Compromising Miss Tisdale

by Jessica Jefferson

  She made her way toward the servants’ stairs off the kitchens, rather than traipse through the foyer in her current state. She was momentarily startled by the sets of eyes that cast up at her as she entered, expecting the kitchen to be empty at such a late hour and forgetting that the ball necessitated the staff work later than usual. Most looked back down, but one particular cook stared a bit too long, neglecting her chopping. Ambrosia admonished her with a single glance, then walked regally toward the stairs as if she wore the finest silks and robes instead of the wet gown and soaked tresses that clung to her face and shoulders.

  Confident in her clean escape, Ambrosia began her ascent up the dimly lit stairs, but abruptly stopped when she heard the murmur of voices coming from the shadows of the stairwell. She distinctly made out both male and female voices. Her mother ran the household with the precision of a commander and servants would never have been permitted to enjoy a bit of sport whilst there were guests to be served. She may have been chilled to the bone, but she could hardly let such an offense go unnoticed. It was as if her conscience had returned from its evening’s hiatus and was seeking some sort of moral vengeance, thus compelling her to intervene.

  “You may both come out now. You’ve been discovered,” she commanded with unwavering authority.

  The voices quieted and then there were whispers. Finally, she heard footsteps coming out from behind the darkness.

  “Hello, Ambrosia,” the man announced his presence, stepping into the light. The female, apparently a parlor maid by her dress, scurried out from behind him making a quick exit through the kitchen.

  “Lord Kenning?” she asked, more of an accusation than question.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here.” The tall, blond man smiled easily, joining her on the staircase and stopping just a few steps short of her.

  His over confident and unabashed behavior was repulsive, yet completely predictable. “One could say the same about you,” she volleyed, arching an eyebrow. “It is my home, after all. Generally, that allows me access to all parts of it. Now you on the other hand . . . ”

  He chuckled, holding out his hands and bowing slightly, allowing those crystal blue eyes of his to openly peruse her. James started at her hem, then moved his gaze up slowly to the top of her bodice, enjoying the site of her gown, now practically transparent and hugging every nook and curve of her wet body. He reached out with one hand like a fat child reaching to grab another biscuit.

  She flinched, but he still managed to grab her gown and roll it about his hand.

  “Why are you wet?” he asked while incredulously assessing her hair.

  Ambrosia stood up even straighter and answered him the only way she could think how-by deflection. “Is Your Grace finding this evening’s festivities to your liking?”

  He took a step back and started to grin, hesitantly, then arrogance set back in. “A Tisdale event always provides such enjoyable modes of entertainment. I dare say I have found your home to be most accommodating.” He drew out the last word, making it sound absolutely filthy to her ears.

  His lechery made her nauseous. “Of course you have.”

  “There could be some improvements, though. I have not seen nearly enough of the hostess.”

  “I will pass along your requests to my mother,” she returned dryly.

  “Not that hostess.”

  She was not going to play this game with him, again. “Good evening, Lord Kenning.” Ambrosia turned and began walking up the stairs, not bothering to dignify him with a curtsey. Despite her outward self-assurance, she was wrought with apprehension at the thought of him reaching out to grab at her again. James was growing more and more intrepid with each encounter.

  “Ambrosia?” he called after her.

  She held her breath and against her better judgment, stopped and turned around so that he could address her.

  “Dear, do make certain to get out of those wet clothes. You’ll catch cold.”

  Ambrosia pursed her lips together, turned, and made a brisk exit up the remaining steps, making a mental note to speak with their housekeeper Mrs. Bates at daybreak regarding her maid’s dubious behavior with iniquitous men.

  Chapter 15

  Duncan had almost made it out of the home when he heard James’ voice calling out to him from behind.

  “Ol’ boy! And just where do you think you’re going? You’re not shirking our plans, are you?”

  He shrugged into the black great coat he was being offered by a footman. “Not now, Kenning.”

  The Duke whistled. “You are the only man in all of London who dares speak to me so.”

  Duncan snorted. “I am certain others would too if they got to know you better.”

  James smiled, untouched by the insult. “Now, where are you running off to? I thought you had mentioned the two of us heading to some of the hells after all this nonsense. I’ve been looking forward to spending some more time with those witty girls from last week.”

  “I had, but-”

  “You’re wet.” James interrupted. It wasn’t as much a question as it was an announcement. It was the kind of tone one used to announce a discovery, such as Look, land! or perhaps Gold!

  Duncan laughed at his friend’s unexplained exuberance. “Soaked really. Which is the reason I won’t be able to join you tonight. I want nothing more than to head home and have my man draw up a steaming bath. However, I do have faith that you will successfully proceed to lose all your money and fraternize with women of ill repute without me.”

  James didn’t laugh, his expression no longer jovial. “Why are you wet?” It wasn’t a question this time either, but rather an accusation.

  “I was in the garden when it began raining,” Duncan answered without a second’s hesitation.

  “Why were you in the garden? Since when did the Earl of Bristol start taking strolls to admire the shrubbery and flowers?”

