The Conqueror's Dilemma (32 page)

The
fellow’s nose went up. ‘It’s pertinent all right. And you’re
im
pertinent,
my lad!’

William
was so taken aback, he was almost betrayed into laughter. But he eyed the man
with a resumption of suspicion.

‘May I
ask what you want with me? I have guessed it has to do with my father. Am I
right?’

‘Eh?’
It was the visitor’s turn to look blank. ‘I’ve no knowledge of your father.’

William
suffered a reversal of feeling, his underlying apprehension giving way to
bewilderment. ‘You are a Yorkshireman, however.’

‘Aye,
and proud of it. What that has to do with anything has me in a puzzle, though,
I don’t mind telling you. Unless your father’s from the county?’ He put a
finger up to scratch beneath his grey wig. ‘She never said you were one of us.
Wonder if she knew?’

‘She?’
Baffled, William stared at the man. ‘I wish you will tell me what you want with
me, sir, for I am quite at sea.’

For
the first time, the stranger showed signs of being ill at ease. He shifted his
large frame and rubbed at his chin. Then he cleared his throat.

‘I’m a
straightforward man, Mr Westerham, and it don’t suit well with me to be placed
at a disadvantage. But I’m bound to say this is a sight more tricky than I
bargained for.’

In
spite of himself, William began to be amused. ‘Would it not make things easier
if we were to sit down, Mr—’ He looked enquiringly as he gestured towards the
straight-backed chairs set before the fireplace.

But
the visitor did not avail himself of the invitation to take a seat. He gave
William a penetrating stare instead.

‘I’m
Matthew Felton.’

For a
moment, the information failed to create a connection in William’s mind.
‘Felton?’ And then it clicked. ‘Oh, dear God. Tiffany!’

‘Aye,
Mr Westerham,’ came at William’s reeling senses from the bluff man across the
room, ‘it’s our little Tiff I’ve come about, but I’m none too sure as yet as
I’m doing the right thing.’

William’s
mind was all chaos, and sensation blundered this way and that within him. Was
it retribution? Was he to be called to account for his treatment of Tiffany? No
more than he deserved. Here was a man whose interests lay with hers. What had
she told him? The well of guilt rose up anew. How was he to justify the many
little scars of hers to which he had been party?

He
knew from Ariadne the reason given for Tiffany’s abrupt departure from the
Altass house. This must be the uncle. William had spent the intervening days
persuading himself—no, trying to persuade himself—he would be glad if Tiffany
were to be summarily removed from his sphere of influence. It had not been
given to Ariadne to pass on the reason why Tiffany had been recalled. Tiffany
herself had not known it.

William
was hit with a flood of apprehension, of a different sort. He brought his gaze
to bear upon Mr Matthew Felton.

‘I
think we had better sit down. I dare say you have a great deal to say to me,
sir, and I think I would prefer to hear it from a less confrontational
posture.’

He
moved to behind one of the chairs as he spoke, offering the other with a wave
from a hand that was not quite steady. To his secret relief, Mr Felton accepted
the seat. There was to be no immediate explosion of wrath at least. William
took his own place and crossed his legs with an assumption of ease he was far
from feeling.

‘Now,
sir, I take it you have a catalogue of blame to lay at my door. I may say at
once I am unlikely to refute you.’

Mr
Felton’s intelligent gaze raked him. ‘You’re very frank, lad. I’d like fine to
know why you’ve got it into your head I’m here to rake you down, but I don’t
pry into Tiff’s business unless she chooses to tell me, and what she’s told me
could be written on the flat of my hand for all it’s worth.’

William
had begun a mental computation of the worst of his dealings with Tiffany, but
this speech threatened to fog his brain. If he had not come to belabour him,
what the deuce could Tiffany’s uncle want?

‘Your
pardon, sir, but I fail to understand you. If I may be blunt, why are you
here?’

A
judicious nod was applied to the bewigged head. ‘You’ll get nothing but
bluntness from me, Mr Westerham, for I’m a plain man and I don’t hold with
shilly-shally.’ He directed a frown across at William. ‘Though I can’t say I’m
not troubled by what you’ve said so far in your own frank way. Sounds to me as
if this scheme ain’t as fit for our Tiff as I supposed, if you’ve been
conducting yourself in a manner calling for apology. If I didn’t know you can’t
have an inkling of why you ought, I’d be certain as you were trying to turn me
up sweet.’

