The Conqueror's Dilemma (5 page)

Before her mood could descend
altogether into the depths, the coach reached its destination. Tiffany returned
to consciousness to hear Mrs Gosbeck expressing her hopes of what might be
discovered in the emporium they were about to enter.

‘Viney says as there’s a new silk
as close as ninepence to Florentine, so’s no one wouldn’t know any different,
and a dozen separate gauzes as has been rejected from the manufactory at
Paisley, with nothing but a tweaked thread to spoil them, Viney says, and not a
mark anywhere as you’d notice.’

‘I’ll ask if he has any Norwich
crape,’ said Eva eagerly as she made ready to descend. ‘I’ve a mind to a shawl
out of it, if he has, for I’m sure it might be taken for a Norwich shawl and
none the wiser.’

Stepping down into the street
behind the two matrons, Tiffany was confronted with a shop boasting two large
windows, bulging glass making up each pane, on either side of a narrow blue
doorway. Above, large gilt letters proclaimed this to be Viney’s establishment,
with the dubious distinction of the words “Cheap Warehouse” alongside a coat of
arms.

Tiffany glanced away towards that
end of Cheapside leading into Lombard Street. It was but a step, she decided,
presenting no problem to a country-bred female. But Lady Drumbeg was already sailing
into the shop, with Mrs Gosbeck hard on her heels, and Tiffany was obliged to
follow.

An obsequious person, presumably
Mr Viney, was bowing low to her chaperon as Tiffany entered. He was attended by
a couple of younger acolytes, to whose attentive services he passed Lady
Drumbeg, turning himself to Mrs Gosbeck, for whom he reserved a much warmer
greeting. The elder ladies rapidly became immersed in the examination of Mr
Viney’s wares, both having apparently forgotten Tiffany’s presence.

Should she inform her chaperon of
her intention? In conscience she ought, if the lure of this brief freedom was
not so strong. What if Eva were to forbid her? And would it not be awkward to
interrupt? She would not be gone long, and with luck, her absence would pass unnoticed.

Slipping quietly out of the shop,
Tiffany came upon Mrs Gosbeck’s footman, lounging against the coach. He
straightened hurriedly when he saw her, saluting with a finger to his forelock.
Relieved, Tiffany went up to him.

‘Pray, will you say to Mrs
Gosbeck and Lady Drumbeg, should they enquire for me, that I will be back
directly.’

The footman frowned. ‘Where shall
I say you’re gone to, miss?’

‘Only to Lombard Street.’
Surprised to see the frown did not shift, Tiffany cocked her head. ‘What is it,
Cottle?’

‘Would you like me to come with
you, miss?’

Tiffany smiled. ‘That is kind of
you, Cottle, but it is only a step. I can perfectly well go on my own.’

The man looked dubious, and she
was tempted to accept his escort. Only it was probably more to the point he
remained to tell her chaperon where she had gone in the event Lady Drumbeg did
notice her absence. Her longing to be free from restraint won out. Leaving the
footman, Tiffany made the best of her way down the street towards the Post
Office.

She was obliged to hold up her
skirts and tread a meandering path to avoid the inevitable filth, but this was
a small matter compared to the lift of spirits in walking thus alone. Although
she must keep a watch for deposits from the horses and be wary of oncoming
vehicles, Tiffany was yet able to enjoy the variety of goods for sale and the
way the shops were juxtaposed higgledy-piggledy one against another—a
fishmonger rubbing shoulders with a purveyor of lamps, and a display of caged
birds next to the perruquier’s window, featuring busts with realistic glass
eyes below their elaborate heads of hair. So similar to the jumble in the
harbour at home.

A sudden yearning caused a haze
to cross her vision making her pause for a moment, blinking.

As her eyes cleared, she saw some
yards ahead of her the sign pointing the location of the General Post Office.
Heaving a sigh of relief, Tiffany hurried towards it. Entering the building
into a wide corridor, Tiffany paused to peep through a series of windows at the
banks of stalls where rows of clerks in red coats sat upon stools, working
through piles of letters, folded and sealed. Fascinated, she rose on tiptoe and
watched for several moments, her eyes upon the nearest row where the swiftly
moving hands sorted the mail.

