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CHAPTER EIGHT

“How was your evening, Ambrose?” The marchioness asked, watching him with a little smile.

“Fine, mother,” he answered. He’d hoped she would let him finish the first course before the interrogation began, but apparently she had other ideas.

“Who was in attendance?”

“Just the duke’s family, and a few of his friends and their families.” He glanced at his father, hoping for a reprieve.

His father cocked an eyebrow at him. “The gossip pages say you were seen with four young ladies last night, Ambrose.”

“Miss Emily Thompson, the Anderson twins, and the duke’s niece, Miss Desdemona Oldstone.”

“His niece?” Ambrose’s mother’s eyes widened. “Pretty?”

“Yes, mother, she’s quite lovely,” he sighed. His brother stifled a laugh.

“Well, you must have made a good impression,” his father said. “His grace approached me this morning at the Lords and said her grace would be sending an invitation for the family to attend their upcoming ball.”

His mother clapped her hands. “They rarely host any gatherings, and when they do, the invitations are gold.” The second course was brought in and they waited for the servants to leave before continuing the conversation.

“I’ve already accepted verbally, and we’ll be sending our written RSVP as well.” He smiled widely at Ambrose. “Well done, Ambrose. Your sisters will make well connected friends, and perhaps you and your brother will impress the ladies in attendance.”

Damien gave his brother a sneer, “I’m sure as the youngest son, I’ll not be as impressive as Ambrose.” He added under his breath, “Thank God.”

Ambrose stifled a laugh. “I am not all that impressive,” he started.

“You made the right impression on the duke, if we are invited to an event we have never been to before.” His father smiled widely with approval. “Perhaps you could introduce your mother to his niece, to see if she’d be suitable…”

“Father,” he started.

“All I am saying is you seem to have a favorable opinion of the girl, it would not be out of the ordinary to have your mother meet her to see if she would be a suitable companion, or should be introduced to your sisters.” His father grinned at his wife before turning his attention to his plate.

“If you wish it,” Ambrose replied noncommittally. “I believe it is a birthday celebration for Miss Oldstone.”

“Then perhaps I will take your sisters to find an appropriate gift for her,” his mother mused. “I wonder what she would like.”

“She likes to read, enjoys the theatre, and she enjoys needlework,” Ambrose said absently, digging into the second course. His sisters looked at him, Frederica rolling her eyes. Georgina sighed loudly. His mother smiled even wider.

“Such a wonderful trait for a young lady,” she said happily. “She sounds like a delight, Ambrose. Perhaps we can invite her to tea. Should we send a card to the duke?” Ambrose nearly choked as he grasped for a reason to discourage his mother.

“I would wait until after the ball, my dear,” the marquess said. “It would be presumptuous to invite her for tea before even being introduced.” Ambrose gave his father a look of relief and gratitude. “But after the ball,” he drawled, giving Ambrose a pointed look.

“Yes, father, after the ball…”

Luckily, his sisters started chattering about what they would wear, who they’d meet, drawing the attention away from him.

In the duke’s parlor, a similar conversation took place.

“He’s quite handsome, Dizzy,” her mother said, sipping her after dinner tea.

“And he seemed quite taken with you,” Lady Gail added.

“He is my friend,” Des protested.

“I think he would not be opposed becoming more than friends, Diz,” Montverre mused. All four women gave him accusing looks, while his father nearly choked on his own drink.

“Philip,” the duke growled.

Montverre threw his hands up. “I only meant that you and he got along quite well, and I think he would enjoy the opportunity to see if you would suit.” He looked at his father then, “I spoke quite plainly with him and he with me. He has no disrespectful intentions towards Desdemona, and told me he enjoyed talking with her and taking in the opera with her. He considers her a friend.”

Miriam smiled widely, as did Lady Gail. The duchess glanced at her husband before turning to Desdemona. “What about you, Dizzy-love? How do you feel about Lord Silvers? Would you welcome him as a suitor?”

Desdemona blushed, turning her attention to her teacup. “I think you are all jumping to conclusions. We had a nice conversation and enjoyed the opera. He is my friend. That is all.”

“Are you sure, Des?” her brother asked. “You and he seemed to develop a rapport at the opera. And when I spoke to him, he said you were interested in seeing the play he had sponsored this season.”

She nodded, “He did invite me to watch closing night with him.”

The ladies once again sighed with approval. Her father, however, raised an eyebrow. “A play? When and where will this be?”

“He hasn’t sent word yet,” she replied softly.

“I told him I would act as chaperone for them, Father,” Montverre added quickly.

“Well, that’s neither here nor there, since I’ve invited their family to your birthday ball at the end of the month,” the duke said, matter-of-factly.

The duchess nodded, smiling. “I sent out the invitation this morning. Your father said they’ve already accepted, and will be attending with their children.” Leaning forward, she said, “This could be the match of the season, Dizzy-love.”

“Aunt Imogen…” she protested.

“Desdemona,” her father asked, “Would you entertain an offer from him?” He held up a hand at her stammering.

“I am not saying it is happening. I just want to know if you would want me to allow an offer. If you do not find him acceptable, I would like to know before your mother and aunts get starry eyed over possibilities,” he added with a grin.

She gave a weak laugh, “I doubt it will ever come to that, papa,” she said softly, glancing at her brothers. “But, yes, I believe I would. He is kind, funny, intelligent, and easy to talk to.” She nodded slowly, hiding a shy smile.

Her mother and the duchess clapped their hands, as her oldest brother watched her, grinning. Her father finished his drink, but said nothing.

Montverre glanced at Miriam and winked. “Do not sell yourself short, Des.”

“I do not think I am, Philip.” She shrugged. “If I would be truthful, I am not quite suitable for a marquess’ son.”

“Nonsense,” her father growled. “You are my daughter. You are beautiful, well educated, have all the skills any of the misses this season would dream of having. You are a prize, my dear.”

“For a barrister, or a military officer, perhaps, but he’s the son of a marquess. He could have anyone, why would he settle for a shopgirl?” Desdemona asked.

“Which is why you cannot continue working with me, Dizzy-love,” her mother said.

When Desdemona began to protest, she continued.

“Desdemona, you can continue making trims and laces for me, but the more you are seen in the shop, the easier it will be for people to disparage you. You cannot maintain respectability and work in my shop, my dear.”

Seeing her mother’s determined expression, Des turned to her father. “Papa…” she started.

The duke shook his head, but gave her a gentle smile.

“Dizzy-love, your mother, your aunts and I have already discussed this. Tomorrow, your things will be quietly moved to your Aunt Gail’s townhome.

You will begin joining your aunts during receiving hours and go calling with them.

Your brother will be your escort in the evenings, your Aunts will chaperone.

Your Aunt Imogen and I are sponsoring your season, and when word gets out you not only have the favor of a duke, but have an extremely generous dowry, Philip will need a stick to keep the men away from you. ”

“You can still create your designs and make lacy trims and such for my shop, Dizzy-love. They will bring in plenty of coin whether or not you are in attendance.” Her mother patted her hand then.

“We want more for you than to be a drudge in a shop, or the wife of someone currying favor with your father. We’ve found happiness, my dear,” she said, smiling.

“Now we want it for you. For all of you,” she said, turning to Philip and Damien.

Desdemona looked around the room at her father, who watched her mother with a twinkle in his eyes. At Aunt Gail, who took Aunt Imogen’s hand in hers, twining their fingers together. At her brothers, Philip and Damien, who watched her with concern. And she knew she had no choice.

“Yes, mama,” she said softly.