  James’ eyes narrowed and the inquisition was set in motion.

  “I had left to find some air.”

  “In the garden?”

  “Yes, the garden. Is there an echo?”

  “Were you alone?”

  “I-”

  “You weren’t, were you?”

  Duncan looked over his shoulder, thankfully noticing his driver. “Oh, look, there’s my carriage.” He must have sounded a bit too excited, for James reached out to grab his arm and stopped him from exiting.

  “She was with you, then?”

  “Whom?” Duncan asked with thinly veiled innocence. He knew good and well that they both knew exactly whom he was speaking of.

  “Don’t think me the fool, Duncan. I’ve just come from a chance encounter in the kitchen with Miss Tisdale and she too was just as wet as you are and equally evasive. She was with you in the garden, wasn’t she?

  “She may have been.”

  James’ grim look began to lighten, as if the admission of guilt was enough to appease him. “She was! Does this mean you did it then?”

  “Did what?”

  “Did you compromise her? Do we have plans for a wedding, then?”

  Duncan exhaled deeply. He was cold and becoming more and more annoyed. “No, I most certainly did not.”

  James’ eyes narrowed. “So, you’re telling me that you were alone in the garden with her, without anyone to accompany-”

  “That’s generally what alone means.”

  “And still did not seize upon a most perfect opportunity to compromise Miss Tisdale?”

  The now familiar weight of guilt lay in his stomach like bricks.

  He swore out loud and tried to shake off the unwelcome feeling. His uncle had depended on him; his family’s future had depended on him.

  The mammoth weight had shifted from the pit of his gut to the breadth of his shoulders.

  Somehow, he had managed to control himself, amongst one of the most unexpectedly desirable females he had ever met and the weight of his family’s future, and done nothing to secure a marriage. He was more concerned
with her doubt in him and how she rebuffed any notion of having true affection toward him than fulfilling his duty.

  And even though he hadn’t ever been refused by a woman before, vanity, for once in his life, was hardly the root of his confusion. Miss Tisdale had complicated the situation far greater than he could have ever expected.

  When he presumed her to be of easy virtue, she had surprised him with her integrity. When he thought her indifferent, she had surprised him with passion. When he considered her cold, she’d proved to him that she could indeed be an inferno of warmth. When he assumed to know her motivations, she’d confessed her confinement.

  And this person had made clear her expectations. She wanted a marriage, with real love. Something he knew he could not—would not be able to provide for her. He was his father’s son, after all. He knew the limits of his potential.

  Miss Tisdale wanted a fulfilling marriage, which per her requirements included a loving husband. And when women spoke of love, their definition often included fickle details such as fidelity and trust. He couldn’t promise any woman that. He was a rake and always had been. Without that, he had nothing. Her line of questioning had already exposed that much. Even in his quest to bring honor to his own family, he had gone about doing so using deception and lies to win the affection of Miss Tisdale.

  With such an unholy start to any relationship, how could anything good ever have been expected to come of it?

  Still, James continued. “How on earth, when provided with the most perfect of circumstances, were you not able to compromise Miss Tisdale? Really, Duncan, given your reputation, I would expect so much more of you.”

  Duncan had heard enough. “Really, James?”

  “Perhaps your charms aren’t as great as they say they are?”

  “Is that your jealousy rearing its ugly head?”

  James laughed. “Hardly. I’m only stating the obvious.”

  His patience was wearing thin. “James, I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with Miss Tisdale—or me. Take your pick.”

  “I am only concerned for your welfare. You need money, and soon. You must secure a large sum quickly or I cannot promise that I can use you as a partner in my investments.”

  “James, I must stop pursuing Miss Tisdale,” he finally declared aloud, ceasing his great moral debate.

  James appeared genuinely surprised. “Now, what has happened? You can’t possibly be jealous of my dancing with her?”

  Duncan shook his head. “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’ve made my decision. I’d rather not go into the details, just know I am standing firm and do not wish to be pressured otherwise.”

  James narrowed his gaze. “I would never dream of trying to sway your convictions. But need I remind you that you have promised your uncle the nuptials are all but finalized. He is depending on it. And need I remind you that in his delicate state, to recant now would be tantamount to putting the nail in his coffin.”

  Duncan hit a nearby wall with the palm of his hand, leaning in threateningly. “Enough. I am well aware of the despair this news will cause my uncle. But if I do not do this now, the despair will be even greater for her. I will find someone else, someone richer, someone . . . different. But I implore you to stop all this nonsense about Miss Tisdale.”

  James stepped back, a look of disgust creeping across his face. “You have feelings for her?”

  Duncan shook his head, a bit too vehemently. “It has naught to do with feelings, but respect. I have come to respect her a great deal.”

  James balked. “Respect? A woman? Are you getting soft on me, Duncan? Weren’t you the man who up till a week ago was cavorting with a different female nightly? Weren’t you the man who said women only played the parts of virtuous females to land a title? Weren’t you the one who agreed to a marriage in name only for the sole purpose of obtaining a fortune? And now you’ll have me believe that you hold a tendre for a girl, that for all your noble intentions that you now declare having, you had previously opted to swindle?”

