Authors: Jennifer McNare
“I realize that I made a terrible mistake, that I made
several, terrible mistakes,” he amended.
“But I swear to you, the moment I put that ring upon your finger wasn’t
one of them,” he continued, his voice husky with emotion.
Tiffany missed a step, nearly trodding upon Alex’s toe
before she managed to recover herself.
Damn him
, why would he say such a thing
when they both knew that it wasn’t true?
“Please don’t,” she uttered hoarsely.
He ignored her plea.
“Tiffany, I’m in love with you.”
Tiffany shook her head, knowing that it was only his guilty
conscience that prompted him to say those words.
Oh God, please let the music come to an end,
she pled silently, knowing she was close to tears.
But then, reminding herself of the promise
she’d made, never to shed another tear over Alexander Warrene, she valiantly
fought them back.
“Tiffany, please,” he implored.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head again.
“Don’t do this, Alex.
I… beg of
you,” she beseeched, her voice cracking.
“Tiffany-” he began, but just then the music came to an end.
Looking up as the music stopped, Tiffany deliberately met
Alex’s silver gaze, struggling to keep her expression composed.
“Thank you for the dance, my lord,” she said
with cool reserve as he released her.
Then, after bobbing a polite curtsey, she abruptly turned and walked
away.
Damn it!
Alex thought in frustration as he watched
Tiffany wend her way quickly through the crowd.
He should have known that she wouldn’t believe anything he had to say.
Though Tiffany would have much preferred to run away and
hide at that moment, as soon as she reached the edge of the dance floor she was
approached by no less than half a dozen gentlemen seeking to place their names
upon her dance card.
Oh well, she
reasoned, at least it would give her little time to dwell upon Alex and his
guilty assertions.
Watching helplessly as Tiffany was partnered by one
gentleman after another throughout the evening; Alex realized he wasn’t likely
to get another opportunity to speak privately with her that night.
Discouraged, he knew that there was no point
in remaining at the Devonshires any longer.
However, he had no intention of giving up, he was simply going to have
to employ a different strategy to try and win Tiffany back.
Seeking a moment of solitude as the night wore on; Tiffany
snuck out of the ballroom and went in search of a temporary hideaway.
Walking down a narrow hallway that ran along
the rear of the house, she finally stopped at the last door on the right.
Opening it, she could see at once that it was
the Devonshire’s conservatory.
“Hello,”
she called, stepping inside.
Hearing
nothing in response, she hesitated a moment, and then pulled the door closed
behind her.
Although the room was unlit,
the moonlight shining in through the glass walls and ceiling and reflecting off
the snowy ground, served to effectively illuminate the vast interior.
Walking along a wide stone path, Tiffany slowly meandered
through a variety of trees and plants until she spotted an elaborately-carved
stone bench set off to one side.
Sitting
down upon the flat surface she savored the peaceful setting as she gazed
through the glass walls and out into the night, the distant sound of the
orchestra adding a faint, melodious resonance to the otherwise quiet of the
room.
She’d only been sitting there for a few minutes however,
when she heard the sound of the door to the conservatory opening and
closing.
Peeking her head around the
large potted plant by which she sat, she looked to see who had entered the
room.
Surprisingly, as he stepped onto
the path, she could see that it was Nicholas.
“Hello, Your Grace,” she said, rising from the bench and stepping into
view, alerting him to her presence.
“Lady Tiffany, I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you
here,” he said as he walked toward her.
“In fact, I would have thought that your many admirers would have given
you little opportunity to escape the ballroom.”
“I have to admit that I took Ashleigh’s advice and
deliberately left several of the spaces on my dance card empty,” she divulged with
an enigmatic smile.
“Otherwise, my feet
would surely not last the night.”
“Ah, I see.
And you
came in here for a bit of peace and quiet during the interim?”
“I did indeed.”
“I can well understand your desire for a respite,” he said
with a commiserating expression.
“Would
you mind if I joined you for a moment?” he asked, motioning to the bench she’d
just stood up from.
“Certainly not, Your Grace,” Tiffany said with a polite
smile, as she sat down once again on the long, narrow bench, smoothing the silver-embroidered
fabric of her lavender skirt over her knees.
“But I can only imagine that you came in here seeking a moment of
solitude yourself, so you
mustn’t
feel as though you need to keep me company.”
“Nicholas,” he reminded her.
“And actually, if you don’t mind the intrusion, it is you who would be
keeping me company.”
She regarded him curiously.
“The Duke of Ravenfield is currently partnering my lovely
wife on the dance floor, and I have decided that it would be in the best
interest of our continued friendship if I occupied myself elsewhere for the
duration,” he said with a wry grin.
Tiffany couldn’t help grinning in return.
His self-confessed umbrage at seeing his wife
in another man’s arms, if only on the dance floor, was utterly charming.
“Well then, I should be glad to serve as a
temporary distraction,
Nicholas
,” she
said, patting the space next to her.
Sitting down next to her, Nicholas stretched his long legs
out in front of him.
“So tell me, are
you enjoying your evening thus far?”
“It’s a splendid affair,” she replied honestly.
“I can certainly understand why it’s such a
highly anticipated event.”
“Quite true,” Nicholas responded.
“Once again, the Devonshires have outdone
themselves.
