The Conqueror's Dilemma (33 page)

‘It
could be a lot worse, lovey, if your Conqueror had jumped at the chance.’

‘He
would never have done that,’ stated Tiffany positively, despite her secret
relief.

‘Why
ever not? You said yourself he’s a fortune-hunter.’

‘What
if he is?’ demanded Tiffany, firing up. Conveniently forgetting the times she
had thrown his ambitions in Will’s face, she leaped to his defence. ‘He is not
the first man to be obliged to seek a rich wife. He was not born to this life,
any more than I. He had to find a way to rise, which he did—not that I care for
the method he used, for I don’t—and if he hopes to remain in the position he
has attained, he has no choice but to marry someone who may provide him with
the means.’

‘Well,
it won’t be you by the look of things,’ said Aunt Peggy sapiently.

‘That
it won’t,’ chimed in Uncle Matt, such a world of meaning in the utterance,
Tiffany’s glance flew to his face and there stayed.

‘What—what
do you mean?’

Uncle
Matt drew in his breath with a disapproving hiss. ‘I’d like fine to tell you,
lass, but I can’t. Your aunt has forbidden me to say a word.’

‘Yes,
and why you had to open your big mouth in the first place is a matter passing my
understanding,’ said Aunt Peggy, incensed. ‘Pay no heed to him, Tiffy.’

But
Tiffany could only gaze at her uncle, who was warming his coat-tails at the
parlour fire, a wave of panic sweeping through her.

‘It’s
too late, Aunt Peggy,’ she said tensely. ‘I’ve got to know now. It’s what Will
said, isn’t it? If you are keeping it from me, it must be terrible.’

Her
uncle had the grace to look embarrassed, his ruddy features reddening the more.
But he shook his head with decision.

‘No,
Tiff, your aunt’s in the right of it. I’ve got to keep mum.’ His blue gaze
pierced at her suddenly. ‘On that subject, any road. But there’s something I
want to know, Tiff, and I’ll not rest until you tell me. From what your young
feller let fall, it seems he’s got a deal to answer for where you’re concerned.
Is that a fact?’

Tiffany
looked instinctively to her aunt, expecting—nay, hoping—for her intervention.
She had so far managed to avoid making any sort of explanation or recital of
her dealings with Will. But she was no fool, and she had known this would not
be allowed to continue indefinitely.

There
was no sign from Aunt Peggy, who remained silent this time, although she cast a
minatory glance at her spouse. Tiffany guessed she meant to warn him to be
tactful. She was on the point of opening her mouth to begin upon the subject,
when some instinct caught at her. She looked from one to the other, and
suddenly shook her head.

‘No.’
She reached out for Aunt Peggy’s fingers. ‘I love you both excessively, and you
have been more than father and mother to me. But this is a matter between
myself and Will, and I will not betray him.’

For
several moments, Tiffany held her breath as her surrogate parents looked her
over. She could feel her pulse pumping uncomfortably, but she knew suddenly that
in this she would hold her ground. They exchanged a glance together and looked
back at her.

All at
once, Uncle Matt threw back his head and laughed out. ‘You’ve grown up, Tiff.’

But
Aunt Peggy’s eyes were tender. She squeezed Tiffany’s fingers. ‘You love him
very dearly, don’t you, Tiffy love?’

Tiffany’s
throat constricted, and tears stung her eyes. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I do.’

Aunt
Peggy’s arms were suddenly about her, hugging her tight. ‘You’re a brave girl.
Just like your mother.’ Pulling back, she showed Tiffany a laughing
countenance, but her eyes were wet. ‘You looked just like her then, Tiffy. It
could have been Emma talking.’

‘Well,
let’s hope Tiff ain’t obliged to throw her cap over the windmill,’ grunted
Uncle Matt. ‘And if you ask me, there’s small chance of it.’

Which
was as much as to say, Tiffany thought, relapsing into dejection, that William
Westerham’s response to her uncle’s proposition had been an unequivocal
negative.

William
was pacing, along the length of his friend’s library and back again. He had
walked the intervening streets in a lather of renewed rage, having been obliged
to bottle up his spleen and possess his soul in what patience he could muster
for three whole days while Kilbride was out of town. He headed for Brunswick
Square the moment he received word from his friend’s valet—bribed to send a
message at once—that Hector was back.