Now
thoroughly confused, William threw up his hands and shook his head. ‘Mr Felton,
you have lost me. I have not the remotest conjecture as to your meaning. You
have declared yourself a plain man, but that is the most convoluted argument I
have ever been privileged to hear.’

To
William’s further surprise, Matthew Felton broke into a roar of laughter, rocking
back in his chair with his mouth wide open. When he had recovered, he wiped at
his eyes and sat forward, leaning on his knees.

‘Well,
it’s easy to see why Tiffany got to like you, Mr William Conqueror. Seems to me
I’d do best to overlook whatever it is you’ve done to Tiff and give you the
opportunity to redeem yourself.’

William
managed a spurious smile. ‘Should I thank you? I would, perhaps, if you had not
the advantage of me, Mr Felton. You have as yet not told me why you are here.’

‘I’m
coming to it, lad, I’m coming to it,’ uttered the visitor testily. ‘Don't you
go rushing me. I told you it ain’t an easy thing to do.’

Mystified,
William was torn between curiosity and growing impatience. In light of Mr
Felton’s remarks, however, he felt it prudent to remain silent.

His
visitor ruminated for a moment or two, and then abruptly shot up from the
chair.

‘Can’t
do this sitting down, blast it!’

He
moved away between the chair he had vacated and the fireplace and took a stance
with his hands behind his back, those peculiarly discerning eyes fixed on
William, who made himself look back boldly, remaining just where he was rather
than rising with his uninvited guest.

‘Right,
then, I’ve wasted enough time,’ said Matthew Felton at last. ‘Taken me all of
three attempts to find you at home at last. So you shall have it without more
roundaboutation.’

William
was conscious of a riffle of unease, but he did not speak. As he watched, the
other man put up his nose—a gesture of defiance?—and then lowered it again.

‘See here,
Mr Westerham. As far as I can make out, the only bar that lies between you and
Tiff is the matter of money.’

A
hollow sensation seized William’s insides, an atrocious presentiment shooting
into his brain.

‘What
I’ve come here to tell you is there ain’t no bar. If you’re looking for an
heiress, you need look no further than our Tiff. There, I’ve said it.’

William
could not speak. Ice was running in his veins, and his mind felt as if it had
lost all function. He was barely aware of staring at the man until the first
coherent thought struggled up from the frozen recesses of his brain.
The
villain was trying to sell Tiffany to him.
His fist curled and he launched
himself out of the chair, raising his arm to strike.

‘Oh,
no, you don’t, young feller-me-lad!’

Before
he could reach his objective, Mr Felton, moving swiftly for a man of his bulk,
had seized the chair in which he had lately sat and hefted it between them in a
posture of defence.

‘You
back off now, there’s a good lad.’

His
senses whooshed back to William in a rush as he realised what he was doing. He
lowered his fist, but the breath was taut in his throat as he rasped his
outrage.

‘How
dare you, sir? Do you think so little of Tiffany you’d throw her at my head for
money
? She may be ten times an heiress, but I’d slit my own throat
before I took her on such terms. I may be a common fortune-hunter, Mr Felton,
but I’m not a scoundrel. Do you think I’d use her thus? She deserves better
than that, by God! Let her find an honest man and marry him rather than throw
in her lot with a man who has nothing—but
nothing—
to recommend him to a
girl worth a thousand of any debutante you care to name.’

He was
breathing fast and furiously, unable to think with any clarity beyond the
intense rage consuming him at the bare-faced insult to Tiffany. And from her
own uncle. William could not endure the sight of the fellow. He gritted his
teeth, forcing the words out with what little vestige of calm he possessed.

‘I
would be obliged, sir, if you would leave.’

Mr
Felton, holding to his defensive pose, was regarding him with wary suspicion,
as if he faced a wild animal or a lunatic. William was seized all at once with
a mad desire to laugh. If he did not succumb instead to a fit of violent
sobbing.

The
chair was lowered and set in its place, although the visitor remained
cautiously behind it.

‘Aye,
I’ve done.’ A bark of laughter emerged from his mouth. ‘But I’ll take leave to
tell you, it’s a revelation you are, Mr William Conqueror.’

