Chapter 20
“Is there a particular reason you have summoned your family together, Mother?” Violet asked.
Ambrose looked up from his plate, which was full of roast meat and potatoes. There were also carrots, which his family’s cook glazed with honey. He’d never tasted better in all of London and beyond.
“Can I not just wish to have all my family together at our table?”
Looking from Charles to Violet, Ambrose saw they didn’t believe his mother’s reasoning, just as he didn’t.
His plan had been to arrive, eat as much as he could before all hell broke loose, as surely it would, then leave and go to his club, which he told himself was simply because he wanted to and not so that he may catch a glimpse of the woman who was slowly driving him mad.
Looking around the dining room, he saw that it was, as usual, pristine.
In fact, the entire interior of his family home was immaculate, as was the lady of the household, at all times.
He’d grown up with a bevy of servants cleaning and dusting things constantly.
Appearances were everything to Lady Angeline Chippington.
“Of course, and it’s lovely to have us all together again,” Tavi said.
Any gathering that included his entire family usually ended in yelling, primarily from Cissa and his mother, who rarely agreed on anything. When the note had arrived saying his presence was required this evening, he’d known something was afoot. As yet, he did not know what.
“Quite agree. We miss having Ambrose and Violet in the household,” their father agreed. “However, we do enjoy that Charles is now part of our family,” he added.
“It’s an honor to be part of your family, my lord,” Charles said solemnly.
“Yes, but why are we really here, Mother?” Cissa asked, clearly not believing that her mother simply wished for a family gathering. “Because we all know you have an ulterior motive for everything.”
Mother did not appear to take those words as an insult and simply picked up her wine and drank, which told Ambrose two things. Firstly, Cissa was right, and secondly, his mother was still sorting out what she wanted to say.
“Can we not eat our meal without debate?” Tavi implored, reaching for another spoonful of carrots.
Like him, she had a hearty appetite, and her plate was full. She looked his way, and he winked at her. She smiled back.
He and his sisters loved one another even as they did not always show it.
They had an understanding, and the reason for that was often the woman sitting to their father’s right.
The children of Lord and Lady Chippington had long ago learned to band together when it came to her.
They often lied to cover for one another and had furnished distractions when they were needed.
Yes, he was a man and therefore, in his mother’s eyes, far superior, but Ambrose believed he’d always been there for his three sisters.
Hadn’t he?
It was odd how lately he was questioning everything to do with his behavior. Things he’d always believed about himself, he was now challenging. He blamed Tilly because she had turned his life on its head.
He should not have kissed and caressed her in Lolly’s Bookshop today.
He had been consumed with thoughts of that moment since.
All he could think about was how her lips had felt under his.
The feel of her breast in his palm. Then there was her hand and the imprint it had left on his chest. No woman or kiss had left a lasting impression on Ambrose like she had—like that hand had.
After escaping Mr. Greedy’s ministrations about his headache, which that witch had told him Ambrose had, he’d tried to find her, but she’d disappeared. Damn her.
“Ambrose, is the food not to your liking?” his mother asked. “Would you like something else? I’ll have the cook make it at once.”
“Of course you will,” Cissa drawled. “Caviar, perhaps, brother, and Mother will spoon feed it to you?”
“Your brother is an important man,” their mother snapped. “It is right that he is—”
“And yet we do not deserve the same respect?” Violet questioned.
Everyone seated at the table, besides Cissa and her mother, moaned.
“You are a woman. It is not the same. Of course, I blame Miss Wilson and her club for your flippant words. At least if she receives an offer from Mr. Howard, he will bring her into line.”
Howard was going to offer for Tilly? Absolutely not, Ambrose thought and refused to examine the reason why.
Down at the end of the table, his father cleared his throat and then gave each of his children a stern look, which they all knew meant Do not reply to that.
“He has not offered for her, and if he does, she may say no—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Violet,” their mother scoffed. “Of course she’ll say yes. Why, she is positively on the shelf, and no one else wants her.”
“Tilly is not a discarded scarf, Mother,” Ambrose snapped.
Their father cleared his throat again.
“Exactly, and I have always been flippant, so my words have nothing to do with Tilly or The Iris Club,” Violet said, ignoring the throat clearing, which was intended to shut them all up.
“She is putting misleading thoughts in the heads of women!”
Their mother’s tone had risen. Always a bad sign, Ambrose thought, looking at Charles, who was forking beef into his mouth, clearly unworried by his beloved’s words or the impending explosion.
“Independent thoughts are dangerous and will not lead to marriage. A man does not want a wife—”
“Who can actually think for herself, Mother?” Tavi asked, surprising Ambrose. She rarely got involved in arguments.
“Do not take that tone with me. I want only what is best for my daughters, and marriage is the only course, Octavia.” She then shot her youngest a glare. “That woman may be your friend, Violet, but—”
“You do know that I have helped her form The Iris, don’t you, Mother?” his youngest sister pointed out, and Ambrose braced himself for the explosion.
“You did what?” Color flushed Lady Chippington’s face.
“How dare you be so reckless when Octavia is as yet unwed and not likely to form an alliance with a respectable man, if she enters that place.” She spat out the last word.
“I forbid you from going to that club and spending time with that woman.”
“But as I am engaged, I can enter The Iris?” Cissa asked with an innocence no one at the table was buying.
