The Conqueror's Dilemma (12 page)

Hector
began to look alarmed, but William laughed. ‘Do so, by all means. And when you
have found it out, pray be good enough to tell me too.’

Which sent
Melinda into fresh peals of laughter, and William took instant advantage of the
opportunity to move on. A lovely piece, Melinda, with little in her head beyond
the pursuit of pleasure, or a trifle of gossip to enliven a dull day. There was
no malice in the wench, but not much wit either. How well she would suit
Hector. Just the sort of pretty adjunct he needed. She would give him no
trouble, do her duty and enjoy her life without interfering with his abiding
love of all things sporting. He must remember to encourage them both. The
wonder was Ariadne had not already done her best to throw them together. Unless
she thought an undoubted beauty would not look twice at her brother.

His
thoughts unaccountably engendered a sensation of dullness in him. He refused to
attribute it to anything and forbade himself to dwell on the recently imprinted
image of Tiffany in his head. Instead, he concentrated on pursuing his path
around the saloon, intent upon handing tea to each of the four or five young
ladies present. He spent a moment of time with them, exchanging a few
pleasantries before moving on. When the last was served, he found Juliana
beside him, a meaningful look in her eye.

Suppressing
an inward sigh, William greeted her with an assumption of pleasure. ‘You look
ravishing as always, Ju. Did you wish for a cup of tea before I allow this poor
fellow to return to his duties?’

‘No, I
thank you.’

She
waited while he nodded dismissal to the footman, and then tucked her hand in
his arm and drew him to one side. William guessed what was coming.

‘What
are you doing, Will?’ she demanded without preamble.

He
regarded her enigmatically, successfully concealing his inward chagrin.
‘Handing tea around, Ju.’

‘Yes,
I saw you,’ she returned impatiently. ‘You went to each of the debutantes in
turn, starting with the Drumbeg’s protégée.’

‘I had
no idea you took such interest in my movements, Ju. I am flattered.’

‘Don’t
try to turn it off, Will. I repeat, what are you doing? As if I didn’t know.’

William
eyed her. ‘If you know, why ask me?’

Juliana’s
fan closed with a snap. ‘I wish you will not play games with me, Will. This is
serious. And pray don’t attempt to deny you had a hand in Ariadne’s inviting
the chit here. That much is evident.’

He was
conscious of no small degree of annoyance, but he suppressed it. Juliana was
not only his friend, but also had been his mentor, and to some degree his
passport until he was able to stand on his own. But in a world renowned for its
censure, he could ill afford to lose the good opinion of the Queen of Society.
He opted for attack.

‘What
is it you want to know, Ju? If you have been watching me, surely you’ve noted
my purpose in including all the young ladies in my perambulations?’

‘Do
you take me for a fool?’ Juliana snapped. ‘Of course I noticed. You are
avoiding bringing this female into fashion by making her one of a crowd, I see
that. But it does not tell me why you arranged for her to be invited? Not that
I’ve anything against her. No doubt she has something to recommend her to have
taken you in, but—’

‘That
will do.’ He had spoken in a low tone, but the faint shock in her eyes told him
he had allowed his anger to show. Yet at this moment, he could not bring
himself to care. ‘Tiffany has no notion of taking me in. The girl is an
innocent, just as I suspected. And no, I have not formed an attachment to her,
which is no doubt what you think. If you must have it, I am sorry for the
child.’

‘Sorry
for her?’ Juliana stared. ‘Why in the world should you be sorry for her?’

William’s
swift fury subsided. ‘If you knew anything of her, you would not ask. She is
all at sea, Ju. Such affairs as these are a nightmare for her.’

‘Then
what should take you to have her dragged to one?’

‘There
was no other way to—’ He bit his tongue on the truth, seeking a more innocuous
reason. ‘To help her. But, as you so sapiently remarked, I have taken pains not
to single her out.’

‘That
you went to her at all is enough to give everyone the impression you at least
approve of her, Will.’

‘I
can’t help that. It’s pure fellow feeling, my lovely. I cannot ignore her,
remembering my own first innocent steps in this censorious world.’

Juliana
shifted her shoulders. ‘You were never gauche. And if you suppose this female
can emulate your success, you must have windmills in your head.’

