The Conqueror's Dilemma (34 page)

‘Is
she indeed?’

It was
doubtful Melinda even noticed Tiffany’s grim tone, for there could be little
doubt of the reason for her sudden popularity. A sunny smile was reflected in
the beautiful features.

‘Any
mother would be, dearest Tiffany, for we are bound to be besieged with eligible
gentlemen if you are with me.’

Tiffany
groaned. ‘But I don’t want to be besieged.’

‘You
can’t hope to escape it, I fear. The news of your fortune has spread like
wildfire, and there will be scores of young men determined to steal a march on
Will.’

The full
horror of her situation was borne in upon Tiffany by this remark. Did the whole
world suspect Will of having designs upon her? Then the whole world must be
disappointed. Perversely, the thought of finding herself surrounded by
potential suitors had the effect of adjusting Tiffany’s ideas. She was obliged
to suppress a sneaking hope of making the Conqueror jealous. Her secret
knowledge told her this could serve only to alienate him further. But she was
effectively persuaded nevertheless into donning her blue spencer and
accompanying Melinda on her walk.

In the
event, they met more matrons than eligible young men. But as Melinda pointed
out, this would serve them just as well.

‘Notice
how they seek my good offices for an introduction,’ she whispered in between
being accosted. ‘And they are all of them mothers. You can be sure of them
producing their sons for your inspection in very short order.’

A
prospect that failed to spark anything in Tiffany but a swelling of
indignation. She was both disgusted and angered by the hypocritical face of
Society, and more than half inclined to sympathise with Will’s assertion of
being dropped like lightning did he act against the rules. It was forcibly
borne in upon her that if he had fallen in with Uncle Matt’s offer—had it been
an offer?—it would have placed him firmly in line with the rest. She could not
help a little spurt of delight that he had proven to possess strength of
character enough to refuse.

Melinda’s
girlish giggle interrupted her musings.

‘There
now, I had every hope we might be in luck. See, Tiffany. It is exactly as I
planned it. Here is Hector, and look who he has with him.’

Speak
of the devil. Or think of him rather. Tiffany felt as if she had conjured
William Westerham from her unruly mind. Which thought proved the last one of
coherence, for her brain froze as all remembrance of the embarrassment
attendant upon their meeting returned to her, along with the sudden thudding of
her heart in her chest.

What
could she say?
Say
? How speak at all? Her tongue had cleaved to the roof
of her mouth. Don’t look at him. No, that must give her away. Oh, Uncle Matt,
what have you done? If only the ground would open. She might sink into it
unobserved—lying like a statue in a shallow grave.
Instant death, dear Lord,
I pray you
.
Strike me down
.

But
there was no kind Providence to lend her oblivion. The ordeal had to be faced.
She tried to swallow and found her mouth dry. Her eyes were fixed upon the
ground, and she dared not raise them. She could not bear to see the contempt
that must be in his eye.

Two
pairs of boot-clad feet intruded upon her vision, and she heard Melinda’s
blithe greeting through ears that felt stuffed with cotton wool.

‘I
made sure we should meet you here. Hector, I am decidedly at odds with you. I
have had no word from you since my return. Is this a way to keep your
promises?’

‘Hang
it, Mel, I’m only just back myself,’ came aggrievedly from the accused.

‘Good
gracious, how is this? We came back days since. Where have you been?’

‘Had
to take a trip to Yorkshire to my estates. Wretched agent needed my signature
on a set of papers. And then m’sister decided to come up with me so she could
visit my mother. Fortunately, Membury chose to follow, so I was able to make
the best of my way back. Got in yesterday.’

Melinda
broke into scolding, the general trend of her conversation tending to umbrage
that Lord Kilbride should consider a set of silly papers of more importance
than her driving lessons. A particularly suggestive tack, which at any other
time might have made more impact upon Tiffany than to lodge somewhere at the
back of her mind, which was almost wholly engaged upon the owner of the second
pair of legs. They were encased in fashionable yellow and of a shapely turn
indelibly imprinted upon Tiffany’s inner eye, so that she had no doubt of the
identity of the man who stood upon them.

