You, and Only You
By Jennifer McNare
Text Copyright © 2013
All Rights Reserved
www.jennifermcnare.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as factual. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, businesses, or persons is completely coincidental.
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Chapter 1
England, 1851
Alexander Warrene, sixth Earl of Chesterfield, sifted leisurely through the daily correspondence lying atop his desk, wrinkling his nose as the overwhelming scent of a dozen different perfumes assaulted his senses. Although the sickeningly-sweet combination was not particularly pleasant, the potent aroma was a familiar one. Long-considered one of England’s most eligible bachelors, it seemed that he was even more sought after now that his good friend Nicholas Leighton, Duke of Sethe, had retired to his country estate with his beautiful young wife and infant son. Now, dozens upon dozens of scented notes and invitations flooded his townhouse with increasing regularity, attesting to the fact that he was presently amongst the foremost targets for the ton’s marriage-minded females.
Pushing a stray lock of dark, chestnut-colored hair from his brow, Alex leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze to the row of tall, narrow windows lining the rear wall of his study. Idly he surveyed the neatly tended garden and impeccably manicured lawn that lay behind his opulent London townhouse, as his thoughts began to drift.
At twenty-seven, the fact that he had managed to avoid a trip to the altar for as long as he had was a true accomplishment, especially considering the vast number of women who had attempted to lure him into wedlock over the past several years. It hadn’t helped having his own mother thrusting available young women in his path at every opportunity either. And while he was well-aware that she was getting anxious for him to marry and produce the next Chesterfield heir, unfortunately for her he had no intention of relieving her anxiety any time soon. He wasn’t ready to assume the title of husband just yet, and he wasn’t about to be pressured into doing so, not even by his mother. Though he loved her dearly, the near-constant barrage was exasperating.
Mercifully, he was enjoying a brief respite from her incessant prodding as she was presently holidaying in France with his sixteen-year-old twin sisters, Amelia and Lizzie. Although, as the only Warrene son, he fully understood that he would have to marry eventually. For the time being, however, he was content with his life exactly as it was. Quite simply, he enjoyed having the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted, and without question or censure. Therefore, his mother, as well as the rest of Society’s match-making mamas, was simply going to have to wait a little while longer to see him permanently leg-shackled.
With a sigh of resignation, Alex directed his attention back to his desk and resumed his daily task. Casually he tossed aside a dozen calling cards, several scented notes and over a dozen various invitations, knowing that his secretary would later pen an appropriate response to each. Though he rarely attended the endless number of dinner parties, card parties, balls and social gatherings that so many of his peers found entertaining, considering them for the most part to be little more than a dreadful waste of time and energy, his name was always on the guest list. And despite the fact that the Season had yet to begin, there seemed to be an unusually high number of the cursed things. However, one item did manage to capture his attention, for he couldn’t fail to notice the elaborate Sethe coat of arms embedded within the envelope’s wax seal. He opened it immediately and discovered that it was an invitation, accompanied by a personal note from Nicholas’ wife, Ashleigh. Apparently the Leighton’s were hosting a ball in honor of Lady Tiffany Marlowe’s eighteenth birthday, and not only was he on the guest list, but his attendance was being personally requested by Nick’s young duchess.
Despite her youth, the golden-haired beauty had caught his notice from the very first moment he’d seen her, sitting with Ashleigh in a neighboring box at the theater a little less than a year ago. However, in spite of her nearly irresistible appeal, he had purposefully refrained from pursuing an association with the captivating young lady upon learning that she was the Marquess of Melborne’s seventeen-year-old daughter. Although he had long ago garnered the reputation of being an unabashed rake, he wasn’t without morals and had always refrained from dallying with innocents.
Nevertheless, he had to admit that he had never before felt such an instant and overwhelming attraction to a woman, nor had he since. It had been unsettling at the time, and truth be told it astounded him still. It was also the primary reason he had done his best to avoid encountering the lovely young lady during the course of the past year. Fortunately, he had been able to elude the temptation of Tiffany’s alluring charms for the most part, having come in contact with the enticing lass only a handful of times since that fateful night at the theater.
