Compromising Miss Tisdale

by Jessica Jefferson

  Duncan chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. “In so many words, yes.”

  He shrugged. “Should be simple enough.”

  Duncan laughed outwardly now. “Simple? You call that simple?”

  James arched an eyebrow. “Such a quandary is hardly original to noblemen like us.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Your predicament is nothing new. Men of our station have been combating that very issue for years. And the solution is hardly novel. I’m quite surprised someone with your acumen hadn’t thought of it earlier.”

  “Clearly, I am ignorant, so please enlighten me.”

  “You need to marry.”

  Duncan deflated. “Is that all?”

  “Well, you can’t marry just anyone. She must be rich, but not noveau riche. And her family must be prominent. She needn’t be from a ducal house necessarily, but with rivaling status in its age and reputation. And since you’re such a cad, your wife will need to be the picture of morality. We’re talking the personification of righteousness-no skeletons in the closet, no relatives from the other side of the blanket, no scandals amongst third cousins. The gossip rags must have nothing on her or her family.”

  Duncan felt his nostrils flair. “Yes, simple indeed. So, where exactly do you suggest I find this rich Lady Madonna?”

  A slow smile crept up James’ face. “You’ve already met her.”

  Confused, Duncan thought for a moment. Then he smacked into the great stone wall of realization at what his friend was implying. “Miss Tisdale? You’re suggesting I marry Miss Tisdale? The Miss Tisdale who you just finished telling me is waiting for the perfect husband–who no doubt has far more prestige and fortune than I?” Duncan turned and started walking back toward the curtain. “You’re cracked!”

  “Wait!” James called after him.

  Duncan stopped and turned around. “I have no time for foolishness or games.”

  “But it’s not foolish. Ambrosia Tisdale is everything I described. You’d have to scour the globe to find a finer candidate. It’s her fourth Season and with her younger sister Tamsin coming up behind her, the timing couldn’t be better.”

  “And how do you propose I convince her to marry me when she’s refused so many before? Hmmm?”

  James shrugged nonchalantly. “Don’t give her a choice.”

  “And how do you suggest I do that? Render her unconscious and steal her away to Gretna?”

  “Don’t be absurd, that would take far too much effort. You’ll simply have to find a way to compromise Miss Tisdale.”

  “Compromise Miss Tisdale? And you have the audacity to call me absurd.”

  James was beaming now. “Think back to an hour ago. If you had been anyone else, Miss Tisdale’s reputation would have been in shreds after being discovered in my arms. It doesn’t matter the circumstance, but rather the appearance of impropriety that can ruin any woman. All it would take is an unescorted walk through a garden, or simply a stolen kiss in a dark hallway. If you were to be seen by the right people, at the most favorable time, she would have no choice but to marry you.”

  Duncan took another swig from the tin flask. “What if the girl simply has no desire to marry? What then?”

  “Would it matter? She has something you need and will be no worse off after you take it. You’ve said it yourself a thousand times-all women want is a good name and a proper allowance. You have the former. And after you marry, her dowry will provide you with the latter. After you’ve secured her hand and fortune, you can deposit her at an estate somewhere and go on about living your own lives. Isn’t that what married couples always do? You’ll have everything you need, plus the added benefit of retaining your current lifestyle. If only every man could be so lucky.”

  Duncan wasn’t sure if it was the brandy or the argument, but the daft proposition was beginning to sound almost reasonable.

  “After how I’ve treated her, I doubt there’s even the slimmest of possibilities the chit will give me a second glance, let alone another opportunity.”

  “If anyone can tempt a woman like Miss Tisdale, rest assured, it is you. Your late father is still being lauded at White’s for his prowess, and I’ve seen you in action enough times to know that you’ve clearly inherited his skill. Simply convince her that you care, using your Maddox charm, then when she least suspects it, compromise her discreetly enough not to make the papers, but completely enough to secure a marriage.”

  Duncan’s conscience was beginning to make a rare appearance, casting doubt on the proposal. “Why don’t I just try to garner affection in a more traditional manner? I could make her fall in love with me so that she marries me willingly? Lord knows I’ve had enough doe-eyed girls follow me about. How difficult could it be?”

  James shook his head. “That will never work. Besides, even if you were successful, it would take far too long. Women take forever to woo when done properly. And there is that dreaded social custom that dictates a rather lengthy period of betrothal. You need to marry quickly.”

  James looked Duncan square in the eyes. “You said you owed your Uncle as much. He hasn’t long to live. What other options do you have?”

  Duncan exhaled deeply.

  He hadn’t any.

  Chapter 8

  “Why are we even discussing this? Obviously, I hadn’t any.”