But that said, I don’t think
you actually answered my question,” he continued, studying her expression.
Tiffany gave a quiet little laugh.
“I suppose I didn’t, did I?”
Nicholas raised his brow questioningly.
“I hate to sound ungracious, for it was ever so nice of you
and Ashleigh to include me this evening.”
“But?”
“But I suppose I’m not really enjoying myself as much as one
might expect,” she admitted.
“Forgive my boldness, but I noticed you waltzing with Alex
earlier,” Nicholas said soberly.
“Is
that part of the reason, perchance?”
Tiffany smiled wryly.
“I can’t imagine that surprises you.”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
She nodded.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that it didn’t work out for
the two of you,” he said.
“As I’m sure you can understand, once I discovered the terms
of the wager, and then learned that Alex hadn’t won as I’d assumed, but had in
fact
lost
, I could hardly go through
with it.”
“Er, well, actually I…,” Nicholas began, then faltered.
“That is, until you just said so, I wasn’t
altogether certain that it was related to your engagement,” he continued, his
brows drawing together as he once again studied Tiffany’s expression.
“Though I assumed that it involved the land
that Alex was seeking to purchase from your father, I have never been privy to
the exact terms of the wager between him and your father.”
Tiffany regarded him in surprise.
“But how can that be, when your own signature
is clearly visible upon the document itself?”
“Although I was asked to serve as witness, I was told
nothing about the wager itself,” he explained.
“In addition, the document that you are referring to was purposely
positioned so that only the line upon which I signed was visible to me.”
She stared at him incredulously.
“Though I can surmise, now, what the terms of the wager may
have been,” he said, eyeing her sympathetically.
“In truth, I do not know for certain, thus it
would
only
be supposition.”
“I see,” she murmured, casting her eyes downward.
Nicholas regarded her intently for a moment before he
spoke.
“I hope that you will forgive my boldness,”
he began, “for I know that it is none of my affair, but nonetheless I think
that there is something you should know.”
She looked up, eyeing him curiously.
“Alex
didn’t
lose.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tiffany, I know for certain that Alex held the winning
hand,” he said solemnly.
“He
let
your father win.”
Tiffany stared at him in disbelief.
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Then how…?”
“When your father turned over his cards, Alex looked to his
own cards and then a moment later he purposefully laid down his hand, conceding
his defeat,” he began.
“But when he and
your father left the room a few minutes later, I remained behind,” he
continued.
“Merely out of curiosity, I
turned over Alex’s discarded cards.”
“You did?” Tiffany replied softly, her heart suddenly
hammering in her chest.
Nicholas’ expression was utterly sincere.
“He had your father beat.”
Tiffany couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, I am.”
“But if that’s true,” she uttered softly, “why wouldn’t he have
told me?”
“I’m sorry, Tiffany, but I cannot answer that, for I
honestly do not know.”
She nodded mutely.
“Well, I’m sure you could use a minute alone,” Nicholas
said, rising to his feet.
“And I should
probably make certain that Ravenfield hasn’t tried to make off with my wife,”
he continued, interjecting a lightheartedness to his tone.
Tiffany managed a weak smile.
“I’ll be along shortly.”
Tipping his head, Nicholas turned to walk away.
“Nicholas,” Tiffany said quietly, momentarily halting his
departure.
Turning back around, he met
her heartfelt gaze.
“Thank you.”
Once Nicholas had taken his leave, Tiffany struggled to come
to terms with what she had just learned.
Alex had let her father win.
But
why, and what did it mean?
And even more
importantly, had he meant what he’d said to her earlier?
Was
Alex in love with her?
Reentering the ballroom a short time later, Tiffany moved
purposefully through the crowd in search of Alex.
After several minutes however, she still
hadn’t located him.
Thinking that he
might have taken a seat in the card room, she peeked her head inside, but Alex
wasn’t there either.
Finally, in
desperation, she sought out the Devonshire’s butler.
Much to her dismay, he informed her that the
Earl of Chesterfield had departed nearly half an hour earlier.
When Tiffany entered the front foyer the following morning,
she immediately sought out their family’s long-time butler.
After a long and restless night, she remained
confident in the decision she’d made in the early hours of the morning, shortly
before dawn.
And now it was time to act
upon it.
She was going to Chesterfield
to speak with Alex.
“Andrews, could you please have the coach readied,” she
directed as she came upon him.
“I would
like to pay a visit to the Chesterfields this afternoon.”
“Yes, of course, my lady,” he replied, with only a hint of
surprise reflected in his otherwise impassive expression.
“I shall see to it at once.”
“Thank you, Andrews.”
Knowing that she would have at least a quarter hour before the vehicle
was brought round from the carriage house, she turned toward the stairs.
She had yet to pay her daily visit to her
father, and she supposed that she might as well get it over with.
When she entered his bedchamber a short while later, she
found him seated upon the edge of his bed, his nurse, Mrs. Silverton propping
him up on one side while, Mr. Broward, the man she’d hired to try and help her
father regain some of the motor function that he’d lost, sat on the other.
“Good morning, my lady,” they both greeted.
Her father shifted his gaze in her direction, eyeing her in
silence.
Though his speech had improved
somewhat, his words were still slurred and often difficult to understand.
“Good morning, Father,” she said, moving toward the
bed.
“How are your exercises coming
along this morning?”