The Conqueror's Dilemma (23 page)

‘How clever of
you, Ariadne, to bring me a companion. Did you guess I would be desperate for
someone to laugh with? I vow and declare, Miss Felton—no, Tiffany, for I can’t
bear stuffy formality, can you?—it is delightful of you to have agreed to
come.’

‘Th-thank you,
Miss Loscombe,’ stammered Tiffany, a trifle overwhelmed.

‘Gracious, I haven’t
done anything to be thanked for! And pray don’t Miss Loscombe me, for I shall
refuse to answer.’ She tucked a hand in Tiffany’s arm. ‘Now come away at once,
for I am determined to learn all about you in an instant.’

Tiffany allowed
herself to be led from her deputy chaperon’s side, accompanying Melinda’s
floating progress in her muslin drapery across the large comfortable
withdrawing-room where the guests were gathering. The place might have been
designed to put visitors at ease, for it boasted a scattering of sofas and
armchairs set about in small groupings, so to enable several little
get-togethers to take place at once. There was a fireplace at either end,
providing a pervading warmth that was not dissipated by the long windows,
closed at this season and giving out onto a terrace leading down to wide lawns.
One alcove was apparently devoted to music for it contained both a harp and a
pianoforte with a little platform between, upon which it was to be supposed
performers might stand.

Melinda came to rest
at a cosy spot near the fire at the far end. She pressed Tiffany into a
comfortable chair, and then took a graceful and languid pose upon a
chaise
longue
. It was quickly evident that Melinda’s desire to learn all she might
of Tiffany was spurious, for she talked almost without cessation, allowing the
visitor little opportunity to open her mouth even to answer her frequent and
unrelated questions, interspersed with peals of girlish laughter.

‘How does it
come about we have not met before? I vow I know all the debutantes and I would
certainly have remembered you. Or no, we did meet—or at least I saw you, now I
think of it. Was it at Ariadne’s house?’

‘Well—’

‘Of course it
was, for I remember Will came around with the tea, did he not? Such a quiz.
Serving tea to all the debutantes, would you believe it? Though I vow I was
exceedingly grateful for it at the time, for playing always gives me a dreadful
thirst, does it not you, Tiffany?’

‘I
don’t—’

‘You must play
while you are here, I insist. We all do, you know. Dreadful to have to perform
in public, but it is
de rigueur
to show off your talents, isn’t it?
Otherwise how in the world are any of us to catch a husband?’

Tiffany jumped
in, seizing the cue with a fleeting thought that if she did not do it when offered,
she might never get a chance at all.

‘Have you anyone
in mind, Melinda?’

She had taken
the girl aback, for the bright eyes—light brown in colour, Tiffany noted, and
unusually attractive in a blonde—blinked at her bemusedly.

‘For a husband,
you mean?’

‘Yes,’ Tiffany
said baldly. ‘I expect you have a number of suitors, but you must have a
preference.’

To her surprise,
a sudden shine in the brown orbs showed Melinda in a new light. ‘Oh, I do. Yes,
I do indeed.’

‘Then—’

‘Why am I not
engaged?’ A tiny hiccup disturbed the fluting voice. ‘He has not asked me.’

‘Oh,’ was all
Tiffany could find to say. She toyed with the notion of asking the name of the
fortunate man who had captured Melinda’s interest, but she fought shy of doing
it on so short an acquaintance. Then Melinda’s natural exuberance reasserted
itself and the moment was lost.

‘I am so glad
you came,’ she uttered, so much radiance in her smile Tiffany was half inclined
to believe her. ‘Now I will be able to settle to a comfortable cose whenever we
are not otherwise entertained, and no one need hear us gossiping to our heart’s
content.’

Tiffany knew not
how to reply to this speech. Melinda’s style of conversation was not what she
would term a comfortable cose. And Aunt Peggy had instilled in her so strong a
dislike of gossip that the idea of discussing others for amusement was
anathema. On the other hand, if Melinda’s preference had indeed fallen upon
Hector Kilbride, Tiffany might be lucky enough to find an opportunity to nudge
Melinda in his direction and so repay Ariadne’s kind offices.