No
word had issued from his mouth. No sign either of greeting or recognition. The
silence between them hung heavy, despite the verbal duel in continuance across
the divide.

At length
it occurred to Tiffany that her embarrassment might be shared. It could be no
pleasant thing to be obliged to do the pretty to a female he had rejected out
of hand. Pride prodded Tiffany into courage. She must not play the role he had
assigned her. She was not his dejected cast off. She forced her gaze up to meet
his.

William
met the coldness in the blue eyes with an inward pang. He had hoped, once his
rage had sunk sufficiently to enable clear thoughts to penetrate his mind, that
the fellow Felton would not compound his fault by relating the circumstances of
his visit to Tiffany. It was immediately apparent his hope had been misplaced.

Tiffany’s
glance persuaded him that what had been said did not march with his view of the
proceedings. He guessed she was both angry and hurt, which was the last thing
he wished. Did she think he had refused the bait for reasons of his own?
Impossible to ask. The subject must be taboo. He strove for an innocuous way to
open communications.

‘I
trust you are well?’

He
cursed himself for the inadequacy of the proffered attempt. Hardly surprising
her face was as stiff as her voice.

‘Tolerably
so, I thank you, sir.’

‘And
your relatives? They are still with you?’

A
spark lit Tiffany’s eye. ‘If you mean, is my uncle still in London, yes he is.
He and my aunt are staying at Grillon’s.’

Before
William could respond, Melinda interrupted him. ‘Don’t dawdle, you two, or we
shall be obliged to hobnob with all and sundry.’

He
looked round to find the Loscombe wench walking away on Hector’s arm. There was
nothing for it but to follow. He looked at Tiffany and gestured ahead.

‘Shall
we?’

Without
a word, she began to walk after the other couple, and William fell into step
beside her. He would offer his arm could he but be sure she would not refuse to
take it. Tiffany did not speak, and he could think of nothing inoffensive to
say. Was the rift now total?

A
leaden feeling entered his chest. If she only knew how much in his thoughts she
had been since the fatal visit. He was unsure whether he had yet recovered from
the shock of it. Moreover, since coming to his decision, he had plunged from
furious resentment to a depression unlike anything he remembered since his
mother’s untimely demise.

‘I
wish you would say something, instead of walking like a puppet,’ broke from
Tiffany, cutting straight into the sudden swell of remembered pain. William
answered without thought of consequence.

‘There
is nothing to be said, is there? We are at
point non plus
, and that is
the end of it.’

Tiffany
felt as if she had been struck a blow. She had not thought he could be thus
harsh and cruel. Through a thickened throat, she hit back with all the power at
her command.

‘I am
p-perfectly suited with that, I thank you, Mr Westerham.’

She
looked up at him as she spoke and encountered such a flare of emotion in his
eyes as to render her speechless for the moment. It was not anger. It could not
have been
agony
, could it? A tiny flame leapt from the ashes in her
breast. She spoke at random, half to herself.

‘Why
did he look at me so? What did it mean? Will, what is the matter?’

‘Nothing.
There is nothing the matter.’

But
the gruffness of his tone convinced her otherwise. Answering her heart, Tiffany
reached out to grasp his arm, bringing him to a halt beside her. Heedless of
the possibility of being overheard, for the Walk was well tenanted, with
pedestrians and carriages alike, she plied him with anxious questions.

‘Will
you not confide in me? Have we not been close enough for that? Oh, let the
matter of my uncle’s action pass, I pray you. I cannot see you look so and
ignore it.’

William
knew not how to answer her. Everything in him urged him to speak out, to tell
her of his feelings and his decision. He had hoped to meet her so that he might
spell out what he was going to do, and why. Until this moment, it had not
occurred to him how difficult this would be.

Difficult?
Say rather impossible. Instead of replying, he pulled her hand within his arm
and turned to walk again.

‘We
will be remarked.’

She
said nothing, but he could feel her tension. Had he made her angry yet again?
And he had vowed not to hurt her.

‘Forgive
me, Tiffany, but I cannot speak of it. There are reasons why it will be better
for matters to remain as they are between us. It will not be for long.’

