The Conqueror's Dilemma (16 page)

A flood of resentment washed
through William. ‘You mean you wouldn’t have done so had you known? I didn’t
know you were so high in the instep, Ariadne.’

She flushed and Kilbride was
moved to intervene. ‘Hey, that’ll do. It ain’t that at all. Said yourself you’d
do the girl a disservice dragging her out of her proper sphere.’

William ignored this. ‘The
Feltons are merchants, it’s true, but Tiffany’s mother was Emma Partington.
I’ve checked a Peerage and I can tell you—’

‘Partington?’ interrupted
Ariadne, her eyes widening. ‘But the Partingtons are one of the oldest families
in the country.’

‘Exactly so. Only Emma Partington
made a misalliance and was cast off by her family.’ He noted Kilbride’s brows
draw together as he exchanged a glance with his sister. ‘What is it? Do you
know anything of her?’

Ariadne shook her head. ‘Not of
her precisely, but I remember Mama saying there had been a scandal at one time.
Their estates are in Yorkshire too, though they are not precisely neighbours of
ours.’

‘Ha!’ snorted Hector. ‘Wouldn’t
make a particle of difference if they were. If we’re to talk of high in the
instep, old Partington is the worst offender. Holds up his nose at the lot of
us. One of his sons hunts with our pack, and he’s as stiff-necked as the
father. Years older than I am, of course.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Come to
think of it, the fellow must be this Emma’s brother.’

‘This alters things indeed.’

Coming under the beam of
Ariadne’s speculative gaze, William was conscious of a feeling of panic. He
tried to subdue it, but his voice had a good deal less of his usual assurance.

‘How so?’

He received no answer to this.
Ariadne’s tone became meditative. ‘The question is, how are we to do the thing
without inflicting that Drumbeg woman on everyone?’

‘If I’d successfully thought of a
way to do that, I wouldn’t have had to go to the Pantheon to see Tiffany,’
William pointed out acidly. ‘I have already agreed as much with Juliana.’

Ariadne’s attention was caught.
‘You’ve discussed this with her?’

‘So that’s what you were
quarrelling about the other day.’ Kilbride whistled. ‘Never tell me she’s
approved this.’

‘She said she would help me, if I
was determined on this course,’ William said, discomfited. ‘Only the Drumbeg
must be kept out of it. That’s why I sued to you for help, Ariadne.’

‘But you didn’t do so before the
Pantheon episode,’ said the other shrewdly.

‘Obviously.’ He shifted his
shoulders at her infuriatingly enigmatic look. ‘What would you? I had no
solution.’

‘Have you one now?’

Reluctantly, he smiled. ‘None.’

‘I wonder if Juliana was counting
on that.’

‘I tell you what it is,’ chimed
in Kilbride, eyeing his friend with what William considered unnecessary
suspicion. ‘Until two days ago at the Pantheon he hadn’t made up his mind. I’d
give a monkey to know what transpired there to get you all fired up, Will.’

Feeling acutely assailable,
William avoided Ariadne’s interested glance. ‘Nothing much.’ But the combined
disbelief on both faces—strikingly similar under the chestnut locks when they
were together—became too humiliating to be borne. ‘You need not look at me like
that, the pair of you. If you must have it, I could not stand to see Tiffany at
the mercy of that reprobate Chicheley.’

‘Good Lord, I was right! He is in
love with the chit.’

William was on his feet, caution
flung aside. ‘Be damned to you, stop saying that! Do you suppose I’d be fool
enough to give my heart when I’ve seen what it does to a man? Jealousy. Mad,
raging jealousy, until you don’t know right from wrong any longer, nor good
from bad. If a man of God has no compunction in the grip of such passion, what
hope is there for me?’

He stopped, suddenly and fatally
aware of what he’d said. The startled features of his friends brought it home
as nothing else could. Years of care shattered at a stroke. And all for a pair
of impish eyes that had pierced his armour at the first onslaught.

Hardly aware he did so, he paced
away to the window, feeling as if the cramped space of the cosy parlour held
him prisoner. The image of his father rose tauntingly before his eyes, its
austere countenance pained in the manner that successfully concealed the inner
tide of unchained anger. Of a sudden, it came to William he had emulated that
skill, although his own mask was one of conscious humour and genteel charm. As
effectively as his sire had he hidden his true self—and all for nothing now.