  The muscle in Duncan’s jaw flexed unintentionally. But not out of anger toward his friend. After all, James was simply calling a spade a spade. One could not fault another for declaring the truth aloud.

  Even more of a reason to be done with the Tisdale nonsense.

  “You are absolutely right, James. But the clarity you have just provided does not change my mind, rather it confirms my decision even further. I am a Maddox and Miss Tisdale deserves much better than that. She’s not at all what I expected. And though I am still not certain as to what prohibits her from taking a husband, I know it is not for want of a title or any other vanity. I am indeed despicable, but even I have limits. First thing tomorrow I shall identify a new prospect.”

  James stared at his friend in silence for far longer than Duncan was comfortable with. Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders slumping in concession. “Like your brother before you, I feel compelled to assist you in whatever way I can. After all, you are one of my closest friends. You may rest assured that I will do whatever it is within my power to see your endeavors realized.”

  Duncan interpreted the remark as an apology designed to save pride, but accepted the words nonetheless. “I would appreciate that very much,” he finished before heading out to his waiting carriage.

  He laid his throbbing head back against the seat and let his thoughts run away from him. He could not get the site of her, wet with rain, gown soaked, revealing all the curves of her body, from his mind. He could still feel her skin beneath his hands and if he concentrated very hard, he could catch a weft of the subtle scent of mint that Miss Tisdale always left behind.

  Chapter 16

  Two days later, Ambrosia started the morning soaking in a warm tub. Since her time in the garden, she’d repeatedly found herself chilled to the bone and warm baths seemed to be the only way to find respite from the cold. It also had the added benefit of providing an easy escape from her family’s prying questions.

  She dismissed her maid and allowed herself to sink into the steaming bath, warm water engulfing her body. The sensation sent her mind back to those moments where his mouth and hands had traced that same path down her chest. She sighed. His hands had ignited her senses and left trails of desire that days later were still not quenched. She’d never felt such desire before and feared she would never feel it again with anyone else. Ambrosia tried to rationalize her feelings. Perhaps his was a skill that all libertines possessed? Maybe she was just growing desperate in her old age?

  She was a sensible girl-some would argue to a fault. Because of that, she was too smart to keep passing her feelings for the Earl off as fleeting or simply aesthetic appreciation for a charming man. After all, any women would appreciated his dashing looks. He was handsome in a playful way, but she wouldn’t dare proclaim his appearance boyish. Lord Bristol was obviously a man and possessed an alluring and unique blend of unmistakable masculinity and youthful exuberance. But unlike Kenning, there was something more tangible underneath his handsome façade.

  With each meeting, she found herself more and more drawn to him. Lord Bristol was unlike any man she had met before. He did not care who was staring or who was not. He did not care if his cravat was tied in the perfect knot or his waistcoat dapper. He did exactly as he pleased, when he pleased, and nothing was for the benefit of others. Or so he would have everyone believe. Even the way he spoke to her—insolent, wicked . . . endearing. His imprudence was ambient and when she stood close enough to him, she felt a little lighter.

  She gave her best attempt to dampen her feelings with logic. Men like him could not be taken seriously. He was only interested in frivolity and had made his intentions, or lack thereof, known. Besides, he was a scoundrel and would most certainly break her heart if ever she was to present it to him.

  Ambrosia sighed. The ball had been a grave disappointment. Afterward, her mother had found her in her room, already in her sleeping attire. A lecture ensued, fol
lowed by the customary guilt.

  She had received no further offers of marriage.

  It was a twofold disaster. Not only had she the disappointment over the realization that her prospects for marriage were greatly limited, but she had finally succumbed to her desire for the Earl.

  “Yes?” she looked behind her, sensing the arrival of someone else in the room.

  “Your father has sent the ledgers that you requested,” her maid responded.

  Ambrosia smiled to herself. She was in need of a diversion and had requested to audit her father’s accounts. Her need for a distraction was so great that only ledgers, not the embroidery of cushions, painting a watercolor, or learning a new sonata, could bring. The pursuits of young ladies were hardly suitable when trying to escape the thoughts of a man’s kisses on one’s naked bosom.

  Her mother had always warned her against showing such a propensity for numbers and had seldom given her opportunity while growing up to exercise her interest. Her father, however, had recognized her gift at a young age and helped to nurture it by providing the occasional ledger to review or by letting her sit by him and assist during card games. Trust your solicitors and account managers, but double check the books, he always said. The Viscount hadn’t the head for numbers, but Ambrosia excelled where he fell short. Not even Thomas had possessed the inclination for numbers that she did.

  The maid helped her out the bath and she made herself comfortable at a small desk by the fire. At least the threat of seeing the Earl would be greatly reduced. The annual house party at the Tisdale family estate, Brightly, was set to start in three days’ time. She would depart in the morning.

  Thankfully, there would be at least a day’s traveling time between her and Bristol.

  The entire dreadful ordeal would be over. She wouldn’t have to bother herself with the Earl again and order would once more be restored in her life.