good and well that you should not have engaged in such ill-bred behavior, and certainly not in the middle of Hyde Park. If you won’t be more considerate of your own reputation, I do hope you will at least be respectful of the rest of the family’s.”
“But you should have heard her go on like she did. The ninny wouldn’t stop boasting, so I suggested a few alternative activities.”
“None of which are fit to be repeated in the company of a lady. Really, Tamsin, what would papa say?” Rose said quietly, but firmly, from her position on a tufted ottoman, as she set her embroidery to the side.
Ambrosia raised an eyebrow at her youngest sister. “Rose, it looks as if you’ve only completed half your stitches. I realize that you would like to get back to your books, but a lady must become skilled in a variety of pursuits, not just the ones she likes best.”
She then turned her attention back to the fiery red-head. “Where was your decorum, Tamsin? What if word of your behavior gets out?”
“There’s no need to worry. I used large words and intelligent insults so there’s a decent chance she didn’t even realize she was being insulted.”
“Intelligent or otherwise, you should not have engaged in such behavior in public.” A new voice entered the conversation. “Now, in private-that’s a different matter altogether.”
The girls looked toward the doorway as their mother, Flora Tisdale, regally entered the room in a sumptuous gown of red and gold. She was far overdressed for an afternoon at home, but that was Flora.
Ambrosia rubbed her temples. Her mother was a generous hostess, loyal friend, and loving mother-but hardly ever a proper disciplinarian. “Mama,” she politely scolded in her ever-calm voice, “engaging in confrontation is never acceptable. Publicly or privately.”
“That Merriweather chit deserves every bit of what she got, especially if she’s anything like her wretched mother. But again, not in such a public place.” Flora sat on the sofa closest to Ambrosia and arranged her skirts. “Now, girls, run along up upstairs. Ambrosia, be a dear and do ring for some more tea?”
Ambrosia did as instructed. “Mama, you allow far too much. Tamsin has grown most incorrigible. It’s getting worse the closer she gets to coming out. Her manners are atrocious, her language offensive . . . I can’t even begin to imagine where she’s learned such things.”
“From your father. The same person you once learned it from.”
Ambrosia chose not to dignify that last remark with a response and watched her mother motion to a footman, who responded by delivering a tray of correspondence. She quickly scanned through the pile, stopping at one letter in particular. She excitedly picked up a gold letter opener and made quick work of the seal.
“What is it?” Ambrosia asked, curious as to the reason for her mother’s unusual enthusiasm regarding the post.
Flora smiled slyly. “It’s a reply to an invitation I sent out.”
Ambrosia helped herself to a cup of tea from the freshly delivered service. “To our ball? I had assumed everyone who was coming had already responded. Who on earth would have the bad manners to respond with such late notice?”
“The Earl of Bristol.”
Ambrosia tried to keep the hot beverage from spraying out her mouth, but ended up dribbling it down the front of her rose and cream striped muslin gown instead. “The Earl of Bristol?” she repeated, frantically dabbing at the spots with her napkin.
“Of course. It was the Duke of Kenning’s idea. Besides, we’ve always invited his Uncle and brother, so it was only fitting Lord Bristol be invited as well. Neither one of them has ever been terribly social, but I do hope the new Earl is different in that regard.”
“What of his parents? Did we not invite them?” Ambrosia asked, curiosity piqued by the mention of the Maddox family.
“That would be a different matter altogether. The previous Lord and Lady Bristol
“But you should have heard her go on like she did. The ninny wouldn’t stop boasting, so I suggested a few alternative activities.”
“None of which are fit to be repeated in the company of a lady. Really, Tamsin, what would papa say?” Rose said quietly, but firmly, from her position on a tufted ottoman, as she set her embroidery to the side.
Ambrosia raised an eyebrow at her youngest sister. “Rose, it looks as if you’ve only completed half your stitches. I realize that you would like to get back to your books, but a lady must become skilled in a variety of pursuits, not just the ones she likes best.”
She then turned her attention back to the fiery red-head. “Where was your decorum, Tamsin? What if word of your behavior gets out?”
“There’s no need to worry. I used large words and intelligent insults so there’s a decent chance she didn’t even realize she was being insulted.”
“Intelligent or otherwise, you should not have engaged in such behavior in public.” A new voice entered the conversation. “Now, in private-that’s a different matter altogether.”
The girls looked toward the doorway as their mother, Flora Tisdale, regally entered the room in a sumptuous gown of red and gold. She was far overdressed for an afternoon at home, but that was Flora.
Ambrosia rubbed her temples. Her mother was a generous hostess, loyal friend, and loving mother-but hardly ever a proper disciplinarian. “Mama,” she politely scolded in her ever-calm voice, “engaging in confrontation is never acceptable. Publicly or privately.”
“That Merriweather chit deserves every bit of what she got, especially if she’s anything like her wretched mother. But again, not in such a public place.” Flora sat on the sofa closest to Ambrosia and arranged her skirts. “Now, girls, run along up upstairs. Ambrosia, be a dear and do ring for some more tea?”
Ambrosia did as instructed. “Mama, you allow far too much. Tamsin has grown most incorrigible. It’s getting worse the closer she gets to coming out. Her manners are atrocious, her language offensive . . . I can’t even begin to imagine where she’s learned such things.”
“From your father. The same person you once learned it from.”
Ambrosia chose not to dignify that last remark with a response and watched her mother motion to a footman, who responded by delivering a tray of correspondence. She quickly scanned through the pile, stopping at one letter in particular. She excitedly picked up a gold letter opener and made quick work of the seal.
“What is it?” Ambrosia asked, curious as to the reason for her mother’s unusual enthusiasm regarding the post.
Flora smiled slyly. “It’s a reply to an invitation I sent out.”
Ambrosia helped herself to a cup of tea from the freshly delivered service. “To our ball? I had assumed everyone who was coming had already responded. Who on earth would have the bad manners to respond with such late notice?”
“The Earl of Bristol.”
Ambrosia tried to keep the hot beverage from spraying out her mouth, but ended up dribbling it down the front of her rose and cream striped muslin gown instead. “The Earl of Bristol?” she repeated, frantically dabbing at the spots with her napkin.
“Of course. It was the Duke of Kenning’s idea. Besides, we’ve always invited his Uncle and brother, so it was only fitting Lord Bristol be invited as well. Neither one of them has ever been terribly social, but I do hope the new Earl is different in that regard.”
“What of his parents? Did we not invite them?” Ambrosia asked, curiosity piqued by the mention of the Maddox family.
“That would be a different matter altogether. The previous Lord and Lady Bristol
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