William
smiled without mirth. ‘Almost you tempt me to take up the challenge. But I
shan’t do it, for it would be no service to Tiffany.’

‘Tiffany,’
repeated her ladyship in a tone that served to make William suspect a hint of
jealousy. He had never pretended to love her—an emotion of which he trusted and
believed he had made himself incapable—but Juliana had ever regarded him in a
proprietorial fashion. ‘You’re losing your touch, Will. She is not near as
pretty as her name.’

‘No,’
he agreed, aware of a surge of resentment. ‘But the imps in her eyes more than
make up for that.’

With
which, he turned on his heel and left Juliana flat. The danger of so doing did
not occur to him until the seething annoyance had died down. By which time, he
had fortified himself with a glass of claret, procured for him by Kilbride,
who, coming to find him, had taken one look at his face and departed in search
of the restorative.

‘Better?’

William
sighed. ‘I’ve fallen foul of Juliana.’

‘She won’t
be the only one,’ commented Hector bluntly.

‘I
know it.’

‘Ariadne
seems to like the chit,’ offered his friend.

‘Why
shouldn’t she? There’s nothing amiss with her.’

Hector’s
expression altered. ‘Hang it, here’s the Yelverton again!’

William
turned to find Juliana approaching. Her cheeks were flying two spots of colour,
a dangerous sign. But her smile was still in place. Hector was sidling out of
the line of fire. He had never a stomach for verbal battles. William waited,
carefully keeping his features expressionless. It was a trick he had learned
long ago, and it stood him in excellent stead at a moment when his own
uncertainties were legion.

The
tip of Juliana’s closed fan touched his arm lightly. ‘Pray don’t give me your
enigmatic look, Will. Must I beg your pardon?’

‘Not
if you don’t mean it.’

A
little sigh escaped her. ‘I do and I don’t.’ She held out her hand. ‘Come, cry
friends with me again. I hate to be at outs with you, and it was shrewish of
me.’

William’s
ire melted, and he took her hand, kissing the fingers quickly. ‘I stand too
much in your debt to hold a grudge, Ju.’

She
gave him that smile of peculiar intimacy as the hazel eyes softened. ‘The debt
has long been paid, dearest Will. We won’t allow pride to come between us, and
I could not bear to see you fall on your face for want of a little guidance.’

‘Meaning?’
he asked wryly.

‘It
goes against the grain, but if you are determined on this course, I’ll help
you.’

‘Can
you?’ He hoped his eagerness had escaped her. At least she made no reference to
it. Her response was not exactly the answer he wanted.

‘Upon
conditions.’

Wary,
he eyed her. ‘Yes?’

‘You
must find a way to exclude the chaperon.’

William
almost laughed out. Exclude the Drumbeg? As well tell him to fly to the moon.
He preserved his air of calm. ‘She is a trifle difficult to ignore.’

Juliana
shrugged. ‘Agreed. Yet if she becomes encroaching, I am far better placed than
you to quash her, besides smoothing any ruffled feathers.’

‘Generous
of you, my dear Ju.’ It was, for there was no doubt of the truth of her words.
He did his best to sound conciliating. ‘I will rely upon you absolutely. If,
that is, I can meet your terms.’

A far
more natural smile was drawn from her. ‘A man of your ingenuity, Will? I am
sure you will do so. I only hope I am not helping you to throw yourself away.’

From
across the room, Tiffany watched each smile and gesture, beset by a sickening
feeling of dismay. A notion, hitherto unsuspected, shot into her brain. Could
Mr Westerham and Lady Yelverton be lovers? A niece of the bluff Matthew Felton
could cherish no illusions about the moral standards of his betters.

‘Don’t
you go thinking your gentry are pattern cards of virtue, Tiff. I could tell you
tales that would curl your hair. Hypocritical lot, they are, going to church of
a Sunday. Drinking and gambling, wenching too—’

‘Matthew
Felton, you keep a still tongue in your head.’ Thus Aunt Peggy.

‘And
not only the men,’ pursued her uncle.

‘Filling
the girl’s mind with stuff like that.’

‘Adulterous
lot, them females, be they never so high-born.’

‘Matt!
Stop it, now. I won’t have it.’

But
the warning had been oft repeated in spite of Aunt Peggy’s prohibition. Her
uncle had not precisely intimated all the gentry were prone to misdeeds of this
nature, but his belief their morals were in general looser than those of
persons of his own class had been thoroughly inculcated.

