The Conqueror's Dilemma (30 page)

Tiffany
was stricken to silence, and William’s wild temper faded as resentment grew in her
eyes. He shifted, looking away.

‘That
was uncalled for. I beg your pardon.’

‘It is
of no consequence.’

The
stiff little tone convinced him she felt it, on the contrary, to be of
significant consequence. William sighed in a defeated fashion, and looked round
at her again. She was no longer facing him, but her whole pose was redolent of
dejection.

‘Tiffany,
can we not even meet without rubbing up against each other? Is there no way
back?’

She
looked at him then, and the bleakness in her eyes pierced him to the heart. ‘I
warned you there was no possible meeting point, Will. Nothing has changed, even
though I am brought into your sphere.’ There was a look of hesitation in her
face, as if she was wondering whether to speak further. Then she looked away.
‘Perhaps it has, after all, nothing very much to do with my position in
society.’

William
had no answer. She had, as usual, gone straight to the heart of the matter. Was
it instinct? Or did she truly understand him this well?

Before
he could formulate a sensible reply, someone called his name. He turned to see
Juliana standing at a little distance, watching them. She called again.

‘Will,
may I speak with you?’

What
in the world did Juliana want just at this moment? He was incensed, though he
knew it to be unjustified. She was beckoning. There was nothing for it but to
comply. He glanced back to Tiffany.

‘Wait
here.’

The
peremptory tone had the effect of reviving the dying embers of Tiffany’s ire.
She was tempted to walk instantly away, but that would be childish. Instead she
was obliged to watch Will as he crossed the intervening space and went a little
apart with Lady Yelverton. She could not hear what was said, but it was obvious
from the woman’s pose and Will’s sharp gestures that an argument was in train.

In a
moment, Lady Yelverton had whisked about and was walking swiftly back down the
path towards the nearer grounds of Loscombe Manor, her ill temper clearly
apparent.

William
watched her leave and turned back to Tiffany. The instant he reached her, she
rapped out at him.

‘Had
you not better go after her and make your peace? I should much dislike to have
been the means of creating a quarrel between you.’

‘That
is past praying for,’ he responded, acid in his tone. ‘And I’ll thank you to
remember Juliana does not own me.’

‘Indeed?
I had supposed it to be quite otherwise.’

William
eyed her smoulderingly. ‘You are becoming adept, Tiffany. I had not credited
you with so much poison to your tongue.’

So
abruptly that his senses swam, her roguish look appeared. ‘I have taken a
lesson from you, William the Conqueror.’

He was
betrayed into a reluctant laugh. ‘You are an atrocious female, Tiffany Felton.
I cannot think why it has not before occurred to me.’

Without
warning, he stepped up to her and took her chin in his hand. Though her pulses
were crazily jumping, Tiffany made no move to prevent him, but only looked up
enquiringly into his face. His features relaxed, and she remembered how
handsome they were, how the brown eyes exuded warmth.

‘I
have missed that impish look of yours, my sweet Tiffany. I wish—’

He
broke off, and Tiffany, her heart rioting, could not help herself. ‘Pray what
do you wish, Will?’

But
his eyes darkened, and he released her. ‘Nothing.’

The
curt note was back and she knew the brief respite was over. A new conviction
came to her, lying heavy in her breast. She had taken what held him aloof from
his own lips. It lay within himself and there was nothing she could do to
change it. Then he spoke again, and her world turned upside down.

‘I
should have told you at once why Juliana came to find me. You are looked for,
Tiffany. Not that Juliana was the messenger, she merely wished to discuss the
event with me.’ His gaze was sombre. ‘It appears you are to leave us. Lady
Drumbeg has come for you.’

The
journey back to London proved a far cry from Tiffany’s trip with Ariadne but a
few days earlier. Then she had been uplifted with a sense of hope. Now she was
filled instead with bewilderment, not to say misgiving, at the news that had
served her duenna for an excuse to penetrate into Lady Altass’s milieu.

Not
that she had succeeded, if such had been her objective. She had been admitted,
but the butler had shown Lady Drumbeg into a back parlour while he went in
search, not of Lady Altass, whom he refused to disturb, but of Ariadne Membury.
Tiffany’s chaperon had been voluble upon the subject the moment she had her
charge safely in Mrs Gosbeck’s carriage, which she had borrowed for the
purpose.

