Compromising Miss Tisdale

by Jessica Jefferson

  “Ambrosia?”

  Ambrosia jumped at the sound of the voice. “Mama!” She shut the ledger and turned her attention toward the door. “What are you doing in here?”

  “It is my home, is it not? And are you not my daughter? Isn’t that reason enough to pay you a visit?” The woman commanded regally from the front of the room. Flora’s hair was piled high upon her head and her day dress was more elaborate than any of Ambrosia’s evening gowns. It was easy to demand attention when you looked like that.

  “Of course those are both two very fine reasons. But never before reason enough to visit my chambers.” Her mother only ever visited the girls’ rooms when there was some sort of issue. And Ambrosia never had issues.

  “Pish!” Flora walked toward the window overlooking the back of the home. “I’ve just returned from a most riveting meeting with Mrs. Bates.”

  “Our housekeeper?” Ambrosia asked, dryly. “Riveting, you say? Has there been a discrepancy in the silver? Perhaps a tear in the good linen?”

  “Nothing quite that riveting. Did you by chance have a servant fired after our ball?”

  Ambrosia was caught off guard by such a question. “Mama?”

  “I thought I’d simply inquire as to the severity of her offense. I thought perhaps you could shed a bit more light as to the circumstances surrounding her dismissal?”

  Ambrosia narrowed her eyes suspiciously, questioning the true motivation behind her mother’s unusual line of questioning. She proceeded to speak slowly, giving herself more time to calculate the answer. “I did indeed report such an incident to Mrs. Bates. I had stumbled upon the girl in a most indecent circumstance with one of our less prestigious guests during the ball.”

  The Viscountess nodded. “Yes. Is that the only reason you reported the incident to Mrs. Bates?”

  Ambrosia hesitantly proceeded. “Mama, we’ve let go of servants for far less than that.”

  “Of course, dear. Now, how exactly did you come upon them? I was made to understand that the girl was found near the servant’s steps in the kitchen. I couldn’t help but wonder why on earth you were there.”

  Ambrosia felt her pulse quicken. “I had an unfortunate mishap with my gown and had hoped to avoid the other guests. The servant’s stairs seemed a logical solution. After I was made presentable again, it was so late that returning to the ball was hardly an option so I chose to retire. Quite unfortunate, really.”

  Her mother smiled. Much like a cat after finding a particularly plump mouse. “And what exactly was the mishap that rendered you incapable of returning to the ball?”

  Ambrosia shook her head. “It was silly, really. I simply stepped out into the garden for a bit of air. Then that dreadful storm set in. I hadn’t time to escape the downpour. Pity.”

  Superb acting if she did say so herself. Brava!

  Lady Tisdale clasped her hands together at her chest. “Wonderful!”

  Her mother had always been over the top, but even this reaction was a bit much by her standards. “Wonderful?” Ambrosia repeated.

  Flora simply beamed and headed out of the room. “Enjoy the day, dear. I have business to attend to. Quite urgent,” she sang.

  Ambrosia, watching her mother’s hips sway their way from the room, was left confused by her baffling reaction.

  Then again, she knew better than to try and find reason when her mother was in one of her moods.

  “You shouldn’t drink so much.”

  Duncan rolled his eyes at what had become the mantra his Uncle incessantly chanted whenever in his company. “I didn’t until I came to London. Something about the air, or its women, has driven me to the drink.” He polished off the finger of brandy left in his glass. Truth be told, he had always drank to excess. But in the country, there was nobody who cared enough to pass censor.

  “Are things progressing with the Tisdale girl? Is there a reason for this impromptu celebration?” Richard attempted to fill a glass for himself with trembling, age-spotted hands.

  Duncan scalded him with a look as if he were a young child, taking the glass and decanter from him and pouring it himself. “One man drinking alone in his library is hardly a celebration.” He handed Richard the glass, then raised his own. “Things are progressing just as planned.”