But already
Melinda’s attention was wandering. ‘Look, Juliana has arrived.’

‘Juliana?’

‘Lady Yelverton,
you know. They call her the Queen of Society, for she is the most powerful hostess
in London. If there is one female every debutante needs to cultivate, it is
Juliana. Have you met her?’

Tiffany knew not
how to reply, for the circumstances of that meeting still had power to shame
her. Fortunately, like most of Melinda’s questions, no proper answer was
required.

‘I expect you
have, or you soon will now Ariadne has taken you up.’ Melinda’s gay laugh rang
out. ‘Did you have it dinned in your ears until you could scream? I know I did,
and my friends too.’ She put on a mimicking tone as of a matron talking. ‘There
are two people in this world who count, my dear, and every debutante must take
heed or perish. Nothing can be done with you if you are not approved by Lady
Yelverton and the Conqueror.’

Unable to join
with Melinda’s wholehearted hilarity at this sally, Tiffany forced a smile.
‘Yes, so I have heard.’

Abruptly,
Melinda leaned close, dropping her voice. ‘And have you heard how Will came to
be so powerful?’

Tiffany held her
breath, unable to utter a word, for she felt she knew what was coming. She had
long suspected it, and now Melinda was about to confirm it.

‘You might say
Will became king to her queen, if you understand me. He is much younger, of
course, but it was quite a romance at the time—or so Mama will have it.’

‘At the time?’

Beset by a
plethora of mixed emotions, Tiffany was sure her voice must sound stifled, but
Melinda did not notice.

‘Oh, it was over
a long time ago. They are merely friends now. I know, because Hector told me.
He wouldn’t hear of there being anything between them still, and they certainly
don’t behave as if they are lovers when they are together. You can always
tell.’

The worldly-wise
manner in which she said this might have amused Tiffany at any other time. But
her heart was behaving so ruthlessly she was hard put to it to maintain any
semblance of calm. She could no more have prevented the lift of hope than she
could suppress the feelings that prompted it.

Lady Yelverton
had no hold on him any longer. He had conquered her once, but it was long over.
She had nothing to fear from that quarter.

She was aware
Melinda was chattering on, but she no longer took in what was said. She was too
occupied in chiding herself for stupidity. Of what avail to triumph over Lady
Yelverton when it was Will himself who was the barrier? He it was who would not
yield to his desire to “bring her into fashion”. He it was who deliberately
denied all possibility of an attachment between them. If she was rejected, it
was by William Westerham, not by Lady Yelverton. What earthly use was it to
feel relieved at Melinda’s gossiping disclosure?

‘And here is the
man himself.’

Her new friend’s
uplifted tone caught her attention.

‘Oh, and he has
come with Hector. Now I am utterly content.’

This was enough
to bring Tiffany’s head spinning around. Her gaze focused on the knot of people
just inside the door. Lady Altass had moved forward to greet the two newcomers.
Melinda was already halfway across the room, her squeal of delight bringing
each eye to bear upon Hector Kilbride and his companion.

The hideous
memory of their last meeting flashed into Tiffany’s head as she suddenly and
fatally realised the potential repercussions of Ariadne’s assurance. The
Conqueror had no knowledge of the scheme, and therefore no expectation of
finding her in residence.

The business of greeting appeared to
William to take forever. While he smiled and made mechanical noises, he was
seeking frantically for Ariadne. If it was not her fault almost the first thing
he saw on entering the room was Tiffany Felton’s whitening features, he would
eat his hat. How else did the wench come to be here?

He might not
have noticed her instantaneously, were it not for the rush of Melinda across
the room, which had brought his eyes around in that direction. In the event, he
only saw past Melinda, realising with a sense of shock that the face he was
looking at was Tiffany’s. At first he had thought it a trick of the mind,
having been obliged immediately to give his attention to Lady Altass. But a
second covert check served to convince him his senses had not deceived him.

