Compromising Miss Tisdale

by Jessica Jefferson

  Even though her suspicions were seldom ever wrong.

  Ambrosia helped herself to her usual morning meal—kippers and toast. She sat at her usual seat facing the windows that framed the hills surrounding the estate. She took her tea as usual, two cubes of sugar and a dash of cream. As soon as she finished, she would take a turn about the front garden, her usual exercise when in the country.

  It was morning as usual for Ambrosia Tisdale.

  But it was different.

  The most desirable, unattainable man in the world would be coming to join the family for morning meal and only the Lord knew what else. At this point, the only thing she could count on were her kippers.

  The Earl of Bristol was obviously not an early riser. He arrived in the morning room puffy-eyed and only speaking in one syllable grunts. She found it terribly rewarding and stifled the urge to smile at his misfortune. It would be terribly unladylike to mock him in such a public manner.

  Amusing, but unladylike nonetheless.

  He took two pieces of dry toast and coffee, swearing off all other forms of nourishment, and found his seat across from her.

  Tamsin strode in from her ride only moments after he was seated and made her place next to him. The hem of her gown caked with mud, still wearing her boots that had obviously seen their way through the stables.

  Ambrosia practically swooned at the girl’s appearance.

  “Perhaps you should change your dress before joining us at the table, Tamsin. Or at the very least, your shoes,” she said as discreetly as possible, the pungent odor of horse clinging to the air around them.

  “But I’m hungry now. Honestly, Ambrosia, I can think of far worse things I’ve done than sit at a table smelling less than fragrant.”

  Lord Bristol raised his eyebrows, but only for a moment as if the effort required too much energy.

  “Good morning, Lord Bristol!” Tamsin exclaimed. She was flushed from her ride, wide–eyed, and spoke far louder than necessary. “How are you doing this morning?” she yelled as if he were hard of hearing.

  He grunted.

  “Excellent!” she returned.

  Ambrosia inhaled the heavenly aroma from her tea and thanked the Lord for giving her such a sister, a rare occurrence indeed.

  The rest of the Tisdales arrived at the table, each one in their own particular phase of waking. The Viscount had obviously imbibed a bit too much, opting for strong black coffee and the curtains to be drawn. Lord and Lady Colton were fawning at each other playfully, which was apparently customary for newlyweds. Rose was quiet and unassuming, but Flora’s boisterous presence made up for where her youngest was lacking. Again, Thomas was present in the form of a portrait, joining the family for morning meal.

  “Lord Bristol,” Flora was the first to address their guest. “Do you have any particular plans for the day?”

  “Not particularly,” he answered. The coffee had obviously taken affect and he was once again verbal.

  “We have an expansive piece of property, so you should find plenty to occupy your time.” Flora took a petite bite of her fish. “I’m sure you and Lord Colton can find trouble somewhere about the grounds. Perhaps the girls could accompany you?”

  Did the woman ever take time off from her incessant match-making?

  “It’s Wednesday, so Ambrosia will be practicing pianoforte after her walk,” Tamsin said between mouthfuls. “I doubt she’ll be able to join you then.”

  Lord Bristol took another sip. “Pianoforte on Wednesdays?” he asked dryly.

  Ambrosia chastised her sister with a glance. “Yes. Pianoforte on Wednesdays.” She took a dainty bite of her toast. Just being in the same room with him had made her unduly cognoscente of all her actions. Suddenly, it was as if eating had become a performance.

  “Embroidery on Tuesday, pianoforte on Wednesday? Is everyday scheduled?”

  “Yes,” Tamsin and Ambrosia answered together.

  “I do like to keep to a certain routine, yes,” Ambrosia answered. “It is how I organize my life.”

  He took a sip of coffee. “Doesn’t it become boring, always knowing what’s coming next?”

  Tamsin snorted from across the table. Ambrosia seriously debated if her extended leg possessed the necessary length to reach her from under the table.

  “Boring? No. Predictable? Perhaps. But then again, isn’t that the idea of a schedule?”

  “Are you accomplished at the pianoforte then?” he asked casually. It was bored conversation, as if he spoke only because it was expected of him.

  “She’s perfect at everything she does,” Tamsin interjected, unexpectedly more defensive than teasing.

  “I am hardly perfect,” Ambrosia contradicted. “For some people, it may come naturally. But I fear almost nothing comes naturally to me. My brother—he only had to put his mind to it and it was as if he had been doing it his entire life. I, however, must work diligently at everything I wish to achieve. It may look easy now, but behind all my accomplishments is a substantial amount of effort.”