In
fact, Kilbride had arrived home not an hour since, having elected to travel
through the night rather than spend two days upon the road. He had just finished
dressing himself, having washed off the dirt kicked up by his horses, when
William was announced.

‘You’re
just in time to join me for breakfast, old fellow,’ Hector had begun. Then the
welcoming smile had been replaced by a quick frown. ‘Hang it, you look like
death’s messenger! What’s to do, Will?’

But
William had shaken his head. ‘In private, if you please, Hector.’

He saw
Kilbride glance towards his dressing-room, where his valet was clearing up the
debris. Hector jerked his head towards the door.

‘We’ll
go to the library.’

Once
they were alone, William found it hard to tell his tale and began instead to
shunt back and forth across the room, until Hector’s forcible urging could no
longer be ignored.

‘For
God’s sake, you’ll wear a hole in the carpet! No use you pelting round here
looking like a burst thundercloud, and then refusing to talk. Besides, I’m
hungry enough to eat an ox whole, so cut line, Will.’

William
halted in mid-stride and turned to face Kilbride. ‘Tiffany is an heiress.’

A
faint feeling of satisfaction entered his breast to see Hector’s jaw drop. But
a scowl quickly followed.

‘How
in thunder do you know?’

‘I am
indebted to her uncle for the information. He came to see me on Saturday expressly
to tell me—now, what did he say?—something on the lines that there is no bar to
my union with Tiffany if money is the only thing standing in my way.’

Hector
whistled. ‘I’ll be damned!’

William
gave vent to a hollow laugh. ‘I probably already am.’

He
became aware of Hector’s narrowed gaze. ‘What did you say?’

A
muscle worked in William’s jaw. ‘Oh, I thanked him nicely and instantly offered
my hand and heart. What do you think I said?’

Hector
threw up a hand. ‘All right, old fellow. No need to take a pet.’

With
difficulty, William controlled the spurt of temper. ‘Your pardon, dear boy. I’m
so put about, I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.’

Moving
to the desk, Kilbride perched on it, his frowning gaze returning to William’s
face. ‘You refused him then.’

The
image of Mr Felton’s wary countenance behind the lifted chair sprang into
William’s mind. ‘I very nearly landed the fellow a facer.’

Hector’s
brows shot up. ‘Eh?’

‘You’re
surprised? You don’t think it an insufferable insult to Tiffany to provide her
with a purchased husband? Did it ever occur to you, Hector, that a girl like
Tiffany could do better for herself than to settle for a fortune-hunting
fraud?’

‘Hey,
hey, that’ll do!’ Kilbride was on his feet. ‘I’m on your side, remember.’

William
threw him a furious glance, and resumed his restless pacing. If he had thought
his anger spent, he found himself mistaken. He wanted to fight the world. After
a few moments, his ire began to cool again, and conscience tapped remindingly
on the walls of his mind.

Turning,
he beheld Hector perched once more on the desk, watching him with wary
attention. He uttered a short laugh.

‘Prudent
of you, my friend, to keep mum.’ He went across and held out a hand. ‘Forgive
me. I came to you for succour and I’m ready to blame you too.’

His
hand was strongly grasped. ‘You fool. As if I care for that.’ A grin split
Hector’s face. ‘I’d give a monkey to have seen the fellow when you threatened
him. What did he do?’

William
began to feel sheepish. ‘He took up a chair against me.’ A reluctant smile was
drawn from him. ‘It’s well for you to laugh, Hector. It was far from amusing at
the time.’

‘I
should think it was,’ gasped his friend, rocking back and forth with mirth.
‘Lord, I can just see it!’

William
was obliged to join in his laughter, and felt a deal better for it. But the
relief did not last.

‘What
the devil am I to do, Hector?’

Kilbride
shook his head. ‘Breakfast. We’ll talk it over afterwards.’

But by
the time William had been cajoled into consuming a small portion of the ham and
eggs his friend heaped upon his plate, he’d had opportunity enough to revert to
the conclusion he had reached on his own during the intervening
days—accompanied by fruitless and exhausting bouts of temperament.

Hector
opened in a tentative fashion. ‘Don’t bite my head off, old fellow, but I’m
bound to say this.’

‘Say
what you like,’ offered William, waving his fourth cup of sustaining coffee.
‘I’ve done attacking you.’