“Of course not!” The words exploded out of his mother. “I forbid you also to enter it, because if your fiancé found out he would be most displeased.”
“That woman?” Violet said with a mildness that fooled no one.
“I think we all know how you feel about Tilly, Mother,” Tavi added, “as you made yourself clear at the musicale.”
“What did she say?” Ambrose demanded before he thought better of it.
“Yes, I would be interested in the answer to that also,” Violet said, looking ready to commit murder. Charles patted the hand she had clenched around a knife.
“That she cannot condone The Iris and that it was a bad influence on young ladies.”
“I spoke the truth!”
“You then said, Mother, that Tilly was creating a spectacle involving your daughters and that you wanted her assurance she would close the club,” Tavi added. “Lastly, you insulted her parents.”
The silence that fell after Tavi’s words settled heavily around the table.
It was Violet who broke it. “You had no right to speak to my friend that way, Mother!” Violet dropped the knife as she shook free of her husband’s grip.
It landed on her plate, the sound echoing around the room.
“Come, Charles, I will not stay here and listen to another word of this, especially as I know nothing I say will change Mother’s mind.
We shall visit 11 Crabbett Close, where the people are far more forward-thinking, the conversation intelligent, and they have excellent cake! ”
“Violet, you will sit!” their mother yelled. “How dare you insult us like that.”
“I’m insulting you only, and I don’t obey you any longer, Mother. I take orders from my husband now, which should make you happy!”
“That I would like to see,” Charles muttered, following his wife to the door.
“Father, what say you on this matter?” Ambrose asked, not at all happy about what he’d just heard.
He and Tilly might annoy each other, but it was mutual. His mother had been mean-spirited, and he knew her words would have hurt Tilly. That thought settled heavily inside his chest. Ambrose didn’t want anyone hurting her—ever.
“Do you condone Mother’s words to your daughter’s friend? Because I most certainly do not.”
“You dare to stand up for that woman? F-for that ridiculous club?” she spluttered.
“How dare you insult her,” Cissa argued back. “She has done more for us than anyone else. The Iris Club gives us a place to talk about whatever we wish without judgement. No man can tell us what we should say or do. We don’t have to look and behave our best.”
“That is not the way!” Lady Chippington cried. “Tell them, my lord,” she demanded of her husband.
Ambrose watched his father’s shoulders rise and fall with a weighty sigh. “Men have always been in charge of this world, daughters,” he said slowly. “Perhaps there is some merit in changing that.”
His mother made a screeching sound that had her remaining three children rising and fleeing, then closing the dining room door behind themselves with a decisive click.
“That went well,” Cissa said. “I’m going to calm my nerves by reading.”
“Me too,” Tavi said, shooting a nervous look at the door. “Good evening, Rosie.”
They kissed his cheeks and then left, at a run, for the stairs. Ambrose did the same, heading for the front door. He pulled on his coat, and, grabbing his hat, he slipped through it.
“I was enjoying that meal too,” he muttered, striding out to the street. “And of course it would be that woman who disrupts my life, even when she is not present.”
He waved down a cab, then climbed in and gave directions for Crabbett Close. Violet had said cake and sensible conversation. As he had no wish for his own company, he’d go there for an hour or two before returning to his town house.
It did not take long before he was walking down the close.
“How is your headache, Lord Talbot?”
Ambrose squinted through the dark into a garden and saw figures all huddled in a circle.
“Come, a dram before you continue on your way. It will ward off the chill,” one of them said.
As he only had a few feet to go, he doubted he would receive hyperthermia before he reached his destination.
However, manners had him entering through the narrow gate, and he saw that Mavis Johns was attempting to light a fire.
Mr. Greedy, Mr. Alvin, and Mr. Peeky were bundled in multiple layers.
Miss Alvin had only her eyes showing. Well, he thought it was her.
The last man seated was Clemmie Acton. The man had the voice of an angel and couldn’t play the violin worth a damn.
Ambrose had come to know these eccentric people, and he had to admit, he liked them a great deal. Odd, kind, never a dull moment in their company, he was often amused by their antics.
“‘Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi’ tippeny, we fear nae evil;
Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the devil!’”
These words were spoken by Mr. Alvin in an excellent Scottish accent that would make Mungo proud.
“Robbie Burns,” Miss Alvin said, the words muffled behind her scarf.
Ambrose took the whisky Mavis handed him, raised it, and threw it down his throat.
It hit the back and burned. It took all his efforts not to cough.
When he could both breathe and speak again, he said, “Many thanks, and good evening to you all.” The words came out raspy, but at least he’d managed to keep the alcohol down.
Walking back out the gate, he headed for number 11 and arrived to find chaos as he stepped inside the open door. He heard raised voices and the sound of running feet.
“What’s going on, Bud?” he asked the Nightingale housekeeper, who was the first person he saw. Chester, the family’s large white dog, bounded up to greet him.
“Miss Wilson’s parents have arrived.”
He found that odd. Why would Tilly’s parents be here of all places? Ambrose hurried to the room where the Nightingales always converged as a family and found it full. It was Violet who saw him first.
“Ambrose!” She ran at him. He caught her, wrapping her in his arms, his eyes going over her head to the people in the room. He saw worry and devastation on their faces. “Tilly is missing.”