Compromising Miss Tisdale
Read Compromising Miss Tisdale Online
Authors: Jessica Jefferson
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General
Table of Contents
COMPROMISING MISS TISDALE
JESSICA JEFFERSON
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
COMPROMISING MISS TISDALE
Copyright©2013
JESSICA JEFFERSON
Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-333-6
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is dedicated
to my two best friends,
Melissa and my husband, Matthew.
And wine. Can’t forget wine.
Acknowledgements
I need to thank my husband profusely, who without complaint watched both the kids while I pored over rewrites. Okay, maybe not completely without complaint.
I want to acknowledge my best friend, Melissa Jefferson, who not only let me borrow her name, but always lent me an ear. And to Candie, who let me vent via text message.
I want to acknowledge my parents whose rearing provided me with years of awesome material to use in future books. My siblings—without them, I’d have no witty anecdotes. And my teachers, who taught me to use all that good stuff!
And I especially want to acknowledge all of my work friends, who listened to me throughout the most surreal conversations—least of all being, “What about the hair on my hero’s torso?”
Chapter 1
Her fourth Season.
Ambrosia Tisdale helped herself to a cup of lemonade.
It was only four, after all, and not as grim as all that.
She reached for a meringue.
Five.
Now, five would be appalling.
But four?
Four meant she was experienced, but not without hope.
“Are you listening to me?”
The voice of her irritated friend interrupted her silent rambling. “I do apologize, Amelia, but with such a crush it’s quite impossible to hear clearly. What were you saying?”
Ambrosia’s statement was mostly true. There was a lull between songs at Lord and Lady Montgomery’s annual ball commemorating the start of another London Season, and it seemed everyone had taken the opportunity to search out refreshments.
Amelia acknowledged the excuse with a dismissive wave. “I was just telling you about the most delicious
on dit
I came by earlier. It would appear that the Earl of Bristol is coming tonight.”
Ambrosia choked on a sip of the sour lukewarm liquid. “That is an intriguing piece of gossip, especially with Lord Bristol being dead and all. You’d think, given a second chance, he’d find a place with more suitable refreshments.” She placed the glass on the tray of a passing footman.
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Not
that
Lord Bristol, rather his younger brother, the
new
Earl of Bristol. You know, I met him once. He attended Eton with my brother and came to stay with us for a bit over the holiday.”
Though Ambrosia disapproved of repeating gossip, she had no such aversion to hearing it. Fortunately, her best friend reveled in it and helped her to keep current with all the latest bits.
“I remember him being terribly handsome, and if he’s inherited from his brother, then he’s certain to be rich as Midas. Yes, quite handsome indeed. He’ll make quite the prospect now that he’s found his way to London. His family’s reputation is still a bit scandalous, but it’s nothing that can’t be overlooked for such a title. He’s all anyone is talking about and the stories I’ve heard are positively shocking and . . . are you listening?”
Half listening
.
Her attention had yet again been diverted, this time by a lively gaggle of young women clad in pastel colored gowns and the men who fawned over them. She had been there before—too many times before if one asked her mother. The setting was so contrived, yet she felt comfort in its predictability.
She loved everything about the Season. She never tired of the parties, the people, or even the simple, modestly cut pallid gowns she wore year after year as an unwed woman. She always knew exactly what to expect and thrived upon such order.
But for the briefest of moments, she felt a slight twinge of envy for the vivid peacock blue of her married friend’s taffeta. That feeling of envy was fleeting, however, replaced by an unexpected, violent pinch.
“You haven’t heard a word of what I’ve said all night. Now, what could possibly have you so preoccupied?” Amelia probed.
Ambrosia rubbed her upper arm. “I apologize for being so distracted, but I have far more important things to concern myself with than whom may or may not have made tonight’s guest list.” She dramatically produced a partially filled dance card.
“You’re such a pessimist. Can’t you see the card as being half full rather than half empty? Besides, I thought you’d be happy. You hate dancing.”