The first reaction came from
Ariadne, her voice unnaturally hushed. ‘Will, I have never seen you like this.’

He turned without pause for thought.
‘No, for I have been at pains to keep it from you both.’ He cursed the
roughness of his tone, knowing how it gave him away the more.

‘What is it that haunts you so?’

He flinched. ‘I cannot tell you.’

‘But we are your friends, Will.
If you cannot speak of it to us, then—’

‘Let him alone, Ariadne. If a man
has his secrets, you have no business probing at their substance.’

Hector’s intervention proved
unfortunate for him, although it relieved William. Ariadne’s concerned gaze
altered as she turned her face to Lord Kilbride.

‘Oh, indeed? Which leads me to
suppose, little brother, that you must have a secret too.’

The instant consternation in
Hector’s face proved the truth of this assertion. As if his heightened emotions
gave him perception, William guessed at once that his friend’s thoughts were
turning upon Melinda Loscombe.

Ariadne began at once to question
him. ‘I know that look, Hector. Tell me at once.’

‘Damned if I do,’ scowled
Kilbride.

‘Then I shall ask Will. He must
surely know.’

‘You must hold me excused,’ said
William instantly. ‘It happens I don’t know. But if Hector had confided in me
and sworn me to secrecy, do you suppose I would break my word?’

Ariadne’s merry laugh rang out.
‘No, I shouldn’t suppose it at all. It is a pity Hector obviously doesn’t know
your secret, for I should have no trouble worming it out of him.’

Since Kilbride at once took issue
with her, the resulting squabble gave William time to recover his sangfroid. By
the time his friend had been routed—a foregone conclusion—he had himself well
in hand and was able to deflect Ariadne’s attention.

‘If you will forget what I said
and turn your mind instead to the problem of bringing Tiffany into our circle
minus her dragon, I shall be eternally grateful.’

The ploy succeeded, and Ariadne
began at once to propound a number of schemes, all of them impossible. For
which, William discovered in himself a feeling of relief. Memories, long
buried, were churning at the back of his mind. They were chastening, for he was
obliged to recognise the tenuous nature of his guard. He had thought it
impenetrable, but it had proven weak. He was perilously close to falling into
the very entanglement to which he had sworn never to become victim. His best
hope lay in the natural wear to be expected from familiarity. It had served him
before and must do so again.

Yet an unprecedented apprehension
lay upon his senses, like a fogging cloud threatening to overlay his common
sense. He could not help but fear he was making a serious error of judgement.

Better by far to leave it alone.
To leave Tiffany Felton where she was in the world and keep his distance.
Abandon the game before he became seriously involved. Lord knew where that
could lead him! Aside from the dread spectre of having inherited his father’s
jealous disposition—to which his attitude towards the vile Chicheley gave
palpable credence—he could not afford the chit. Her background apart, there was
no possible way he could link his fortune with hers, for he must marry money.

The theatre was crowded, too much so to
permit Tiffany an uninterrupted view of the thronging stalls where fashionables
perambulated without cease, paying little or no attention to what was going
forward upon the stage. Tiffany was hardly in a position to blame them for
that, for she was equally unable to keep her attention on the declamations of
the players.

It was a dull piece, in any
event, she excused herself, her eyes rising to scan the boxes opposite, and
since Mrs Gosbeck had not ceased to hold forth since the start, she would have
been hard put to it to hear what was being said, even had she been desperate to
listen. She knew already, for her hostess had more than once mentioned it, that
because Mrs Gosbeck’s Great Russell Street establishment was situated within a
stone’s throw of Covent Garden, she was provided with an excellent
justification for the expense of renting a box at Drury Lane. She certainly
derived entertainment from it, judging by those snatches of Mrs Gosbeck’s
endless commentary on those present in the audience, which from time to time
penetrated Tiffany’s absorption in her concentrated search for one particular
face.

‘Ain’t that Lady Altass, Eva? The
one in the purple turban all over feathers? Goodness me, don’t she look a
fright? I wouldn’t wear such a thing for the world. You’d never think as she’d
produce a daughter as lovely as that Melinda. Only look at her hair. I wouldn’t
blame no one if they mistook her for a fairy princess.’