‘Curiosity killed the cat, you
know,’ said an amused voice behind her.

Tiffany gasped and turned, almost
losing balance in her haste. The gentleman who had addressed her sprang
forward, catching her upper arms.

‘Steady,’ said Mr Westerham,
setting her back upon her feet. ‘All right now?’

Unable to speak, Tiffany nodded
and he let her go, rocking back on his heels. His brown gaze remained upon her
face in a quizzical look that set her pulses dancing. Of all persons in the
world to catch her unawares—and in such a place—it had to be the Conqueror.
Consciousness of her problematic thoughts about him swamped her, and she could
think of nothing to say—even had her voice not been choked inside her throat.

Her eyes dropped from his, and
fell upon the caped greatcoat he wore. It hung open, and she glimpsed a coat of
green before her attention caught upon the revealing pantaloons outlining the
muscle in his thigh as the breeches he had worn last night had not. Acutely
embarrassed by an upsurge of warmth flooding her unexpectedly, Tiffany jerked
her gaze away. And up again, to find an even more disturbing expression in the
smiling eyes. Had he noted her reaction? How dreadful if he had. But his
attention proved to be on other matters.

‘What, if I may ask the question,
are you doing in such a place? And quite alone.’

It was gently said, but with an
inflexion that threw Tiffany into a feeling of panic growing all too familiar.
Her tongue loosened.

‘Oh, don’t say I am in breach of
etiquette
again
? Should I not have come? But it is only to post a
letter. Surely there cannot be any harm in that?’

William was instantly caught by the same thrust of
curiosity. The breathy voice had all its first effect and he almost regretted
having accosted her. Instinct bade him retreat as he had before, but he could
scarcely walk away without explanation. He had glanced only with idle amusement
at a female ogling—as he had thought—the clerks through the windows. Had it
been the tilt of her head that had alerted him? It had not taken more than a few
seconds to recognise her, even in profile. There had been no hesitation then,
struck as he had been by the impropriety of her conduct.

That he had put her out of
countenance was evident. But this last was too tantalising to be borne. He gave
in to impulse.

‘Why do you ask me? Surely you
know females don’t frequent this sort of establishment? At least, not without
some sort of escort.’

Consternation flooded the clear
gaze. ‘Drat. I should have accepted Cottle’s offer to come with me, shouldn’t
I?’

William could not help laughing.
‘Until I know who Cottle is, I reserve my opinion.’

‘He is the footman. Only I
thought it better he stayed to let my chaperon know where I had gone. I had no
chance to tell her, you see.’

William gazed at her. ‘Your chaperon
does not know you are here?’

She began to look a little
conscious again. ‘Well, she is only just along the street. In Cheapside, you
know, at Mr Viney’s emporium.’

Having no knowledge of Mr Viney
or his emporium, William did not know. But if he did not miss his guess, Mr
Viney was one who sold goods at less than their usual price, due either to
damage or bad workmanship. As he knew all too well, having been obliged in less
comfortable times to partake of such bargains himself. But that was beside the
bridge.

‘I begin to believe you are
either innocent beyond words or utterly incorrigible, my child.’

Stung, Tiffany protested hotly.
‘I am not your child. It is absurd for you to call me so, besides, for you
cannot be many more years older than I.’

He smiled again, and she was
instantly disarmed. ‘I am ready to wager I am a good ten years your senior.’

Tiffany eyed him doubtfully,
taking in the firmness of his jaw, the dip below strong cheekbones, and the
sculpture of his mouth. No, there was not the fresh look of youth upon the
planes of his face. Yet he was by no means old.

‘I am eight and twenty,’ he said,
as if in answer to her unspoken question. ‘And you,
child
, have less
than eighteen years in your dish, if I am not mistaken.’

Triumphant, Tiffany flashed back.
‘Well, you are mistaken. I am more than eighteen. Much more.’

‘How much more?’

The miniature pixies came into
her eyes and, to his dismay, William found himself riveted by their mischievous
motion.

‘Well, a few months, if you must
know.’ A frown appeared. ‘But even if you are ten years older, it does not give
you the right to call me a child.’

He gave a little bow. ‘I stand
corrected—ma’am.’