  Richard raised his glass, then made quick work of its contents. “She will certainly make a most beautiful bride, Duncan.”

  Guilt suddenly crushed against him. He hadn’t the nerve to confess that he had retreated and was once again without prospect.

  He smiled at the dear man, so thin now that his fragile pale skin stretched taught along the angles of his face. “Well, I hope you’re pleased.”

  Richard chortled, “It was never about pleasing me. It was all for you, Duncan.”

  Duncan looked around as if to find an audience laughing. “Of course it wasn’t. Weren’t you the one who coerced me into finding a wife with a good name and a fortune attached to it? I don’t recall making that choice of my own volition.”

  The elderly man sat back into the chair and stared at his glass. “Your choice has indeed made me proud. I admit, I hadn’t thought you capable of marrying someone from such a grand family. And the fortune that she brings will most certainly remedy many of our problems. But it was always about more than that. I had hoped you would learn to love and to trust again. I wanted you to know what it was to live for something greater than your own personal pleasure.” Richard coughed before proceeding. “It was about becoming the honorable man I have always known you were. It was about you recognizing that about yourself.”

  Duncan looked toward the window. Honorable men didn’t chase women strictly for their fortunes.

  Upon hearing a knock, both men turned toward the set of doors at the front of the room. Before an announcement could be made, Tamsin Tisdale strode into his library from behind a set of footmen.

  Duncan smiled. The girl walked with her head held high, but on coltish legs. She was all awkward limbs and a body she had yet to learn to control. Miss Tamsin wore a cream colored frock that was a bit too short, as if the modiste couldn’t keep up with her spurts of growth. Her wild locks had been temporarily tamed into a partial chignon, but not even a straw bonnet could keep all of her unruly red tendrils from making their escape. The somber mood of the room was instantly lightened with her having joined them.

  “Miss Tamsin, good to see you.” He meant it, too.

  She curtsied, unsteadily. “Lord Bristol, I was hoping to steal a few moments of your time.”

  “Of course,” Duncan turned toward his uncle. Richard nodded his head and allowed the butler to help escort him from the room. He frowned watching Richard’s effort. The man was deteriorating more rapidly than he’d been prepared for.

  Duncan gestured toward a group of chairs arranged in the middle of the library. “Would you care to have a seat?”

  Tamsin nodded her head. “Thank you. What I have to say won’t take long.”

  He leaned against the arm of a chair. “Should I not ring for tea, then?”

  “No. Anyways, I’d prefer coffee.”

  Duncan fought a smile. My, what a battle this girl must present to Ambrosia daily.

  Tamsin stood straight as if she was readying herself to give a great oration. “Lord Bristol, you have not frequented our home for a number of days.”

  He nodded. “I apologize. There just hasn’t been much opportunity for me to get away. I’ve been quite preoccupied with . . . business.”

  It wasn’t exactly a lie. Business could mean any number of important goings on. In this particular case, his business had been drinking heavily, gambling with anyone who’d have him, and entertaining himself with a lusty Italian soprano that spoke little English, but had other merits.

  There was a method to his madness. His plan? Solace through debauchery.

  After all, it had always worked for him before.

  Tamsin smiled. “Of course there hasn’t.” He was weary of such a smile. It was the kind of
smile men wore right before throwing a punch to render their unsuspecting opponents off guard. The girl began casually walking the library, running her fingers over the titles of worn leather volumes that lined the shelves. “You do not have a great many books in your library, my Lord.”

  He tensed, waiting for the punch. “No, I’m afraid the library here is not nearly as robust as yours. You might be comforted to know that our family estate at Bristol Crossing has a much larger selection of titles.” Small talk . . . also meant to divert one’s victim. This girl was an expert in tactical warfare.

  “It would not concern Ambrosia overly much, but Rose would be sorely disappointed by such a meager collection of literature.”

  A gauntlet. “Miss Tamsin, is there something you want to talk about? I find it difficult to believe you have come all this way, with no escort, to simply critique the merits of my personal library.”