What she was
doing at such an event exercised his mind only for an instant before he
realised how it must have come about. Ariadne was at her tricks. Had he not
known how it would be? For an instant, he regretted not having confided in her
more fully. Did she know the truth, she could not have acted so disastrously.

It was a
disaster, was it not? He had vowed not to take this step, had assured Tiffany
he would not—she had guessed too accurately at his reasons—and now it was
forced upon him. He could scarcely repudiate her. It ill suited him to treat
her with the haughty disdain of which he knew himself capable, not after what
had passed between them. He could not do it.

His brain
seethed all the while he was engaged in polite and laughing rejoinders to the
many sallies thrown at him from the assembled guests. William did not know
whether to be glad or sorry to remember there would be no formal presentation
to the stranger in their midst, not at a country event. It was up to him to
recognise her. Yet he could not. He could not even bring himself to look in her
direction, although he was aware of her all the time.

At last Ariadne
came into his line of vision. William lost no time in moving to her. Under
pretence of a general greeting, he bent close enough to mutter for her ears
alone.

‘I need to speak
to you at once. Come out of the room.’

She nodded her
understanding, but her eyes questioned even as her lips formed a smile. ‘I’m so
glad to see you, Will. Now we are all here, I foresee a merry party.’

‘Don’t count on
it,’ he rejoined in a savage undervoice.

He gave a slight
bow and withdrew, making his way between the chattering guests to the door.
Looking back, he saw with satisfaction that Ariadne was following his example
and left the room, confident she would join him shortly. He checked the doors
leading off the hall, and found the library empty. Waiting by the door, he
signalled the instant he saw Ariadne coming out of the saloon.

‘Over here.’

She hurried
across, and William fancied the mischief was back in her face. It would not be
there long. He allowed her to go before him into the library and shut the door
behind them both.

‘What the deuce
are you playing at, Ariadne?’

She turned to confront
him. ‘Well, I won’t pretend to misunderstand you, but I can’t think why you
should be so angry, Will.’

‘Can’t think? I
wish you’d take the trouble to think. Have you any idea of the embarrassment
you are causing? Not only to me, but to her.’

Ariadne gave him
her steady look. ‘She didn’t look to me to be embarrassed. Upset, perhaps.
Confused—uncertain. But I doubt she will shrink from you, Will, if that is what
you fear.’

William flung
away to one of the window embrasures set between tall bookcases set along the
outer wall of the room.

‘You have no
conception of what I may or may not be fearing. This is interference of the
highest order, and I daren’t contemplate the damage you may have set in train.’

He looked back
and found her frowning. Was there a trifle of consternation in her gaze? There
ought to be. Her tone, if not her words, confirmed it.

‘But when Hector
told you about Chicheley, you flew into a rage.’

William turned
and faced her, the indignation under which he had been labouring turning to
lead in his stomach.

‘Yes, I did. And
you took an inference from that and acted upon it. But you’ve made the gravest
mistake, Ariadne.’

‘I don’t see
how.’

He sighed. ‘You
begin to be angry, do you? Well, you have some right. I should have been more open
with you perhaps.’

‘There is no
perhaps about it.’ She came to him, setting a hand upon his arm. ‘Will, why are
you so unreasonably wild about this? You were furious to think Lady Drumbeg
might marry the girl to Chicheley, and if that doesn’t indicate jealousy, you
may call me a widgeon.’

William took her
hand and removed it. ‘Precisely, my dear. I thought I had said enough of
jealousy to have let you see how unwise it would be to provoke it in me.’

‘But I didn’t
provoke it in you, Will. Chicheley did so. Or perhaps it was merely Lady
Drumbeg’s words. For my part, I believe Tiffany has far too much sense—not to
say strength of mind and purpose—to allow herself to be sacrificed in that way.
Or perhaps Lady Drumbeg said it with the intention of making you jealous. Have
you thought of that?’