  Tamsin Tisdale crossed her arms over her chest. The petulant girl of ten and seven stood in the middle of the family’s jonquil drawing room, red hair wild about her shoulders and mud spattered across the hem of her dress from an afternoon ride.

  Ambrosia took a calming breath, setting her tea cup back on its saucer. “That is not true, Tamsin. A lady always has options. In particular, she always has the option to walk away. You know good and well that you should not have engaged in such ill-bred behavior, and certainly not in the middle of Hyde Park. If you won’t be more considerate of your own reputation, I do hope you will at least be respectful of the rest of the family’s.”

  “But you should have heard her go on like she did. The ninny wouldn’t stop boasting, so I suggested a few alternative activities.”

  “None of which are fit to be repeated in the company of a lady. Really, Tamsin, what would papa say?” Rose said quietly, but firmly, from her position on a tufted ottoman, as she set her embroidery to the side.

  Ambrosia raised an eyebrow at her youngest sister. “Rose, it looks as if you’ve only completed half your stitches. I realize that you would like to get back to your books, but a lady must become skilled in a variety of pursuits, not just the ones she likes best.”

  She then turned her attention back to the fiery red-head. “Where was your decorum, Tamsin? What if word of your behavior gets out?”

  “There’s no need to worry. I used large words and intelligent insults so there’s a decent chance she didn’t even realize she was being insulted.”

  “Intelligent or otherwise, you should not have engaged in such behavior in public.” A new voice entered the conversation. “Now, in private-that’s a different matter altogether.”

  The girls looked toward the doorway as their mother, Flora Tisdale, regally entered the room in a sumptuous gown of red and gold. She was far overdressed for an afternoon at home, but that was Flora.

  Ambrosia rubbed her temples. Her mother was a generous hostess, loyal friend, and loving mother-but hardly ever a proper disciplinarian. “Mama,” she politely scolded in her ever-calm voice, “engaging in confrontation is never acceptable. Publicly or privately.”

  “That Merriweather chit deserves every bit of what she got, especially if she’s anything like her wretched mother. But again, not in such a public place.” Flora sat on the sofa closest to Ambrosia and arranged her skirts. “Now, girls, run along up upstairs. Ambrosia, be a dear and do ring for some more tea?”

  Ambrosia did as instructed. “Mama, you allow far too much. Tamsin has grown most incorrigible. It’s getting worse the closer she gets to coming out. Her manners are atrocious,
her language offensive . . . I can’t even begin to imagine where she’s learned such things.”

  “From your father. The same person you once learned it from.”

  Ambrosia chose not to dignify that last remark with a response and watched her mother motion to a footman, who responded by delivering a tray of correspondence. She quickly scanned through the pile, stopping at one letter in particular. She excitedly picked up a gold letter opener and made quick work of the seal.

  “What is it?” Ambrosia asked, curious as to the reason for her mother’s unusual enthusiasm regarding the post.

  Flora smiled slyly. “It’s a reply to an invitation I sent out.”

  Ambrosia helped herself to a cup of tea from the freshly delivered service. “To our ball? I had assumed everyone who was coming had already responded. Who on earth would have the bad manners to respond with such late notice?”

  “The Earl of Bristol.”

  Ambrosia tried to keep the hot beverage from spraying out her mouth, but ended up dribbling it down the front of her rose and cream striped muslin gown instead. “The Earl of Bristol?” she repeated, frantically dabbing at the spots with her napkin.

  “Of course. It was the Duke of Kenning’s idea. Besides, we’ve always invited his Uncle and brother, so it was only fitting Lord Bristol be invited as well. Neither one of them has ever been terribly social, but I do hope the new Earl is different in that regard.”

  “What of his parents? Did we not invite them?” Ambrosia asked, curiosity piqued by the mention of the Maddox family.

  “That would be a different matter altogether. The previous Lord and Lady Bristol had removed themselves from polite society, so I hardly ever saw them.”

  Ambrosia was intrigued, but hated to pry. “Removed themselves, you say?” she asked casually.

  Her mother laughed. “Curious? Would you care for me to elaborate?”

  Ambrosia straightened her back. “It would not be gossip if you simply recounted the events in a historically accurate manner.”

  Flora nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of engaging you in gossip, but I could manage to simply relay the events as they are known to me.” She took a sip of tea before starting what promised to be a most interesting story. “Lord Bristol’s mother was from the continent-French. But aren’t they always?” She playfully nudged her daughter who was completely lost at the suggestive remark. “His father was an avid gambler and lecher who lost much of the family’s fortune and the two of them were involved in several public dalliances. He died at the home of his much younger mistress-in a most disgraceful manner that I will spare you the details of. Unless of course, you’d like to know?”

  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?”