‘Well,
I hope so, for you mightn’t like it.’ Kilbride fortified himself with a swig of
ale, which was his preferred choice of a morning. ‘I know it ain’t what you
planned, but you could do worse than close with Felton’s offer.’

William
curled his lip. ‘Because it is the answer to my prayers? No, Hector, I can’t do
it.’

‘But
you’ve said I don’t know how many times all you wanted was a female with money.
And here’s a chit you’re more than half fond of.’

‘Exactly
so.’ Setting down his cup with exaggerated care, William drew a painful breath.
‘I never envisioned other than a straight bargain with a woman of means who
might look to me to enrich her social position. Fondness, or even liking, had
no bearing on the case.’

Kilbride
was frowning heavily. ‘Ain’t it better this way?’

‘No, a
thousand times.’ He bit back the hot words, trying for a calm note. ‘Can’t you
see how intolerable it would be? Tiffany guessed my ambition without having to
be told. I did not deny it. To my shame, I found it convenient, for it enabled
me to keep my distance—or to try to do so, impossible though it was.’

‘And
so?’

‘Hector,
think. Must I now insult her with an obvious volte-face? It can’t be done. I
could not endure it.’

To his
combined chagrin and dismay, his friend refused it. ‘I don’t see it, old
fellow. You’d a deal better eat humble pie and take the chance of a lifetime.
She’ll forgive you right enough, if Ariadne ain’t mistaken in her reading of
the situation.’

Despising
the veiled hint, William threw it wide open. ‘You mean Tiffany will allow me
all the latitude I wish because she cares for me. You think that makes it
better?’

‘Don’t
make a particle of difference what I think, old fellow. It’s what Tiffany
thinks, and if she—’

‘Pray
don’t suggest I should put it to her choice, because nothing would induce me to
do so. What, am I to offer her Spanish coin and pretend a like intensity of
feeling? You know, for I told you, how I am placed. I may be every sort of
fool, but I am not a villain.’

Hector
spread preserve on a thick slice of bread and butter. ‘Wasn’t going to say that
at all. But I see it’s no use talking. Never met such a fellow for taking
anything you say in snuff.’

William
grunted, stirred too deeply to be reasonable. He could not abide any notion
that served to hurt or humiliate Tiffany in any fashion whatsoever. And
whatever Kilbride had to say was bound to result in something of the sort. In
truth, there was nothing he could do which would not result in Tiffany’s
affliction. But he must hope she might learn to forget, if she could not
forgive the solution he knew to be the only one possible.

Tiffany
had no further need of his assistance, for her social position was assured. He
knew his world too well not to be certain of that. She must be freed from his
influence, and from all temptation to sacrifice herself to his ambition.
William did not deceive himself. It would be a wrench to bow out, and he had no
notion how he would manage. But nothing less would serve.

Left to
herself, Tiffany would have remained in seclusion in either Lady Drumbeg’s
house or her guardian’s hotel suite, an admittedly cowardly course that
threatened to be denied her. Plagued by Eva, and prodded by Uncle Matt and Aunt
Peggy, she fought against all persuasions to resume her Season.

‘Won’t
hear of you renouncing your pleasures,’ said Uncle Matt.

As if
she might anticipate any “pleasure” in attending such events as promised in the
beastly collection of invitations she steadfastly refused to examine.

‘Where
is your pride, Tiffy?’ pleaded Aunt Peggy. ‘Will you show yourself so poor a
creature to this Conqueror of yours?’

What
did it matter, when his opinion of her could not well be worse than it already
was? Had there been one word from him to leaven the vile humiliation he must
know she was suffering after Uncle Matt’s disastrous intervention? No, there
had not. And her “well-wishers” would thrust her willy-nilly into his orbit,
only to endure misery and discomfiture too horrible to contemplate.

For
four days she held out. But on Wednesday morning Melinda Loscombe arrived on
her doorstep, and proved more persuasive than anyone could have expected in
such a feather-headed creature.

‘Dear
Tiffany, you must not fail me. I promised Mama I would not walk in the Park
with only my maid for company, and she was adamant I must not go at all until I
said I had an assignation with you.’

‘But
you have not, Melinda,’ protested Tiffany, impatient of this silly deception.

‘Well,
Mama does not know that. And naturally she is delighted to have me associate
with you.’