The Conqueror's Dilemma (6 page)

A distinct pang smote William. It
had the effect of fully alerting him to the peril he was courting by continuing
this interchange. Yet he allowed nothing of it to appear in his voice, speaking
with all his practised calm.

‘You will find it easier as time
goes on. The company is much the same year after year. If you study a Peerage
and check the name each time you are introduced to someone new, you will soon
become accustomed to the rules of precedence.’

‘It is all very well for you,’
came the indignant response. ‘I dare say you have been well acquainted with everyone
from your cradle. If you must know, I have studied the Peerage until my eyes
ache, but I can remember only a handful of names, and those I cannot put faces
to. How in the world is one to be expected to remember all the dates when
peerages were created? I should think it impossible to know even a few, let
alone all.’

William made a sympathetic noise
in his throat, but he was secretly stirred to the heart. How well he understood
her. Lord knew how long it had taken him to memorise the titles of those who
made up the fashionable set. But both Hector and Ariadne, either of whom would
intervene to rescue him from error, had aided him. Severally and together they
had coached him on these very rules, although he had been familiar with matters
of etiquette. Her difficulties spoke volumes for the girl’s lack of breeding,
increasing his sense of alarm, yet he could not help being touched by her
plight.

And then, with a suddenness that
took his breath away, the roguish dance sprang up in her eyes.

‘I must thank heaven there is no
possibility of my meeting any royal personage, for I have no notion whether I
am entitled to address such persons as “Sir” or “Ma’am” or whether it should be
“Your Royal Highness” or “Your Majesty”. It is only my mama, you see, who was genteel,
so that it is difficult to know where I am placed.’

William caught on the salient
point in this artless disclosure. ‘Your mother is no longer living?’

‘I am an orphan,’ came the reply,
with an insouciance William found all too poignant. ‘My parents were both
drowned when one of my uncle’s ships went down.’ Then her cheeks flooded with
colour, and her voice went gruff. ‘I beg your pardon, sir. I did not mean to
run on so.’

‘Not at all,’ he said quickly. ‘I
am sorry to hear of your misfortunes.’

A blinding smile startled him.
‘Oh, do not be. It was sad, of course, but I had Uncle Matt and Aunt Peggy to
care for me, and I don’t believe anyone could have been kinder or loved me
more.’

‘You are fortunate then.’

Bitterness crept into William’s
chest, superseding the earlier disquieting sensations. Ruthlessly, he crushed
it. There was no probing that well. Nevertheless, the reminder served to
strengthen his rigid adherence to the code he had laid down for himself. The
girl should not be here, and it was neglecting his future to be indulging
himself in her company. He shifted back.

‘We have wasted enough time, I
think. Your chaperon will be concerned. Should you not hurry back to—where was
it?’

‘Viney’s,’ supplied Tiffany. She
felt unaccountably distanced all at once. There was no change in his manner,
but he seemed somehow remote. ‘But I had not yet posted my letter.’

‘Take my advice and send it with
the footman.’

‘But I am
here now, and—’

‘Then I had best leave you,’ he
broke in. ‘It would not do to be seen talking, and there is no saying who might
come in here.’

With which, he bowed and turned
to go. A frantic question threw Tiffany into renewed panic. ‘Mr Westerham!’

He halted and looked back. ‘Yes?’

‘Pray tell me—should I bow to you
if we pass in the street?’

‘Upon no account, ma’am. You
don’t know me.’

‘Of course I know you. We have
been talking forever.’

Mr Westerham turned to face her
again, and Tiffany thought his features relaxed a trifle. ‘I have much enjoyed
our discussion, ma’am, but the fact remains that we have not met officially.
You must pretend not to know me, should we meet in future.’

Dissatisfied, Tiffany determined
to thrash the matter out. ‘Will you not then raise your hat to me either?’

A gleam entered his eye—of
humour? ‘My dear ma’am, I would not dream of such insolence.’

Confusion seized Tiffany. ‘Would
it be insolence? No, you are teasing me.’

He
smiled, and Tiffany’s heart missed a beat.

‘I am,
but it is true for all that. If I were to raise my hat to you in public, it
would look as if you had an acquaintance with me when you don’t, and that, you
know, would make you look particular.’