  Tamsin stopped and turned to him. “I once held you in high esteem. You see, my Lord, when you first made your appearance, I could tell a difference in my sister. Granted, she is the serious type and the difference wasn’t terribly obvious, but it was there. I actually saw her smile a bit, which is a rarity, yet indeed a sight to be seen. I thought you were the cause for this change. I read enough about you to know what kind of gentleman you were then, but thought any man who could make Ambrosia smile must be more than what the scandal sheets would have me believe. But then you never visited again. And since our ball, Ambrosia is just as she was. Only now, I fear her seriousness has become a bit more melancholy. And yes, I hold you responsible for this change as well.”

  Of course she would be angry, he thought ruefully to himself.

  He had hurt her, left his mark. He was his father’s son, after all. When he was younger, his father had sent him away. The logic behind that decision was that the distance would keep Duncan’s behavior from tarnishing his brother’s shine. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint, depravity was expected of him and he left a wake of individuals he had hurt for one reason or another. One couldn’t be self-centered and worried about the feelings of others all at the same time.

  Years later, he hadn’t changed.

  He couldn’t change.

  “I see,” was all he could say. It was futile to argue something so obvious.

  Tamsin’s nose flared and instead of standing straight, she took on an almost aggressive stance. Like a dog, looking for a fight. “I’m afraid you don’t. My sister’s regard is highly coveted and I believe you’ve squandered it.”

  “Tamsin, it’s not my responsibility to see to your sister’s happiness. Your sister is in the market for a husband. And I am hardly the type of man that would sell his wares to that kind of shopper. We are acquaintances. Nothing more.”

  She glared at him through narrowed blue eyes. If looks were daggers, he would surely be dead. “You listen to me and you listen carefully. You are fortunate that my sister does not indulge in gossip, so the stories of your exploits fall on deaf ears where she’s concerned. The rest of us, however, have no such objections and the broadsheets do a very good job of recounting exactly what kind of business you’ve been involved in lately. If you should ever contemplate escalating your friendship again and hurt her, I promise you that the injury that follows to your own body will be greater than any you have ever known. And I won’t stop there. I will personally make it my life’s purpose to see you pay tenfold for whatever misery it is that you bestow upon my sister. Do I make myself clear?”

  His eyes widened. “Crystal.”

  “And don’t try and worry about the details. I realize I am but a woman, but I assure you I have many ways to accomplish whatever it is that I need. I am not some frivolous female that you can dismiss with empty flattery. Rest assured that any revenge I dole out will be calculated, long, and arduously painful.”

  “I would never dare doubt your,” he cleared his throat, “capabilities.”

  She smiled, seemingly pleased with his answer. “Good. Now, for some inane reason my mother insists upon inviting you to our yearly house party at our country estate.” She dug through her reticule and produced an envelope marked with the Viscount’s seal. “Don’t be flattered, she invites whoever is most controversial at the time and will incite the most gossip. Congratulations on your dubious distinction. Of course, she insists your uncle join us as well. As much as I dislike the idea of you coming within a hundred yards of my sister, the only advantage, as I can see, is that you’ll be directly under my nose so that I may better keep an eye on you.”

  Duncan cleared his throat. “A house party? With your entire family in attendance?”

  Tamsin glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Yes. All of us. But don’t you worry. There are several distractions to be found at Brightly, so we won’t be forced to suffer your company overly much. The invitation is for the week-”

  “Seven days?” he balked.

  “An eternity.” Tamsin said under her breath while gathering her reticule and starting to make her way toward the door. “Not accepting the invitation would be an exercise in futility and impending social demise. My mother never takes no for an answer, not that anyone’s ever dared refuse an invitation from her before. She would simply speak with your uncle-”

  “No need for that,” he said quickly. Duncan didn’t need his uncle speaking to the ambitious Viscountess. He would no doubt find himself leg-shackled in record time.

