidden passage, worried he might have seen tears building behind her eyes and not wishing to answer questions. At the secret entrance to her room, she took pains to open the wall panel slowly so it wouldn't creak. The curtains were drawn, and Laurel was lying still beneath the covers. Ammie tiptoed into the bedchamber. Mr. Perkins hopped on the bed.
"Where have you been?"
Ammie jumped. "Oh! D-did I wake you? I needed the chamber pot."
"I woke a while ago"—Laurel sat up, tucking the covers beneath her arms—“and you were missing. Where did you go in your nightclothes?"
Ammie's body flushed with heat. She never lied to her twin, and to be caught out made her cringe. With a resigned sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed and dropped her writing on the counterpane. "The major wanted to read my stories. I only meant to take Mr. Perkins to spend the night in his chambers and leave my manuscript, but Mr. Perkins wouldn't stay without me. Phillip and I fell asleep talking."
Laurel's dark eyebrows shot toward her hairline. "Phillip, is it?"
"It appears our truce has turned into friendship."
"You were happy at the lake cottage," Laurel said, "and I believe Major Rowland put that smile on your face. Are you certain it is only a friendship?"
"I'm not sure of anything anymore." Ammie fell backward across the bed and stared at the rose and green floral canopy. Mr. Perkins curled next to her, laying his head on her shoulder. "I think I might be falling in love with him. I don't know. It is too quick to fall in love, isn't it?"
Her twin smoothed her hand over Ammie's hair. Ever since they were little girls, they had comforted each other in this way. "The heart cannot tell time,” Laurel said. “Perhaps you should trust that it knows what it wants."
"I fear it is leading me toward heartbreak."
"How so?" As her sister's hand made another pass over her head, tension in her body began to melt.
"Papa would never approve of the match," Ammie said. "Phillip is not one of the suitors chosen for us, and it is obvious Mama does not care for him."
Laurel frowned. "She has been uncommonly rude to the major. Still, you have no idea what Papa will say until you speak with him."
Ammie rubbed her eyes; they felt gritty from too little sleep. "Law, I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe Phillip doesn't feel the same about me. Why poke the bee hive for no reason?"
"Well, there you are wrong," Laurel said. "Even Julius noticed the major is smitten, and our brother is oblivious to anything that doesn't involve him."
"He is rather boorish at times." Ammie blinked her sister's upside down face into focus. "Tell me what to do, please. Is it wise to take a chance on Phillip? He hinted he would be willing to sell his commission, but what if he doesn't? I would worry myself sick if he was sent abroad. Maybe it would be best to encourage Sir Edmund's suit and protect my heart."
"Do you want to marry Sir Edmund?"
In London, she'd thought she could learn to care for him, and even though the gentleman had done nothing wrong, she would never feel for him what she did for Phillip. "No," Ammie murmured. “I don’t want to marry him.”
“Then you mustn’t.”
Ammie and her sister were silent for several moments, each lost in their own thoughts. “It would not be good for Phillip either,” she said eventually, “being sent abroad again. He doesn’t talk about the war, but I think it still haunts him.”
"If you are truly seeking my advice, you should talk to the major. Ask if he plans to sell his commission and share your worries. And do it for him, whether you have a future or not. As you said, you are friends. He might not realize what the war has done to him."
As usual, her sister was right, but it wouldn't be an easy conversation. She reached for Laurel's hand and drew it to her lips for a kiss. "Thank you. You always steer me toward the correct course."
Her sister’s shoulders drooped and her face fell. "I wish I knew the right one for me."
"What is wrong?" Ammie sat up. She'd been no better than Julius, thinking only of herself. "Oh, dear. Forgive me. I've been too wrapped up in my own troubles lately."
"No, it is silly." Her sister drew the sleeve of her nightrail across her eyes to dry them. "I am tired. That is all."
"You always do this.” She shook her sister’s arm to get her attention. Laurel lifted her gaze. “Let me help you for once."
Laurel scoffed. "Unless you have a love potion hidden someplace, there is nothing you can do."
"To use on you or someone else?" Admittedly, Ammie hadn't been paying close attention, but she couldn't recall seeing Laurel more than once with any of the gentlemen staying at Everly Manor.
"For me.” Laurel rolled her eyes. "I think a magic spell is my only hope. Not a single man here seems capable of carrying on a decent conversation. All they wish to discuss is the weather or how flattering blue or green or yellow is on me. The other night Lord Kensingly wouldn't stop fussing over my gown, so I offered to loan it to him."
A shocked laugh burst from Ammie. Her sister smiled.
"I would have loved to have seen the look on his face," Ammie said.
"It doesn't hurt that our younger sister is able to get away with it either." Ammie sobered thinking about their situation. "I don't want to appear ungrateful for this opportunity Papa and Mama arranged for us, but perhaps we should be honest about the men they have chosen. Knowing how close our parents are, I cannot imagine they would want to see us settle for unfulfilling matches."
"No, of course they wouldn't, although it will be disappointing news." Laurel twined a strand of her own hair around her finger, a sign of her nerves trying to get the better of her. "Do you think they will listen?"
"If we stand together, I believe they will." Ammie climbed from bed to summon their lady's maid. Their family would be gathering in the breakfast room soon, and tardiness would invite questions she didn't care to answer. "Shall we request an audience after breakfast?"
"Yes." Laurel's exhale seemed shaky. "I suppose it is better to resolve the matter quickly."
Ammie and her sister never had a chance to pose the request, however, because they were ordered to their father's study before they left their bedchamber. Ammie was first to be called on the carpet.
Mama crossed her arms, her face very stern. "Did you and Sir Edmund have a row?"
The question knocked her off center and she stammered a denial.
"Are you certain?" Mama narrowed her eyes; Ammie's temper flared.
"Whatever would we find to argue about, Mama? We don’t know each other well enough to become cross with one another."
"Then perhaps you have another explanation for Sir Edmund leaving early this morning. The stable boy reported his carriage left at dawn."
Ammie gaped. He'd said nothing to her about his plans.
Laurel cleared her throat, coming to Ammie's rescue. "Perhaps he and Miss Raby reached an agreement last night. Once Sarah was seated at the pianoforte, Sir Edmund couldn't keep his eyes off her. He lingered after everyone else returned to Everly Manor."