‘Oh, I see. Then you had best not
do it.’

She encountered a quizzing look.
‘I will not even allow my eyes to stray in your direction—however strong the
temptation.’

Bowing, he reached for her hand
and lightly kissed the gloved fingers. Then he tipped his hat and quickly
walked away, leaving Tiffany breathless. It was a moment or two before she
roused herself to go and put her letter in for posting. The man behind the
counter had spoken to her twice before she realised what he said.

‘How far? Oh, it is to
Yorkshire.’

‘That’ll be a shilling, miss.’

Tiffany dived into her reticule
and produced the coin. But the only reality was in her head. The Conqueror had
kissed her hand! She felt as if she were treading on clouds.

Throughout the short walk back to
Cheapside, she relived the moments in his company, seeing in her mind’s eye the
warmth of his smile, the teasing gleam in the brown orbs, and the muscular
strength of his yellow-clad thigh. She no longer recalled much of what they had
talked about, for the last moment of his kissing her hand prevailed. Until she
reached Mr Viney’s emporium, only to be brought down to earth with a bump by a
seething Lady Drumbeg.

This fresh encounter with the girl proved harder to shake
off. Not, William told himself, as he drove his phaeton back towards the West
End of town, that the child held more than a passing attraction. Debutantes
were not his style, even those who possessed little more to intrigue than a
fetching voice and an impish look in an extremely blue pair of eyes.
Refreshing, yes. Tempting, perhaps. Let him admit so much. Enough to dent his
battle-hardened armour? No, a thousand times.

Yet he could scarcely fail to be
engaged by fellow feeling. It was no pleasant thing to feel at sea amongst a
set of persons only too ready to criticise. Well for her Lady Drumbeg had no
entrée to his circle. If the girl found it hard among a lesser set, how would
she fare in his? Not that the “set” he frequented was his by right of birth.
What had she said? Only her mother had been genteel. Did she suppose gentility
of birth alone was enough? How much she had still to learn.

His own origins were genteel, but
without the aid of Kilbride and his sister, they were no passport to the world
he had infiltrated. Who would look twice at a fellow whose station in life had
been better fulfilled in one of the learned professions? He might equally have
risen to merit notice, but by virtue of his skill rather than social
attributes. A doctor, a lawyer, or—if luck and sponsorship aided him—a post as
secretary to a gentleman of distinction. Or none of these, if the Reverend
Lionel Westerham had been allowed to have his way.

William thrust the thoughts from him.
The veriest whisper of his reverend sire in his mind had power yet to touch the
wound. It was by no means raw, and long habit ensured its constant burial. He
would not indulge it, nor allow himself to feel it. There could be no
forgiving, but he had forced himself to forget. Except in the determination to
maintain his heart whole and free. Who was to say he had not inherited the
jealous temperament of his father?

On every count, he was better
suited to forget the girl, especially if she was to prove too reminding of his
own past. Yet William knew himself unequal to such a hard-hearted course. His
situation could not afford him to pursue an acquaintance with the child. But
abandon her to her fate he could not. Might he, without harm to himself or his
intentions, give her a surreptitious shove in the right direction? If he had an
ally he could trust? There was only one.

Setting his horses towards
Piccadilly, he made course for the mews stables near his home. He knew just
where to find Lord Kilbride. Hector had left him after breakfast with the fixed
intention of repairing to Brunswick Square to change, thence to catch up with
his sporting cronies at Brooks’s.

Leaving the horses and phaeton to
his groom, William headed for St James’s Street. It took a deal of patience to
extract his friend, who was involved in a complicated discussion about the
rival merits of the flintlock mechanism used in handguns as against that of
muskets. Inured to this sort of thing, William held his interruption until
Hector had put his own view—with a great deal of unnecessary force.

‘A moment of your time, dear
boy,’ he murmured close to his friend’s ear.

Kilbride turned his head. ‘Eh?
Oh, it’s you, Will.’ He looked William up and down. ‘Thought you were off doing
the pretty.’

‘No, I have been conducting a
trifle of business in the City.’

Hector stared at him. ‘Business?’