‘I
told the wretched man as I’d an urgent message for you. You’d think your
hostess would’ve had the common civility to pass the time of day, but no. I was
shoved into that little room with no one to talk to, nor even an offer of
refreshment. If that’s their notion of manners, it ain’t mine. And after her
fashion of grabbing you off without so much as a by your leave, I’d have
expected Mrs Membury to have been a degree more polite, but she weren’t by a
long shot. Took a pet at my coming. I told her I’d not have done it without
good reason, but if she believed me, you may call me a Dutchwoman.’

Tiffany
did not trouble to dissuade her from this stance. She was aware of Ariadne’s
wrath, for that lady had greeted her as she came towards the house, an angry
flush visible in her cheeks.

‘I was
coming to look for you. That shocking woman has dared to muscle her way in
here, using some cock-and-bull tale to gain entrance of having an urgent
message for you.’

‘What
tale?’ Tiffany had demanded without preamble as she hurried with Ariadne
towards the house. ‘What does she want? Will said she has come to fetch me
back.’

‘Yes,
but she won’t tell me why. If you ask me, it’s a ploy to force us into allowing
her to remain.’

But
when Tiffany had reached the parlour, her chaperon had proved, for once, to be
acting legitimately.

‘Your
uncle and aunt have arrived in Town.’

Shock
had held Tiffany silent for several moments.

‘Did
you hear me, girl? You are requested to return forthwith.’

Tiffany
found her tongue. ‘Uncle Matt and Aunt Peggy are in London? But why? What has
brought them?’

Here
an unprecedented change came over Eva. She simpered, giving Tiffany a look she
could only interpret as sly in the extreme.

‘That
I am not at liberty to divulge. Your uncle will tell you himself.’

Mystified,
Tiffany left Lady Drumbeg and went to find her hostess. Through all the pother
of packing and making her farewells, her emotions were mixed. She was on the
one hand beset with a well of hanging grief at leaving the party, just when
there was a chink of light in the darkness of her relationship with Will. On
the other hand, the thought that the two people closest to her in the world had
descended upon her in the middle of the Season could not but delight, while at
the same time giving her cause for deep puzzlement and question. Had something
happened at home? Fear for her cousins gripped her momentarily.

No, it
could not be that. Uncle Matt would have sent an express if there had been an
accident or illness. Moreover, he would rather have arranged for her to return
home than to have left a member of the family in injury or distress. And Aunt
Peggy would never have left her sons had they been in trouble.

In
which case, it must have to do with herself. Which meant a deficiency in her
letters home. Was it merely that they missed her, or had she inadvertently
allowed her woes to appear?

Her
conviction of the latter grew the closer she got to London, although she could
not help but expend a few dismaying thoughts on all she had left behind.

She
had not seen Will to say goodbye, which grieved her. But Melinda’s blithe
parting had cheered her.

‘I am
so very sorry to lose you, Tiffany, but I refuse to fret. This is but the
beginning. As soon as I am back in London, I will be chasing after you to come
with me to all manner of events, I promise. I count you my friend already.’

If
Tiffany felt this was spurious from one of Melinda’s temperament, she at least
believed it sincerely meant. Ariadne had been more difficult to appease.

‘This
is utterly disastrous, and I will never forgive your relatives for taking you
away at this juncture. Just when all is in train to settle itself suitably.’

‘I
cannot think how you make that out,’ had said Tiffany frankly. ‘Melinda may
have been spending time with your brother, but there is no sign of any sudden
realisation on her part that she is in love with him.’

‘I’m
not thinking of Melinda and Hector.’

At
which point, Tiffany had taken fright and changed the subject. She could not
bring herself to discuss her situation with Will, particularly when she suspected
Ariadne had no real understanding of the barriers keeping them apart.

She
ought to be glad the visit had been curtailed in this unexpected fashion. For
all she knew, Uncle Matt had come to fetch her home. But a week earlier she
would have welcomed the release. Now the prospect was far less attractive.