A giggle rewarded him, and the
imps were aflicker. ‘You had best call me Tiffany.’ They vanished abruptly, and
a look of vexation passed over her face. ‘Oh, I should not have told you. I was
hoping so very much that Eva would not find anyone to present me to you, and
now it is all ruined.’

‘You were hoping
not
to be
presented to me?’

Tiffany gasped. ‘I should not
have said it. Oh, why had you to come in here just at this moment? You set me
all in a muddle and I don’t know what I am saying.’

To her relief, he began to laugh
again. ‘But what in the world have I done to merit this?’

‘Nothing
at all, only—’

She broke off, belatedly
remembering how he merited far better from her. She reached out an impulsive
hand.

‘I ought not to have spoken to
you so, for I owe you a debt of gratitude, sir. Had you not intervened last
night—’

‘Say no more.’

He took hold of her hand, and
Tiffany felt her fingers tingle through her glove. Her breath caught and she
stared up into his face, wondering at the frown between his brows.

‘You owe me nothing,’ he said
curtly. ‘Mine was the blame, for drawing you to the attention of our hostess.’

Tiffany swallowed on an
unaccountable obstruction in her throat. ‘Why did you—? I mean, what made
you—?’

Heavens, she was falling into
hideous impropriety. It could not be right thus to question him. To her relief,
the smile returned to the brown eyes as he released her hand.

‘For that you are wholly at
fault. I felt compelled to unravel the identity of the peeping maiden.
Unfortunately, I had no notion of the identity of your chaperon or I would have
refrained.’

Tiffany felt the warmth rush up
into her cheeks. Her judgement was proved sound, yet she felt slighted on Eva’s
behalf. It moved her to say more than she intended.

‘I had best warn you, then, that
my chaperon has every intention of seeking acquaintance with you. She had set
about looking last night for someone to perform a formal introduction, until—’

She halted in mid-sentence,
clamping her lips upon the fatal reminder. Reading amusement in his eye, she
was goaded into speech again.

‘You may as well know that Eva intends
for you to bring me into fashion. But I beg you will not attempt to do it, for
I wish for nothing less. It is bad enough as it is.’

More to relieve her evident
discomfiture than anything else, William snatched upon this last. ‘What is bad
enough as it is?’

The martial light in the blue
eyes dampened, wavered from his face and back again. Her reply, when it came,
was comprehensive.

‘Everything.’ Then she sighed,
waving her hands. ‘No, I don’t mean that, for I have liked some things. The
theatre. The parks. And the shops are entertaining. Only when it comes to
people, it is all so difficult.’

The despair in the last word
caught at his chest, making him forget all caution. Unconsciously, he put out a
hand and captured her unquiet fingers.

‘But what is so difficult, child?
Are people unkind to you?’

‘Oh, no—at least—no,’ she uttered
disjointedly, thrown by the feel of his hand about her own. There was
gentleness now in the brown eyes, and the last of Tiffany’s chagrin melted.
Before she well knew what had happened, she was pouring out her troubles.

‘It is the rules, you see. There
are so many of them, and I find it so very difficult to remember everything.
Who should I bow to? Should I acknowledge it if someone bows to me? Like you
speaking to me. Though I knew that would never do, for we had not been
introduced. Only often enough I am in a situation where I have been introduced,
but I can’t think to whom the face belongs. You have no notion how mortifying
that is. I quite dread invitations—oh, especially to dinner. It never entered
my head there could be rules about food, but they are the worst. I never can
remember what is acceptable for a young lady to eat and what I should refuse.
My gloves too. It is all laid down when and where I should take them off or
keep them on, but for the life of me I cannot recall the correct thing just
when I need it. And pray do not mention precedence.’

William had released her hand as
he listened in silence, captivated by an extraordinary sensuality in her
breath-laden voice of which she was clearly unconscious. A belated remembrance
of danger pricked at a corner of his mind, but a feeling of sympathy overlaid
it, spurring him to speech.

‘There I agree with you. It is
certainly a test of memory to know who comes first.’

Her eyes sparked. ‘If that were
all! What about who comes second, third and fourth? The only consolation I have
is that I am at the bottom of the heap, and so must wait for everyone else to
go before me.’