This
was so strange a thing for him to say Tiffany threw a startled glance up at his
profile. ‘What do you mean?’

He did
not look at her. ‘You will understand it soon enough.’

An
answer that left her dissatisfied, prey to a snaking tongue of apprehension.
She was tempted to demand more, to know precisely what such bleak words
portended, but she hesitated for want of phrases that did not smack of
pleading.

‘Ah,
Miss Felton, how delightful it is to see you again.’

The voice,
cutting straight across Tiffany’s preoccupation, brought her head up with a
jerk. A carriage had stopped in the middle of the fairway, and Lady Yelverton,
her bonnet nodding feathers, was inclining a condescending head in her
direction.

It was
a hateful shock. Tiffany shot a look at Will, whose frowning gaze was turned
upon the carriage. She drew a steadying breath.

‘How
do you do, ma’am?’

‘I am
very well, Miss Felton, and beyond pleased to see you being monopolised by our
Conqueror here. However, I beg you will indulge me by allowing him to come up
into my carriage for a moment.’

Tiffany
knew not how to take this, but she could not fail to mark her ladyship’s
changed manner towards her. Which reminder only served to highlight the cause
of her embarrassment with Will. Thankfully, she was spared the necessity of
answering.

‘I am
not a parcel to be passed between you, Juliana,’ said William with a touch of
acidity. ‘If you will wait a moment, I will return Miss Felton to Melinda and
then join you.’

He took
Tiffany’s arm and stepped up his pace, bringing her with him willy-nilly
towards Melinda and Hector walking together up ahead. He spoke only when they
were out of earshot of the carriage.

‘My
apologies, Tiffany. It is best if we part, perhaps. Pray forgive me for
deserting you.’

‘And
only for that?’

The
instant the words were out of her mouth, Tiffany could have bitten off her
tongue. She hastened into speech again before he could respond.

‘No, forget
I said it.’ She could not look at him. ‘I ought rather to ask forgiveness on my
uncle’s behalf. Believe me, I had no notion what he meant to do. And if you are
thinking I have not been open with you—’

‘Say
no more,’ he interrupted brusquely. ‘It never once crossed my mind to suppose
you knew of this cursed fortune of yours. And as for forgiveness, you owe me no
apology of any kind. I can only hope you may learn at last not to rue the day I
came into your life.’

Tiffany
could not mistake the meaning of this. Her heart felt as if chips of ice were
being forced into it. In a daze, she heard Will call out and saw Melinda halt
and turn. She was losing him. He meant to walk away from her forever.

She
neither heard what was said, nor saw anyone but Will as he released her at
Melinda’s side. She watched him turn, the dark eyes sombre as they fell upon
hers. She felt him lift her hand, felt the imprint of his lips upon her
fingers, one tiny spot of warmth in the enveloping cold, and caught the murmur
of his voice.

‘Fare
well, my sweet Tiffany.’

Then
he turned from her and walked quickly towards Lady Yelverton’s carriage. He did
not look back.

Never had
William so needed the mask he had built for himself, and never had it been so
hard to assume. He had half expected Juliana’s reaction. Had in fact been
dreading the inevitable interview. But now it had come, and at a moment when he
would infinitely have preferred isolation, he found in himself an entire
reversal of feeling. He did not care any longer what Juliana thought. And he
had no desire to play the Conqueror for her benefit. The prospect of his exit
from the scene was abruptly welcome.

‘Such
an opportunity as this,’ she began, ‘I never thought to see for you, Will. What
an extraordinary turnabout, is it not?’

‘What
is?’ he asked, deliberately obtuse.

‘Why
this fortune inherited by the Felton female, of course.’

‘Oh,
that.’

Juliana
stared at him. ‘What in the world ails you, Will? A ripe plum drops into your
lap, and you treat it with such contempt? I wonder at you.’

Closing
his lips on a scathing retort, William strove for the detached manner she
thought to be habitual with him.

‘I
should have thought it was my turn to wonder at you, Ju. But days since you
were berating me for my part in Tiffany’s entrance into your set.’