Chapter Six
“You asked me to come to London and I came,” Ambrose said. “What more do you want?”
“You’ve merely exchanged one room for another.” Edward glanced around the study. “And this one is smaller than the previous one. What I want is for you to go out. To mix. To talk to someone other than your dog and your staff.”
“I’ll have you know I was out this morning,” Ambrose replied, bending to pet Flint. “Took Flame for a canter along Rotten Row. Ask Walston. We chatted for a while. He’s looking for a bride, apparently.”
“As you should be.”
Ambrose huffed. “Don’t start.”
“Which is actually why I’m here.” Edward cleared his throat. “I believe I might have found the perfect—”
“And I believe you will stop right there. I don’t need your assistance in finding a wife.” Ambrose huffed again. “You’ll be telling me you’ve spoken to Dove-Lyon next.”
Frowning, Edward cleared his throat once more and appeared to study one of his fingernails.
Ambrose stiffened. “Oh, Christ, you didn’t. Eskdale, tell me you didn’t.”
Edward regarded him. “Like I told you before, Pen, I owe you.”
“And, as I stated the last time, you can consider the debt paid.” Ambrose gave a bitter laugh. “In fact, you can shove it up your—”
“Actually, you still have some outstanding debt in my favor, Pen, so you’ll hear me out.
” Edward held up a hand when Ambrose opened his mouth.
“No, don’t interrupt. You owe me that much, and I’ll tell you why.
Unlike your example, I have chosen to be totally candid in my dealings with the Black Widow.
There is no deceit, no underhandedness. We simply have a proposal for you to accept or refuse. ”
“Oh, is that all?” Ambrose gave a single nod. “Then I refuse.”
Edward shook his head. “Hear me out, please. If, when I’m finished, you still insist on being a stubborn ass, I shall quietly slink away and leave you to your misery.”
“Ah, I see. Out with it, then,” Ambrose settled back and rested his hands on the chair arms, as if to imply a calm which did not exist. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can slink away and leave me to my peace and quiet.”
Edward made a sound of annoyance. “What the hell has got into you? All this bitterness and hostility makes no sense. You’ve done nothing wrong, so why are you punishing yourself?
Is it self-sympathy? Do you feel sorry for yourself because the spoiled Miss Grissom decided to risk total ruin by letting a stable hand stick his tongue in her mouth?
I’d say you’ve had a narrow escape and should be counting your blessings.
Celebrate, move on, and find someone worthy of you.
Actually, ignore that last part, since I believe I’ve already found her. ”
“Have you now?” Ambrose replied, silently admitting that Edward’s statement actually held a good measure of truth. So why couldn’t he bring himself to acknowledge it out loud? “And where did you find her?”
“She just happened to be at the Lyon’s Den the day I spoke with Dove-Lyon.”
Ambrose lifted a brow. “She works there?”
Edward flinched. “Give me strength,” he muttered, and glanced briefly at the floor. “She was a guest of Dove-Lyon. And if you’re thinking about spitting out any more derogatory remarks, let me remind you that Harriet, at one time, was also a guest. Be very careful, Pendlewood.”
A flush of shame warmed Ambrose’s neck. “Yes, of course. I apologize, Eskdale. I meant no offense to you or Harriet. Or to this young lady, come to that. Carry on. I’ll shut up now.”
“Your word?”
Ambrose nodded. “You have it.”
Edward returned the nod and went on to describe Miss Page and what had been discussed with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “I assume you’ve had plenty of invitations.”
Ambrose stifled a yawn. “Dozens.”
“Replied to any?”
He sniffed. “Not a single one.”
“Well, assuming you have the same invitations as us, you’ll have to commit to three of our choosing.”
Ambrose grimaced but said nothing.
“And you must agree not to approach Miss Page till the final night,” Edward continued, “if that is what you decide to do. The decision, as I mentioned earlier, is yours to make entirely. If you decide against it, you simply summon your carriage and go home. As for Miss Page, she will know you’re there, but will not know who you are.
She will also be aware that you’ve been instructed not to approach her till the final night.
Of course, she is not obliged to accept your suit either, but I have a feeling you two are well-matched.
Harriet and I wouldn’t be a part of this otherwise.
” Edward smiled. “Lydia Page is a lovely young woman. Intelligent, gracious, and well educated. Give it a chance, Pen.”
Ambrose rose from his chair and went to stand by the window, his mind in a muddle.
A spark of curiosity had flared to life as Edward had described the young lady.
Yet it failed to subdue the continued sense of resentment that soured his days and troubled his nights.
He breathed deeply, trying to sort through the thoughts in his head.
His attention was drawn to a bird as it flew past the window and landed on a branch in a nearby tree.