  “Excellent,” she responded in a tone that indicated she felt it otherwise. “I will inform my mother that you and your uncle are both thrilled by the invitation and can’t wait to join us.”

  She touched the doorknob, but hesitated before turning it. “Lord Bristol?”

  He looked up from the envelope. “Yes?”

  “Ambrosia has a fine singing voice and will provide all the necessary entertainment where that is concerned. You will have no need for any other musical talent during your stay.”

  A reference to the soprano.

  Duncan had to purposefully keep his jaw from dropping as he watched the lanky girl slip out the door, letting it slam behind her as she exited. He allowed himself to breathe, only after he was certain she wouldn’t return and gut him right there on the Persian rug.

  What was it with the Tisdale girls and libraries that brought about the most unfathomable behavior?

  Chapter 17

  Duncan watched out the window of his coach and admired the green of the rolling hills leading up to the Tisdale family estate. How he had missed his country home during his stay in London. There was something to be said for the great expanse of space that surrounded one in the country that just could not be had in the city, no matter how vast the home.

  He looked at his uncle, whose head had fallen back against the azure pillowed cushions of the coach. Duncan reached over and gave his knee a small shake, hoping to rouse him without startling. Richard was growing more ill daily and he hardly wished to give his heart any more work than it needed.

  Regally dressed white-wigged footmen promptly opened the door to the coach and put down the step. Duncan looked cautiously out the door before exiting. The Tisdale estate was exactly as he’d expected—large without being ostentatious. Its white stone face was interrupted by windows that would allow the rooms of the home to be bathed with the optimal amount of natural lighting. The property itself was nestled into a picturesque landscape, manicured gardens immediately surrounding the home, modeling as a barrier to the more natural elements like the forest and creek that could be found at a greater distance.

  It was lovely. Duncan stepped down and as soon as he felt his Hessians touch the drive, he was uncomfortable. Though he had received an invitation, he knew he didn’t deserve to be there. He looked back into the coach longingly, fighting the urge to flee.

  Richard peered out from the coach, then shooed him with a gesture. “Go on then.”

  “Are you feeling unwell? Why are you still sitting there?”

  Richard smiled. “Because I am not coming with
you.”

  “What do you mean? You’re here aren’t you? Why would you travel all this way, simply to turn around upon arrival?”

  The old man chuckled. “I only came along to make sure you’d go through with it. A house party with upstanding people? Hardly your cup of tea. I had to come along or I’m certain you would have passed Brightly and continued on to the nearest house of ill repute.”

  He certainly had him on that one.

  “So, you’re going back to London then?”

  Richard nodded. “I haven’t been feeling up to entertaining. Do give the Viscount and his wife my regards, won’t you?”

  Duncan nodded. It was only then that he noticed his uncle hadn’t brought along any luggage. Richard had never intended on staying, simply dropping him off. He had never felt more like a child.

  “Duncan.” Richard reached down for his hand. “I know you will make me proud.”

  Will make. Not have made. The choice of tense was not lost.

  “Safe travels, Uncle.” Duncan gave his hand a small squeeze. The frailty reminded him of an infant’s. With anymore force, he was sure it would shatter like the finest bone china. He shut the door and wrapped the side with his fist, signaling the departure.

  Duncan watched the coach, with a faded Bristol coat of arms on the side, drive away in a cloud of dust. His attention was caught by the unfamiliar trunk two footmen struggled to hold.

  “Where did you get that?” Duncan asked the men.

  “The gentleman said it was your trunk and we were to deliver it straight to your rooms,” the man on the right answered.

  Duncan’s gaze narrowed at the giant trunk. Ledgers. Books. Accounts. That trunk contained all the business dealings Richard had been nagging at him to attend to.

  Nauseatingly perfect family and a review of his dead brother’s accounts?

  What a charming visit this was promising to be.

  He’s here.

  Ambrosia knew it before he was ever announced. That was the benefit of having so many windows in one’s home—everyone knew everyone else’s comings and goings. There were no secrets kept within the Tisdale home.