In the two days since Tilly had declined his proposal, Ambrose had not left his house. He hadn’t washed, had lain about in a parlor in his dressing gown, unshaved, and hibernated like a bear.
How had he been so wrong? He was sure she’d felt as he did. When he’d lifted Tilly from that crate, she’d clung to him. His emotions had certainly risen to the surface, and Ambrose had no longer been able to deny what was before him.
He loved Matilda Wilson, and he’d been sure she felt the same. As it turned out, he was mistaken.
“I don’t care what he’s feeling. He’ll talk to us!”
Ambrose knew the owner of that voice. Violet.
“Exactly. Stand aside, Bertram. We shall not be deterred,” Cissa agreed.
“If you could perhaps have tea made, and somethingsweet, that always helps if Ambrose is not feeling himself,” Tavi added.
Reclining on his pillows, he waited for the door to open because Bertram was no match for his three sisters. Hell, he was no match for them, and in his current state, they’d crucify him.
With a loud sigh, he pushed himself upright and got out of the bed to move to a chair to greet them. On the way, he made a half-hearted attempt to tidy his hair. After opening the curtains to let in the light, he sat, picked up the book he hadn’t read in weeks, and pretended to look at it, even if he couldn’t focus because he’d left his glasses in another room.
Thinking about his glasses brought Tilly to mind.Damn her.
His sisters entered the room, all talking at once. Violet wore lemon, Tavi cream, and Cissa mint green. They stalked toward him, their scents mingling in the stale air.
“Good day to you, sisters,” he said in his most genial voice. He couldn’t allow them even a sniff of what was going on, or they would pounce and then interrogate him relentlessly. “What has you at my humble abode?”
“What is going on, Rosie?” Cissa demanded, coming to a halt before him.
“You have not left this house in two days, according to Bertram, and we did not see you at the Featherstone ball last night,” Violet said from beside her.
“Are you well, Rosie?” Tavi enquired, giving him a sweet smile so unlike the feral looks on the faces of the other two.
“I am, thank you, Tavi. Just a slight sniffle, so I thought to take a few days to feel better.” Ambrose had learned the art of lying to these three at a very young age. “It has been nice to catch up on some reading.”
“That book is upside down.”
Violet’s words had him looking at the book resting in hislap. Realizing he’d just given himself away, he smiled. “Nice try, but it isn’t.”
“It’s odd that you are unwell at the same time that Tilly, too, seems to be behaving oddly.”
He didn’t even blink at the mention of her name, but there was a stab of pain in the region of his heart.
“I called to see if she was all right before visiting with Tavi and Cissa earlier and found Tilly outside about to leave in her carriage. She told me she is departing London as soon as it can be arranged and The Iris is sorted.”
“Why?” Cissa asked.
“She wouldn’t talk to me. It was as if I was conversing with a stranger, and Tilly only does that when something has really upset her.”
“She was abducted,” Ambrose pointed out because he needed to add to the conversation or they’d smell a rat.
“No, there is more to this than that. She was not herself, even taking into account the abduction,” Violet said, frowning. “I’m worried about her.”
He stomped down the need to ask if Tilly had taken servants with her on her trip to The Iris this morning. He needed the assurance that she was protected even if he was angry with her. Such was the depth of his feeling for that heartless woman.
“Did she say how long she was leaving London for?” Tavi asked.
“Indefinitely.”
He wouldn’t see her again. The pain of that knowledge was almost physical.
“She loves The Iris. Why would she leave it?” Cissa asked. “We all do, as we go there to do things like play cards, laugh out loud, and even eat with our mouths open, but I fear a lot of our enjoyment is due to Tilly,” Cissa continued. “It would not be the same without her.”
