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 Ibelieveyou 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. Unlikeyourexample, 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 willnotknow 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 lovelyyoung 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.