William’s brows rose. ‘I do have
the occasional moment of activity that is not purely social.’

‘Yes, but what business?’ pursued
his friend, rising from his seat. He moved to one side of the saloon, out of
earshot of the gentlemen who gathered there of a morning.

Unable to resist, William teased
gently. ‘Unexpected business, my dear Hector, involving an adventuress.’

Kilbride’s eyes nearly popped out
of his head. ‘
What
? Don’t say you’ve fallen victim to some—here, wait a
minute. Didn’t you give me a tale of some dragon or other with a debutante in
tow?’

‘The very same.’

His friend appeared to find this
difficult to take in. ‘You had business with them in the City?’

‘I met, by accident, the younger
of the two.’

‘In the City?’

‘In the Post Office to be exact.’

Hector blinked. ‘What the deuce
was she doing there?’

‘Exactly what I asked her. It
transpires she was posting a letter.’

For a moment, Kilbride said
nothing, a suspicious frown creasing his brow. Then he shook his head. ‘You’re
hoaxing me. What’s to do?’

William laughed. ‘To do, Hector,
is this. I want Ariadne to see if she can find out more about the girl.’

Once again, his friend was
stumped for words. When he did speak, disbelief was rife in his voice. ‘You
want Ariadne to go ferreting about that dashed cit just so you can dangle after
a female Juliana disapproves of? You’ve run mad.’

‘Or I’ve fallen hopelessly in
love with an impossible adventuress and I must instantly find out her name. She
did tell me, but I’ve forgotten.’

‘Now I know it’s a hum,’ declared
Kilbride in a scoffing tone. ‘What’s the real reason?’

William sighed. ‘The real reason,
Hector, is that the child is far too naïve and innocent to be permitted to
blunder her way around Society without help. I can’t get involved, obviously,
but Ariadne could. At least, she can probe a little without dragging in the
unspeakable Lady Drumbeg. I am not suggesting she makes a friend of her, but
she might…’

He faded out, aware of his
friend’s patent amazement. Putting it into words, he could not imagine why he
had not thought of the difficulties for himself. He could not expect Ariadne to
approach the girl when she was chaperoned by a woman none would care to encourage.
Hector was right, he had run mad. He shook his head.

‘No, forget I said it.’

Kilbride did not look as if he
would take this advice. ‘Why don’t you ask Ariadne yourself? Can’t see why you
want to drag me into the business.’

Ask Ariadne? And have her
immediately suspect he had lost his heart? No, a thousand times. She would give
him no peace. He forced a grin.

‘Quite right, my friend. I can’t
think why I mentioned it at all. It wouldn’t be the thing—neither for Ariadne
nor me. The Drumbeg creature is an insuperable barrier. We’d best leave young
Tiffany to fend for herself.’

‘Tiffany?’

William was brought up short.
‘Did I say Tiffany?’ It slipped into place in his memory, together with the
image of those impish eyes. ‘Yes, that was it. Tiffany. It suits her.’ He shook
his head again, beset by an irritating feeling of loss, and an even more
alarming feeling of guilt. He was hardly aware of speaking aloud. ‘Intolerable!
How in the world have I come to this—and so rapidly? It won’t do, that’s all.’

Bidding his friend a brief
farewell, William departed, bent upon forcing himself to normality by making
the inevitable round of morning calls with which he fuelled his status. In a
corner of his mind lodged an image of Kilbride’s face, bristling with suspicion,
but William was too intent at this moment to take note of it.

The Museum was crowded, even the great expanse of stairway
overflowing with the fashionables flocking to see the collection of marbles
newly brought from Italy. In other circumstances, Tiffany might have enjoyed
looking at the figures, despite the mutilation wrought upon them by the
centuries. But the knowledge of Lady Drumbeg’s true motive prevented her from
bestowing more than cursory attention upon the vast white statues.

Eva had less notion of looking at
ancient treasures when she initiated the visit to Montagu House than of
discovering a modern gem among women who might present her charge to the
Conqueror. Torn between her secret desire to see Mr Westerham again and her dismay
at her chaperon’s thrusting efforts to engage one or other of the ladies
present into reluctant conversation, Tiffany’s interest failed to be ignited.