It was
late afternoon by the time the carriage finally drew up at Number Seven
Albemarle Street, where Lady Drumbeg had been instructed to deliver her charge.

‘They asked
me to take you straight to Grillon’s. I will go back to the house and take your
trunks with me. Your uncle said he will bring you back in a hackney after you
have dined.’

Her
manner towards her charge was subtly altered. Apart from complaining of her
treatment at Loscombe Manor, she had not found one thing in Tiffany’s conduct
of which to complain, which was unusual to say the least. After puzzling over
it for a space, Tiffany had put it down to apprehension of incurring Uncle
Matt’s wrath did she criticise his niece. He was, after all, paying Eva.
Perhaps she thought, like Tiffany, he had the intention of taking her away. But
this did not explain the odd looks she had given Tiffany in the carriage, nor a
tendency on Eva’s part to laugh a little and rub her hands.

When
Tiffany had enquired the reason, Eva had shaken her head, uttering only, ‘You
will see presently.’

But
the moment Tiffany entered the hotel and asked to be conducted to the room
occupied by her aunt and uncle, she forgot all about Lady Drumbeg in
anticipation of seeing them both after so long.

The
door opened to the servant’s knock, and there stood Uncle Matt, beaming all
over his big expressive face.

‘Tiff,
my pet!’

Enveloped
in his great bear hug, Tiffany’s heart filled to bursting. She buried her face
in his shoulder and wept.

The
comfort of Uncle Matt’s hand patting her, and his bluff tones above her head
were balm to her wounded spirit.

‘There,
there. No need to take on, lass. Didn’t I say she’d cry herself to pieces, Peg?
Knew there was something wrong.’

This
brought Tiffany’s tear-stained face up. Her aunt’s anxious features were
hovering just below Uncle Matt’s shoulder.

‘Aunt
Peggy! Oh, dearest Aunt Peggy.’

In a
moment, Tiffany had freed herself and been caught up in a second clutching
embrace. Her aunt’s tears mingled with hers as the two of them came apart.

‘Look
at me, then, spouting like a two-year-old.’

Tiffany
fell into laughter, in which her aunt readily joined, holding her hands
tightly.

‘Tiffy
love! Sweet child. Oh, we’ve missed you so.’

‘And
I’ve missed you—so very much.’

‘Now
then, the two of you,’ came chidingly from Uncle Matt. ‘Enough of that. We
ain’t here to parley on about how much we’ve all missed each other. That goes
without saying. What we want to know is—’

‘Don’t
you go starting all that before the child’s had a chance to recover herself,
Matt Felton,’ cut in Aunt Peggy, much to Tiffany’s relief. ‘I’ll warrant she
needs a moment to get over our being here, never mind anything else.’

‘She’s
had the whole coach journey to get used to that,’ protested her husband, making
Tiffany laugh.

‘Yes,
it’s true. Only I was so exercised for the reason, I’m not used to it at all.
Why have you come?’

But
her aunt would not hear of questions until they had all settled into the comfortable
chairs provided in the private parlour adjoining their room at the hotel. She
rang for tea, and sent Tiffany off to the bedchamber to wash off the stains of
travel.

Glad
of the respite, Tiffany took time over the little matter of her toilette. She was
overjoyed to see them both, of course, but her apprehensions had reared up
again. She could be in no doubt concern for her had brought Uncle Matt hotfoot
to the scene, and she felt ill-equipped to account for herself. Whether she
could successfully deflect a man as penetrating as her uncle remained to be
seen, but she must try. How else was she to escape the detestable necessity to
give an account of Will’s dealings with her? She was loath to expose him to
Uncle Matt’s contempt, for she knew he would react badly to her tale. Well, if
she got into difficulties, she must rely on Aunt Peggy’s good offices.

By the
time she returned to the cosy parlour, a servant was laying down a tray laden
with the makings of tea and a platter of pasties and viands that made Tiffany
realise how hungry she was. She had left Loscombe Manor before luncheon, and
eaten nothing since breakfast.

‘Goodness,
lovey, you look as fine as a new minted coin,’ exclaimed Aunt Peggy, catching
sight of Tiffany’s gown for the first time. ‘It’s a pity you can’t wear
colours, but these high waists look very well on you, don’t they, Matt?’