From
what she had observed, even within the narrow confines of lesser society,
Tiffany had no reason to doubt Uncle Matt. Gossip, as related by Mrs Gosbeck,
was almost entirely devoted to the latest suspected criminal conversations.
Even Lady Drumbeg had not hesitated to mention it when persons she pointed out
to Tiffany were known to be extra-maritally involved.

The
realisation that the Conqueror was no exception, while it must dim his lustre
in her eyes, could come as no surprise. With a sense of shock, she wondered she
had not seen it before. What else, after all, could be the reason for his
sobriquet? It must undoubtedly have been earned by conquest. A lowering
thought, and one that caused her to look upon Lady Yelverton with less than
friendly eyes.

She
could scarcely fault the lilac gown, covered over with a half-robe of purple
sarcenet trimmed with yellow ribbon, which she supposed to be at the pinnacle
of fashion. But Tiffany was well able to note the blowsy figure underneath,
full bosomed and—yes, she was afraid she must call it plump. Nor could she
approve the heavy fall of black hair dressed in the Grecian manner. It was hard
to imagine how the Conqueror, dashing in a blue tailed coat over skin-tight
fawn-coloured breeches, could admire Lady Yelverton’s style.

Yet
her belief he did was fostered by Mr Westerham’s failure to approach her again.
Had she been mistaken when she supposed him to be making some sort of apology?
His words had rolled around and around in her mind, setting a glow alight in
her chest. If she could not know the reason for his regarding her with that
hateful look of disdain when they met in this very house, at least she had the
satisfaction of knowing he was sorry for it.

But as
she watched him passing from one young woman to another, pressing tea upon them
all, the glow began to fade. He had treated her with no flattering distinction,
it would seem. And then he had been accosted by Lady Yelverton—twice.

Tiffany
watched them part, and kept a surreptitious eye upon the Conqueror’s movements
thereafter. Having no acquaintance, she had all too much time to engage in an
occupation that proved unpalatable. Eva had begun her avowed circulating,
although Tiffany thought she circled in vain. While one or two matrons bowed to
her, none appeared inclined to include her in their conversations. Presently it
dawned upon her that her chaperon was edging closer to Mr Westerham. Each time
she shifted in his direction, he moved again, alighting upon some other group
and joining effortlessly in whatever was under discussion.

At
least Tiffany supposed it to be effortless. He had so much assurance—and
obvious popularity—none was averse to including him. But he managed
nevertheless to extract himself in time to avoid Lady Drumbeg. After watching
for a time, Tiffany was convinced it was deliberate. A strange mixture of
amusement and suspense attacked her.

‘As
good as a play, isn’t it?’

Ariadne
Membury had taken the seat beside her. Tiffany looked at her in no little
confusion. Did she refer to what was taking place between her chaperon and the
Conqueror? If so, was it not a trifle impolite to mention it? Perhaps Tiffany
had mistaken her meaning.

The
merry laughter sounded. ‘Oh, don’t be shy, dear Miss Felton. You must know your
duenna is a distinct disadvantage to you.’

Tiffany
knew not what to say. This was frankness indeed. She hovered between a wholly
unjustified anger and a rueful acknowledgement. It had long been borne in upon
her that Eva’s conduct and character were less than desirable. Impulsively, she
opted for a like candour.

‘Why
is she despised?’

Mrs
Membury cast her a pitying look. ‘I suspected as much. You are wholly ignorant
of her background, aren’t you?’

To her
annoyance, Tiffany felt a rush of shame. ‘I know she is not of the first stare.
And her friends are—are of an order not to be invited to such a house as
yours.’

‘She’s
a cit, dear.’

The
expression was new to Tiffany, but the tone of its utterance gave an inkling to
its meaning. A well of indignation overrode the intensity of dismay.

‘A cit? You mean to imply by that—’

‘It
means citizen. She has no birth, Miss Felton, for all she wears a title.’

Tiffany
sat very straight in her chair. ‘Mrs Membury, my father was what you call a
cit. As is my uncle.’

The
other’s eyes widened. ‘Indeed?’

Tiffany
drew a painful breath. ‘Perhaps you would prefer that I leave?’