Ambrose scoffed. “Your repeated denials are becoming tiresome, Miss Grissom. I know what I saw. Do not insult me further by taking me for a fool.”
“Please, my lord, I swear it meant nothing and I’m truly sorry if you’re offended.” Sylvie’s voice quivered as if tears threatened. “What are you going to do?”
Without looking at her, Ambrose continued along the path. “Well, first of all, Miss Grissom, I am going to have my luggage brought down and placed in my carriage, and then I am going to leave.”
“And what… what are you going to tell my parents?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Ambrose replied. “I’ll let you do the explaining. I’m sure you’ll come up with something believable. You’re quite obviously an expert at deceit.”
Sylvie gave a soft cry. “I beg of you, my lord, please. Can we not just pretend this didn’t happen? I promise, I will never—”
“Pretend it neverhappened?” Jaw clenched, Ambrose halted and spun to face her. “I will not hear another word from you, madam.” He held up a hand as her mouth opened. “Defy me, and I swear I’ll give your parents a complete account of what Iwitnessed just now. Nor will I do so in private, but in full view and earshot of everyone.” He moved on, leaving her behind.
“It’s not as though I am promised to you,” she wailed, peevishly. “We are not even engaged.”
Intending to enlighten her, Ambrose slowed, but changed his mind. She would learn the truth from her father soon enough. He entered the house and made his way to the foyer. “I need my luggage brought down from the Vienna Suite,” he said to the footman at the door. “I’ll also need my carriage brought to the front. Quickly, please.”
The footman’s eyes widened briefly. “Certainly, my lord,” he said, and scurried off.
Mere minutes passed before Lord Grissom’s voice echoed through the cavernous foyer. “Pendlewood, what on earth is going on? My daughter has taken herself off to her room and refuses to come out, and my wife is hiding in my study with her smelling salts. Why didn’t you propose? What happened? Why are you leaving without a word?”
“Not without a word, Grissom.” Ambrose gave him a sober smile. “I was about to seek you out to thank you, and Lady Grissom, for your hospitality. As for the proposal, suffice to say I have come to the conclusion that Miss Grissom and I are not suited.”
“And I must know what brought you to that conclusion,” came the obviously dismayed response. “Not a half hour since, you were more than keen to marry the girl. Something has changed your mind and I would know what that something is.”
As the disappointment of Sylvie’s deceit burrowed deeper into Ambrose’s brain, he tussled with a compulsion to tell all. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again.
“Pendlewood?”
“I am a gentleman, Grissom.” Ambrose glanced over to see his trunk being wheeled across the foyer. “Which prevents me from saying more than I already have.”
Grissom made a sound of frustration. “Then I shall get it out of her,” he replied, his voice hard. “By all the saints, I’ll damn wellshakeit out of her.”
Ambrose winced inwardly. “I would prefer you let it go, Grissom,” he said. “As for today, you may say I was called away on urgent business.” He shrugged. “Which might also be used as an excuse for Miss Grissom’s tears.”Though I doubt their sincerity. “Lay the blame at my feet, by all means.”
Grissom firmed his lips and shook his head. “I cannot believe this. It’s a shame, I tell you. A bloody shame.”
The sounds of an approaching horse and carriage drifted into the foyer. “It’s not the end of the world,” Ambrose replied, taking his coat and hat from a footman. “Your daughter can still make a good alliance. I, certainly, will do nothing to thwart her chances. You have my word.”
“Saints above, Pendlewood, I don’t know what to say.” Grissom heaved a sigh. “It’s a sorry business. A sorry business, indeed. I appreciate your decorum, but regret has a bitter taste.”
Almost as bad as being taken for a fool, Ambrose thought, as he summoned up a thin smile. “My best to you, Grissom.”
“And to you, Pendlewood.” The man heaved another sigh. “And to you.”
Having given instructions to his driver, Ambrose climbed into the carriage, settled onto the soft leather seat, and surrendered to an overwhelming sense of disenchantment. How could he have been so wrong, so misled? He was not a man who gave his trust easily. While his love for Miss Grissom had not fully established itself in his heart, he had dared to believe in its inevitability. His trust in her, however, had been unfailing. To have it so carelessly demolished was a bitter pill to swallow. And,if he was to be honest with himself, his pride had also received a hefty blow. The girl had taken him for a fool.
“Damn you,” he muttered, cursing himself as much as Miss Grissom. Tamping down an urge to punch something, he closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and admitted things could have been worse. He’d been saved, at least, from a potentially disastrous marriage. A lesson learned. For sure, he’d be a lot more cautious in future.
All he wanted to do, for now, was retreat into the shadows to lick the wounds of betrayal. Somewhere remote and quiet, away from the humdrum of society. Elgin Park, his country estate in Berkshire, beckoned. He was also, in that moment, reminded of a time when his friend, Edward Fortescue, had retreated from society. At the time, Ambrose had spoken against it. Now he understood it completely. He needed to regroup.
The future, and whatever it might hold, could wait.
Chapter Two
London,
November 1818