Ambrosia sighed. “I do not hate dancing. I simply hate bad dancers—there’s a difference. And it’s not the blank spots, but rather what they represent. Mama believes the empty spaces are further confirmation that I am destined for a life of spinsterhood. Both she and papa have been wooing eligible men all evening. The worst part is that they don’t seem to care to whom they marry me off, as long as they’re over the age of sixteen and under the age of ninety.”
Amelia took a bite of another chocolate. “Well, you can’t entirely fault them for their efforts. This is your
fourth
Season, after all, and you have yet to accept a proposal. We’re all a bit concerned at this point.”
The subject of her matrimonial status, or lack thereof, was always at the center of discussion within the Tisdale home. Her debut had initially been postponed in respect to her older brother’s unexpected passing. But now, she was nearly three and twenty years of age, and there was simply no good excuse for an attractive girl with excellent breeding to remain unspoken for. And since her younger sister, Lilly, had married the year before, it was as if her lack of matrimony was on the tip of everyone’s tongue, including the whole of Mayfair.
And to think the Season had just begun.
“I’m simply waiting for the right offer to come along,” Ambrosia replied matter-of-factly.
Amelia lowered her voice. “As your dearest, and dare I say
only
friend, I hope you do not take my words the wrong way. But it seems to me that it would do you good to consider
any
offer that comes your way.”
Ambrosia mentally prepared herself for yet another lecture on husband-hunting by newly wedded expert, Lady Amelia Jeffers. The daughter of a Duke, Amelia had been blessed with privilege, as well as honey blond curls, big brown eyes, and a figure rivaling that of Venus. By no surprise, she had found herself a Marquis—rich, handsome, and . . . rich. Now an authority on all things related to marriage, she never missed an opportunity to educate her on the art of matrimony.
“Please elaborate, Amelia.”
As if she needed leave to do so
.
Amelia smiled graciously. “I’m merely referring to the fact that the proposals aren’t coming as frequently as they used to. England is an island, after all, and there are limited resources. Instead of waiting for the right offer to come along, perhaps you could do more to attract potential suitors. You could start by trying to a bit more approachable. You never smile.”
“I smile when it is appropriate and the occasion calls for it. You know good and well that I’m a rather serious person, not some ninny that goes around senselessly grinning from ear to ear.”
“That’s just it! Men aren’t looking for wives that are serious. They appreciate a woman who smiles and possesses a pleasant disposition.”
“I’m pleasant,” she said flatly.
“Men want to marry a delicate flower, a woman whom is demure and soft spoken-”
“I
am
demure and soft spoken,” Ambrosia snapped.
Amelia shook her head. “Frankly, your name is the only floral quality you possess. You know you have a tendency to come off a bit . . . ”
“Proper?” Ambrosia volunteered.
“I was thinking intimidating, rigid, or cold. But I suppose proper will do.”
Ambrosia raised an eyebrow. “Some of us do not have the opportunity for frivolity that others do. You must remember that after Thomas died, the responsibility of being the eldest and setting the example for the younger girls fell to me. I take the subject of matrimony quite seriously. A poor match may have dire consequences for my younger sisters and heaven knows those two heathens need all the assistance they can get. I truly appreciate your words of advice, but if you’ll excuse me for a few moments? The humidity in this room is wreaking havoc on my hair and I must tidy up a bit.”
It was a lie. Her appearance was always impeccable, and there was not one displaced curl from her elegantly coifed twist. But she needed a reprieve, even if it were just for a few moments in the ladies’ retiring room.
She made her way through the dozens of well-dressed bodies packed tightly near the refreshments and into the hall leading out from the ballroom. She stopped immediately at the sight of a most formidable impasse.
Her mother.
Lady Flora Tisdale had aged with the grace of a fine wine, with only a few lines and sporadic grey hairs as evidence of her maturity. She had once been regarded as a diamond of the first water. Out of all the Tisdale girls, it was Ambrosia who had been fortunate enough to inherit much of that same beauty. Both shared chestnut tresses and creamy porcelain skin. And though all the girls inherited the dark blue eyes of their mother, it was Ambrosia who inherited both her slim figure and regal height. The pity, as her mother always put it, was that her eldest daughter hadn’t the luck of inheriting Lady Tisdale’s vibrant personality or sweet disposition.