Tiffany glanced quickly in the
direction of Mrs Gosbeck’s gaze, her pulse jumping at the fleeting thought in
her mind that the Conqueror might be escorting the beautiful Miss Loscombe. She
was certainly flanked by two cavaliers, neither of whom, to Tiffany’s relief,
proved to be Mr Westerham. She recognised both as having been attached to the
same girl at Mrs Membury’s At Home. Had not Eva pointed out one of them as Lord
Kilbride, who was the Conqueror’s best friend?

Her heart sank. Perhaps Mr
Westerham had not the intention of visiting Drury Lane tonight, for he must
surely have done so in the company of his friend. Not that she had any
expectation of his seeking her out if he did come. He had made the
impossibility of that abundantly clear. She was utterly outside the Conqueror’s
public notice. The remembrance caused a resurgent pang of the distress she had
been trying in vain to ignore ever since their fatal encounter at the Pantheon.

Its origin lay in the singular
failure of Mr Westerham to address her last confidence. Bad enough she had
blurted it out. Infinitely worse he’d had no answer to make. Tiffany had
expended hours of useless regret, torn between indignation and shame. The
wretched man was palpably to blame. Was it not enough that he had roughly
seized her and kissed her quite ruthlessly? What was the use of his mouthful of
apologies when everything he had said to her upon the event was little short of
insulting? And having goaded her into a foolish confession—which, she was bound
to admit, had been tantamount to a declaration of affection—he apparently had
nothing to say to it.

She recalled, with a squirm of
discomfort, how Mr Westerham had turned the subject almost instantly.

‘We had best leave this place,’
he’d said, his tone curt, his manner formal, and his expression bordering on
hauteur. ‘It is high time I returned you to your duenna, who may well be
agitated to have her charge wandering off with a strange man.’

Tiffany had felt crushed by his
lightning change of mood, becoming the more dismayed as she realised what she
had said and how it must have sounded. She could find no words. As well,
because the Conqueror had spoken none himself until he had chosen to leave her
when they had come within easy reach of Lady Drumbeg.

‘It is probably best if we part
now. Pray accept my apologies. I have no doubt I have ruined your evening.’
With which, he had bowed and walked quickly away.

Recalling the
moment now, Tiffany wished she’d had the sense to agree with that last. He had
ruined more than her evening. He had fatally wrecked any peace of mind she
might have had, together with all the little enjoyment she was experiencing
from this abominable Season. And to cap it all, he had exposed her to a barrage
of scolding and inquisition from Eva.

Who was the man who had so rudely
dragged her away? What had happened? Eva heartily trusted there had been no
scandalous proceedings that might cause a deal of gossip and ruin Tiffany’s
chances. She had almost believed the man to have been Westerham from his height
and build had it not been impossible to imagine such behaviour from the
Conqueror.

A remark that drew a resentful
snort from Tiffany. She had been obliged to turn it into a pretended sneeze,
allowing her a few moments of prevarication while she rapidly searched her mind
for a plausible tale to satisfy her duenna. After what had been disclosed to
her, she had no compunction in plying Lady Drumbeg with a mouthful of fibs.

‘I don’t know who it was, ma’am.
He mistook me for another. Unfortunately he had all but dragged me right out of
the ballroom before I could persuade him I might not be who he thought I was. I
had to take my mask off before he would believe me. And then,’ Tiffany had
added, seeing a look of disbelief in her chaperon’s features, ‘he chose to pour
out a garbled version of his troubles, and I was obliged to listen for I could
not stop him talking for ages. Heaven knows what it was about, for I could make
neither head nor tail of it, beyond the notion he had been betrayed by some
paramour or other.’

She had amazed herself by the
glib way she’d been able to throw out this nonsense, especially as she’d been
seized with a cold feeling of deadness inside. It had later awakened to
sensations both bitter and painful, and she could not but be angry with herself
for the stupidity causing her to look this way and that for the author of all
her difficulties the instant she had stepped into Mrs Gosbeck’s box.

No sooner had this thought
re-entered her head than she saw him. Tiffany’s heart juddered uncomfortably,
and she stared fixedly at the box across the way. Four persons were arranging
themselves in the available seats. She recognised Mrs Membury in one of the
ladies, escorted by a gentleman she did not know, but whose attention to her
comfort made her suspect he might be the husband, so far unseen. The other
couple comprised the Conqueror and Lady Yelverton.