“Can we meet at the cottage?” Ada asked eventually, stepping away from him and moving toward the yellow carriage. “Anywhere else there will be tattling tongues.”
“Tomorrow,” he said brusquely, so annoyed at the ill-timed arrivals that he wanted to kick stones. How dare visitors visit. Did they not understand the importance of the occasion? A ducal declaration, for God’s sake!
“Tomorrow,” she agreed, and minutes later the three women were on their way.
Jasper unhitched the reins of both horses from the wooden post, and soon his curricle headed in the opposite direction. His mood only grew darker on the journey back to his estate, but as he rounded the stable block an unwanted surprise awaited him: one lavish and very familiar travelling carriage sitting in the driveway.
“Darling!” called his impeccably gowned, silver-haired mother from the front steps as she waved madly in her exuberant style, the dashing but completely bald Winslow at her side.
What on earth were they doing here?
After jumping down from his curricle, he tried to march but instead staggered a little toward them. They both rushed forward.
“Are you ill, Gilroy?” asked Winslow, frowning with concern. “Do you need a physician?”
Lavinia, Duchess of Gilroy laughed merrily. “No, Winny. He’s never looked this…this thwarted. Which leads me to believe my son, the duke renowned for contracts, composure, and control, has at last succumbed to a matter of the heart. Come along, Gil, you may tell us everything over tea.”
Jasper grimaced.
Christ.
Chapter Seven
Yesterday, Jasper had given her the perfect gift. But in true Blurting Ada fashion, she’d interrupted his thoughts and quite ruined the moment. Worse, she’d done the thing she’d scolded him for—deciding she knew the answer without discussion.
Why? Why had she leaped in to assure him he didn’t have to say he loved her back, and that she knew what would happen at the end of August? There was only one word to describe such behavior. Henwit. And being overly emotional at receiving the little satin pouch of dill was no excuse whatsoever.
With a muttered curse, Ada gave up trying to re-sew a loose button on her father’s best black jacket and stabbed the needle into a tattered velvet pincushion. Then she stroked the pouch that hung reassuringly from her left wrist as she attempted to wrangle her thoughts. She’d not slept a wink last night, and the clock on the parlor mantelpiece mockingly advised the time to be eleven in the morning rather than two in the afternoon when she could escape to see Jasper at the cottage. They needed to settle this once and for all. No assumptions, just honest conversation.
“Ah, there you are.”
She looked up to see her father standing in the parlor doorway. Oddly, he appeared almost…cheerful. The back of her neck prickled. “Was there something you needed, Father? Tea perhaps? I can prepare you a tray before I go and visit Ruth and M—”
“You won’t be visiting them today; I think you’ve spent far too much time in the company of Miss Lacey and Miss Kinloch lately. But you’ll be delighted with my surprise, which will make you very, very happy.”
Ada’s stomach curdled, both at the denied request to leave the house, and the way he’d already announced the expected reactions to his news. Ernest Blair did not care—and had never cared—about her true feelings. “Surprise?”
“Indeed. I have arranged a marriage for you!”
Shock hit her like a blow to the solar plexus, and for a moment she struggled to breathe.
Marriage?
The father who’d turned away every genuine offer made in the past decade had abruptly undergone a change of heart and now wished her a happy and love-filled future?
She didn’t believe that for a second.
“To whom?” Ada managed.
Ernest tugged on his jacket lapels, resembling a preening rooster. “My new curate, Mr. Micah Ambrose. It makes great sense. To truly be accepted in the community he needs a wife from Charlton Kings, and you are unwed. Even better, there is sufficient room here for us all to live, so you won’t be faced with the burden of finding a new home. Ah, what a blessing it shall be. Ambrose and I are in accord in so many ways; he’ll make you a most satisfactory husband. I will officiate the ceremony; the only thing you need concern yourself with is the trim on your bonnet and perhaps a posy to hold. Your future husband is in my study; I’ll go and fetch him so we can celebrate your betrothal.”
Ada pressed her knuckles to her lips so she didn’t unleash a bloodcurdling howl. This couldn’t be happening. After her discoveries of the past two weeks, the joy and pleasure of being with a man she desired and had fallen in love with—under no circumstances could she wed another. Especially not to live here at the vicarage forever, housekeeper to two men rather than one.
No. She had to flee this house at once. Hurl herself through an open window if need be. If she made it to Ruth and Martha’s cottage, they would transport her to Gilroy Park to be reunited with Jasper.
“Ada,” said her father jovially. “May I present your new fiancé, Mr. Micah Ambrose. I’ll be in my study; you may have a little time to become acquainted.”
As he turned and left, a slender, blond-haired young man marched into the room, and she loathed them both for assuming her compliance and delight at such a sudden and heartless arrangement. Perhaps the old Ada who’d not known true love or pleasure might have acquiesced to their wishes. But she was a woman who had at last found her voice. What would a Radcliffe heroine do?
Ada slowly rose to her feet, her gaze darting about to assess her best method of escape. If she could get the curate to move, she would have a clear path to the hallway and the front door. “Mr. Ambrose,” she gritted out, bobbing the barest curtsy.
“Miss Blair,” said Mr. Ambrose, with a stiff bow. “I consider myself fortunate to be marrying the daughter of Ernest Blair, a man I have long admired. We shall post the banns this Sunday—”
“Oh, please do take a seat, sir. So we might…discuss this further.”
He stilled in obvious bewilderment. “What is there to discuss? I am quite a catch; well-dressed, healthy, from a good family, modest of income but with excellent prospects. I’m also willing to overlook your advanced age and unfortunate height. I would, however, chide you to begin a fasting diet prior to the wedding.”
Ada’s fingers positively itched to stab him with a darning needle, but it seemed her heart wouldn’t quite permit crossing the threshold into bloodthirsty heroine. Instead, she forced a smile onto her face that was hopefully sweet and dutiful. “Then let us discuss fasting. Please do sit down and I’ll order tea. The chair by the fireplace is particularly comfortable.”
“Thank you,” he replied, as he settled into the armchair. “I do agree it is important that you are aware of my expectations of a fiancée, and indeed a wife. I am a traditionalist in that sense. For your future reference, I prefer tea without the decadence of milk and sugar.”
“Of course,” she chirped. “I’ll go at once and see to that. Excuse me.”
Ada walked along the hallway as though on her way to the kitchens. But rather than turn left, she continued on to gather her reticule and pelisse from the iron hooks by the front door. After one quick, furtive glance over her shoulder, she carefully opened the door and hurried down the front steps.