With
which, he crossed to the door and disappeared through it without a backward
glance.

William
felt a tremor in his limbs and groped for his chair. The breath rattled in his
throat as he sank into it, shaking and spent.

Tiffany
gazed at her uncle in appalled disbelief. ‘You did not! Oh, Uncle Matt, pray
tell me you don’t mean it.’

Even
as she said it, she knew it was true, for it was not her uncle’s habit to
prevaricate. She cringed from the humiliation of it. What would Will think of her?
He must suppose her to have known all along. How duplicitous that made her. To
be taunting him for his need to marry money when all the time—

Her
emotions refused the enormity of this notion and she hastily turned her
attention back to her uncle.

‘I’ll
not deceive you, Tiff, which is why I’m telling you. I thought it would make
you happy, my pet.’

‘Happy?’
echoed Tiffany in a hollow voice. How could she be happy to have Will offer for
her at Uncle Matt’s behest?

Fortunately,
her aunt answered for her, relieving her of the necessity of making a sensible
response when all she wanted to do was scream.

‘Matt
Felton, you’re a fool to yourself! How could the child be happy to have a
husband bought for her, and by a fortune she didn’t know she possessed? If only
you’d told me what you meant to do.’

‘I had
to sound the fellow out, Peg. I’ve to answer to Ben, God rest his soul.
Besides, I wasn’t
buying
him. I merely told—’

‘Do be
quiet, Matt. Every word you utter makes it worse. You can’t expect a girl in
Tiffy’s condition to feel anything but humiliated you went to the man at all.
And so I’d have said beforehand if I’d been given half a chance.’

‘That’ll
do, Peg,’ said her husband hastily. ‘You’ve dinned my ears enough.’

‘I’d
like to box your ears,’ retorted Aunt Peggy crossly, ‘if only I could reach
them. Men, I ask you!’

This
last, addressed to Tiffany, caused her to suppress her agitation. The hideous
deed was done, and it was no use repining. But her concentration centred on the
one question she dared not ask, for fear of hearing the reply.

Her
aunt patted her shoulder, where she sat in Lady Drumbeg’s parlour. Tiffany
could only be thankful Eva had not been at home when her relatives arrived, for
she would not put it past her chaperon to have listened at the door. Which
would be disastrous. The thought of Eva spreading this tale about the town was
enough to send her into strong hysterics.

Contrary
to all her upbringing and training, Tiffany was half inclined to agree with
Aunt Peggy—had it not been pretty well sacrilege—that Uncle Matt had acted like
a fool. Not just in what he had done with regard to Will, but in hinting about
her expectations to Eva. Tiffany could wish he had been better acquainted with
Lady Drumbeg, when he might have foreseen the inevitable repercussions, which
were both unwelcome and immediate.

Within
two days of Tiffany’s return from the country, the unfashionably situated house
had been inundated with a plethora of invitations. Only this morning, no less
than four footmen had delivered another set of gilt-edged cards.

Tiffany
did not make the mistake of supposing she owed this sudden popularity to her
sojourn at Loscombe Manor, for she knew she had made little progress beyond
bare acceptance during her stay. No, she was not such a ninny. She knew just
what had prompted that exclusive world to overcome its uniform aversion to the
pushing vulgarity of Lady Drumbeg. Society might shun Eva with impunity, until
she was possessed of the one attraction that could open all doors—an heiress in
her charge.

That
Eva had herself spread the rumour was not in doubt. When tackled directly by
Tiffany, she made no attempt to deny it.

‘Are
you mad, Tiffany? Of course I put it about. I told it in the strictest
confidence to one or two females who could be counted upon to pass it on at the
earliest opportunity. And you see I judged it to a nicety. The whole town is
buzzing with it. Nothing could be better.’

The
glee and triumph in her face did little to raise Tiffany’s spirits. She was
humiliated beyond all bearing. And if that had not been enough, Uncle Matt must
needs run with the news to the last person in the world whom Tiffany would have
chosen to hear it.

‘Don’t
you fret, Tiffy love,’ her aunt was saying, casting unloving glances at her
spouse the while. ‘It’s not nearly as bad as you fear.’

Tiffany
groaned. ‘How could it well be worse, Aunt Peggy?’