  “So, why do you do it if it’s all so hard?” Duncan applied a bit of marmalade to his dry toast.

  Ambrosia thought for a moment, staring out the window in front of her. “I suppose because I can. I’d hate to squander an opportunity that so many others don’t have. It’s like dancing. I know my dancing is not up to the standards I would like it to be. So I practice and strive for improvement. I realize I still have quite a bit of work ahead of me, but the challenge only gives me cause to work harder.”

  “I thought you danced quite well,” he said quietly enough that only she could hear.

  The compliment caused her heart to flip. “Thank you.”

  Duncan put his toast down. “I would like nothing better than to explore these grounds,” he announced to the table, “But there are some accounts that need reviewed and I was planning on spending most of the day laboring over all of those.”

  “Of course,” Flora nodded her head in defeat. “I insist you use our library. It has the most brilliant natural light.”

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  “If you are in need of any assistance at all, please call upon my eldest daughter. She is quite the man-of-affairs where accounts are concerned.” The Viscount proclaimed through a mouth full of eggs.

  The Viscountess dropped her fork and looked as if she would have an apoplexy.

  “Pardon me?” Duncan asked, curiosity written in the smile that was emerging across his face.

  “She’s really quite good with numbers,” the Viscount waved his fork, sausage stuck to the end of it, with every point. “Very quick. I’ve had her reviewing my books for years. It never hurts to have a second set of eyes in case the first set isn’t entirely honest.”

  Ambrosia could feel her face burn with embarrassment.

  Duncan didn’t seem to notice. “Your gift for numbers doesn’t apply just to cards then?”

  “No,” Ambrosia answered quietly. Probably even more nefarious than her late night family gambling was her review of her father’s ledgers.

  Propriety? What propriety?

  Thankfully, no other mention was made of her gift.

  “My uncle is too careful. Jason let his estate managers and solicitors manage his business. I’m simply going to appease my uncle’s request and look over a few of the books. I’m sure I will not require any assistance. It’s best if I do this on my own.”

  Duncan looked even more uncomfortable that he did before, turning assiduous attention to the application of marmalade to his second piece of toast.

  “Lady Middlebury is to arrive tomorrow,” Lilly proclaimed, cuing the gaggle to change the subject to something a bit more pleasing.

  “I hope she doesn’t invite her brother this time,” Tamsin mumbled under her breath, pushing runny eggs from one side of the plate to the other.

  “Why wouldn’t you want the Duke to come?” Duncan asked, quite a bit more lively than before. “I’d think a girl like yourself would enjoy Lord Ke
nning. He’s brilliant company.”

  Tamsin sat up a little straighter in her chair. “Then what poor company you keep, my Lord. Though on second thought, perhaps the two of you get along so famously because you’re so alike.”

  Ambrosia tried, but her leg was simply too short to come into contact with her younger sister’s. “I apologize for Tamsin. She sometimes offers her opinion a bit too freely.” Ambrosia glared at the girl as if her stare would somehow rectify the situation.

  “I am curious as to what would cause you to have such a disparaging opinion of the Duke?” Duncan asked, unconcerned at the obvious assignation of his own character.

  “My sister is being too kind. It’s not just my opinion, but that of hers as well. Lord Kenning is a lecher if I’ve ever met one—Ow!” Tamsin scowled briefly before refocusing her efforts back to rearranging the plate of food in front of her.

  Ambrosia nodded her head and tried not to think about the pain in her foot.

  “Lord Bristol,” William called down the table. “Would you like to go fishing the day after tomorrow? I would invite you for today, but I fear I have to return to London briefly on business. There’s a fairly large pond near the forest—plenty of fish available for catching.”

  Duncan smiled, his hazel eyes made instantly livelier by the suggestion. “Fishing, you say?”

  How she had missed those eyes flashing bits of metallic light all around. He wore his feelings quite transparently and those eyes betrayed him every time.

  William nodded. “Quite good fishing. I’ve had nothing but good luck here at Brightly.”

  Duncan nodded. “The day after tomorrow then?”

  “We must bring the ladies,” William looked at Lilly who was already counting on one hand the supplies they would need to bring.

  “We can picnic,” Lilly announced enthusiastically.

  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 lov
e.”

  “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.