happy—like Thomas was.”
Ambrosia stopped listening as her mind drifted.
It was absurd that her mother would even suggest the Earl as a potential suitor.
Men like the Earl were hardly suitable candidates for marriage, not that it mattered.
Lord Bristol was not the type of man that held much interest for her. He was too careless, too imprudent. And he was far too confident, walking around like a rooster in a hen house. He paraded as if he owned the room, despite being a virtual newcomer to the Ton . He may be an Earl, but she knew plenty of titled men. He was said to be rich, but her own family’s fortune had left her wanting for nothing. He was attractive, but many men could be labeled as such. To her, he was just another man with devil-may-care good looks. It was inconsequential that he had such carelessly mussed hair, a strong, lean body, with his perfectly sculpted jaw, and those kissable lips . . .
At least that’s what she kept telling herself.
Flora finished reading through the letter. “It is confirmed. Lord Bristol will be in attendance, as well as his Uncle, Mr. Maddox.”
“That’s just wonderful,” Ambrosia muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Wonderful,” Ambrosia spoke up cheerfully. “’Tis wonderful,” she reiterated.
She could hardly believe her own boorish behavior. She hardly ever mumbled, she never groused, and she certainly did not mutter ill-mannered thoughts toward her mother under her breath.
This Earl business was becoming most regrettable.
Her traitorous mind relived the memories of her meetings with the man whenever she allowed it to wander. When in his vicinity, in body or in memory, she felt herself lose control, lose her character, and lose her sense of self. For a few brief moments upon their first meeting she had felt it-utter abandon. She hadn’t felt such . . . relief before. Freedom.
Freedom that she could not afford. She needed to find an appropriate husband and finally start a family of her own.
Like Thomas would have done.
Her parents repeatedly spoke of her brother’s accomplishments and she knew their intentions were good. They just wanted the same for her. And like a dutiful daughter, she simply wanted to provide them with what they wanted. Especially since Thomas never would.
Powerless over her daydreams, Ambrosia knew the only way to restore order in her life was to control her reality the best she could. It was already a terribly arduous Season and she hardly needed the additional complication of a disruptively handsome Earl with inconvenient timing. Nothing good could come of any kind of interaction with a man like that.
She would simply have to avoid the Earl. If that meant refusing invitations and temporarily becoming a social recluse, then so be it. Regaining jurisdiction over her life was worth any negative consequence to her popularity.
But how could her plan work if the very man she was constantly evading came to be present under her own roof?
Days later, Ambrosia’s morning walk began rather uneventfully.
As per her usual routine, she paraded down the promenade in the park, nodding to those who passed her, and making light conversation as was necessary. Her mother had chosen to stay behind and help cook with the week’s menu, but fortunately her lady’s maid cheerfully agreed to escort her.
“Ambrosia!” called a familiar voice from behind her on the path.
She turned and saw Amelia sitting on a bench.
“Hello, Amelia! I didn’t expect to see you here. You don’t typically take your walk at such an early hour.”
Amelia held out her hand to examine her manicure. “I do make it a point never to venture out of doors ‘til I’ve had my morning soak and a pot of chocolate. But I wanted to see you so desperately that I made the exception.”
“I’m honored. Luckily, you picked a fine day to take a walk. It’s a bit cloudy, but I find the warmth to be most agreeable.” Ambrosia took her friend by the arm and the two girls began strolling,
Ambrosia stopped listening as her mind drifted.
It was absurd that her mother would even suggest the Earl as a potential suitor.
Men like the Earl were hardly suitable candidates for marriage, not that it mattered.
Lord Bristol was not the type of man that held much interest for her. He was too careless, too imprudent. And he was far too confident, walking around like a rooster in a hen house. He paraded as if he owned the room, despite being a virtual newcomer to the Ton . He may be an Earl, but she knew plenty of titled men. He was said to be rich, but her own family’s fortune had left her wanting for nothing. He was attractive, but many men could be labeled as such. To her, he was just another man with devil-may-care good looks. It was inconsequential that he had such carelessly mussed hair, a strong, lean body, with his perfectly sculpted jaw, and those kissable lips . . .
At least that’s what she kept telling herself.
Flora finished reading through the letter. “It is confirmed. Lord Bristol will be in attendance, as well as his Uncle, Mr. Maddox.”
“That’s just wonderful,” Ambrosia muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Wonderful,” Ambrosia spoke up cheerfully. “’Tis wonderful,” she reiterated.
She could hardly believe her own boorish behavior. She hardly ever mumbled, she never groused, and she certainly did not mutter ill-mannered thoughts toward her mother under her breath.
This Earl business was becoming most regrettable.
Her traitorous mind relived the memories of her meetings with the man whenever she allowed it to wander. When in his vicinity, in body or in memory, she felt herself lose control, lose her character, and lose her sense of self. For a few brief moments upon their first meeting she had felt it-utter abandon. She hadn’t felt such . . . relief before. Freedom.
Freedom that she could not afford. She needed to find an appropriate husband and finally start a family of her own.
Like Thomas would have done.
Her parents repeatedly spoke of her brother’s accomplishments and she knew their intentions were good. They just wanted the same for her. And like a dutiful daughter, she simply wanted to provide them with what they wanted. Especially since Thomas never would.
Powerless over her daydreams, Ambrosia knew the only way to restore order in her life was to control her reality the best she could. It was already a terribly arduous Season and she hardly needed the additional complication of a disruptively handsome Earl with inconvenient timing. Nothing good could come of any kind of interaction with a man like that.
She would simply have to avoid the Earl. If that meant refusing invitations and temporarily becoming a social recluse, then so be it. Regaining jurisdiction over her life was worth any negative consequence to her popularity.
But how could her plan work if the very man she was constantly evading came to be present under her own roof?
Days later, Ambrosia’s morning walk began rather uneventfully.
As per her usual routine, she paraded down the promenade in the park, nodding to those who passed her, and making light conversation as was necessary. Her mother had chosen to stay behind and help cook with the week’s menu, but fortunately her lady’s maid cheerfully agreed to escort her.
“Ambrosia!” called a familiar voice from behind her on the path.
She turned and saw Amelia sitting on a bench.
“Hello, Amelia! I didn’t expect to see you here. You don’t typically take your walk at such an early hour.”
Amelia held out her hand to examine her manicure. “I do make it a point never to venture out of doors ‘til I’ve had my morning soak and a pot of chocolate. But I wanted to see you so desperately that I made the exception.”
“I’m honored. Luckily, you picked a fine day to take a walk. It’s a bit cloudy, but I find the warmth to be most agreeable.” Ambrosia took her friend by the arm and the two girls began strolling,
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