The study, at the rear of his London home, overlooked the garden. He loved the space. Took pride in it. Found comfort in it. On this bright spring day, it looked especially inviting, with everything new and fresh. It made him feel…
An odd choice of word slid into his brain.
Optimistic.
He frowned. Where had that come from? Optimism was actually in short supply these days.
“Well? What say you?” Edward’s voice pulled Ambrose out of his messy reverie and prompted him to draw another deep breath.
“I say it’s a bloody ridiculous scheme.” Ambrose turned and looked at his friend, who had a wide-eyed, hopeful—optimistic, even—expression on his face. “But, hell, why not?”
Edward’s eyes widened further. “Are you serious, Pen? Gads, I’m shocked. I expected a fight.”
“I can give you one if you like.” Ambrose went to the sideboard and pulled the stopper from the brandy decanter. “Want one?”
“A drink or a fight?”
“Either. Both.”
“Just a drink. A half measure.”
“Like I said, it’s a ridiculous scheme. A lark. And I shall treat it as such.” He passed a glass to Edward. “Other than to be profoundly amused, I have no expectations at all.”
“You’ll change your tune when you see the young lady, I guarantee it.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt she’s a pretty little thing.” Ambrose took his chair again. “But she’s obviously unsuitable. Unless we’re talking about bedding rather than wedding.”
A brief look of shock crossed Edward’s face. “I can assure you, Pen, Miss Page is a respectable young woman. To quote Dove-Lyon, as pure as virgin snow. And very wealthy. Her father had many business connections to the aristocr—”
“Yes, yes, I heard you the first time.” Ambrose took a sip, savoring the flavor on his tongue for a moment before swallowing.
It helped to quell the bitter taste put there by the words currently spilling unhindered from his mouth.
It wasn’t like him to be so ungracious, but courtesy seemed to have abandoned him.
“Couldn’t care less about her money and I can assure you, the girl’s virtue is at no risk from me.
I shall merely take great pleasure in watching her dig her wealthy-but-decidedly-common claws into someone else. ”
Edward sighed, audibly. “May I remind you of your recent declaration?”
“I have no idea to what you are referring but no, you may not.”
“Too bad. How about expectations, false pleasantries, and toadying? Do they mean anything to you?”
Ambrose huffed and scowled into his glass. “Well, they certainly don’t mean I’m prepared to offer marriage to the lowly daughter of a tradesman, not to mention making her the mother of my children. I’m not that bloody desperate. Hell, Eskdale, I thought you knew me better.”
A spell of silence followed, one where the bitter taste on Ambrose’s tongue returned, worse than before.
“I see. Then perhaps we should just forget the whole thing.” Edward knocked his drink back, set his glass down, and rose to his feet. “I’ll tell the Black Widow she was right.”
Ambrose looked up. “Right about what?”
“That you’d refuse to do this.”
He wasn’t sure if he was offended by his friend’s comment or the fact that his reaction had been a subject of discussion between Edward and Bessie Dove-Lyon. Either way, he refused to be predictable. “I haven’t refused, exactly.”
“Bollocks. You’ve just made it patently clear that you could never consider Miss Page as a potential bride, and I respect your decision.
And you’re correct. I guess I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.
” Edward headed for the door, squeezing Ambrose’s shoulder as he went by.
“Never had you pegged as a prig till now, Pendlewood. Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.”
Behind him, the door opened and then closed with a quiet click, leaving Ambrose alone with a rather ominous sense of regret.
Or was it guilt? Both, he decided, and closed his eyes.
“Damn you,” he muttered, and then threw the rest of his drink down his throat before rising to his feet.
“Damn you,” he said again, setting his glass on the table and then heading out into the hallway.
“Eskdale, wait a minute,” he called as he approached the foyer, where Edward was about to put on his coat. “Against my better judgment, I’ll consider the proposal, but on one condition.”
Edward gave him a guarded look. “Which is?”
“No interference from you from now on. And I mean none at all. No opinions, no questions, no unsolicited advice. Not even a certain look across whatever ballroom we’re in.
You will tell me only which invitations to accept.
Barring a disaster, I’ll show up and give this young lady my consideration.
But you must leave me to my own devices and allow me to act as I see fit. ”
“That was always the plan,” Edward replied, shrugging his coat on and nodding his thanks to the footman. “I’m pleased you changed your mind, Pen. I don’t think you’ll regret it.”
Ambrose clenched his fists and sucked air through his teeth. “Which is an opinion, damn it. Did you not hear what I just said?”
“My pardon.” Edward winced. “It’s the last one. I swear.”
“And I’m not a bloody prig.”
“That, my friend, is a matter of opinion,” Edward replied with a smirk. “I’ll be in touch.”