Placing his elbows atop his desk and dropping his chin to rest upon his interlaced fingers, he thought back to the last time he had seen her, a couple of months ago at the Leighton’s country estate. They had both been present at the christening of Nicholas and Ashleigh’s infant son, for he had been selected as the child’s godfather while Tiffany had been chosen to fill the role of the boy’s godmother. Thinking back, he remembered all too well the disturbing effect Tiffany Marlowe’s cornflower blue eyes had had upon his damnable libido whenever her gaze had fallen upon him. It had occurred on numerous occasions that afternoon, and the frequent, lingering glances had stirred Alex’s desire to an alarming degree. Though she might not have intended to be quite so transparent, he’d been the recipient of such looks far too often to miss the signs of Tiffany’s interest. Closing his eyes, he sighed aloud as he recalled how difficult it had been to ignore that interest and to refrain from encouraging the undeniable physical attraction that existed between them. Luckily, his deeply ingrained sense of morality, as well as the presence of her father, had ultimately helped to quell the bothersome fire raging in his loins.
Tiffany’s father. Opening his eyes, his thoughts turned reluctantly to the marquess, his jaw tightening reflexively in irritation. Much to his continued consternation, William Marlowe owned a large piece of property in London that was situated directly between two of his own holdings. For years, he had been attempting to purchase the land in an attempt to join the three properties, but upon each and every request he had been met with an adamant refusal, regardless of the price or terms he’d offered. It was especially frustrating, considering the plans he had for the vacant land.
For as long as he could remember, his mother had been involved in numerous charitable organizations and welfare programs for the indigent. However, her primary focus had always been to provide whatever help she could to the countless number of children who wandered the streets of London, orphaned, homeless, malnourished and often abused. Ever mindful of the privileged upbringing he had enjoyed, the cause had become vitally important to him as well. It was the reason they needed the land Melborne owned; to build a refuge, a safe-haven in the
heart of one of London’s most impoverished districts, to help those children who needed it the most.
Oddly enough, despite Melborne’s past refusals, a few weeks ago when they had inadvertently crossed paths at White’s, the marquess had surprised him by suggesting that he might finally be willing to sell the land. Eager to broker a deal, he’d had his solicitors begin the preliminary negotiations at once. Initially, things had gone smoothly, but now that they were close to finalizing the contracts, Melborne suddenly seemed to be dragging his heels. To his extreme irritation, it was beginning to appear as if the marquess was playing some kind of cat and mouse game with him, and his patience was quickly wearing thin. Not for the first time, he wondered how a pompous old windbag like William Marlowe could have fathered such a delightfully charming daughter.
Glancing down at the invitation, he shook his head, his thoughts returning to the matter at hand. Recognizing that another encounter with the enticing young lady would most likely serve only to increase his uncharacteristic fascination with her, he knew he should send his regrets. Surely that was the sensible thing to do, wasn’t it? Yes, of course it was. Sitting forward, he reached for a piece of stationary, fully intending to pen an excuse and decline the invitation.
However, a few moments later and against his better judgment, he found himself affixing his signature to a note of acceptance.
Chapter 2
Alone in one of the Duke and Duchess of Sethe’s elegantly-appointed guest bedchambers, Tiffany Marlowe sat quietly gazing at the small framed portrait of her mother, lost in thought. It was her eighteenth birthday, eighteen years since the day the lovely young woman gazing back at her from the miniature canvas, the mother she had never known, had died giving birth to her. She stared at the remarkably detailed image of Victoria Marlowe’s beautiful face, painted just weeks after her marriage to Tiffany’s father, feeling a combination of sadness and longing. How she wished she could have looked into her mother’s eyes, the exact same shade of blue as hers, or that she could have touched her upswept hair, the same pale blonde as her own flaxen curls, or just once felt the warmth of her embrace. Fate, however, had deprived her of those precious moments, and as much as it pained her there was nothing she could do to change that.
With a wistful smile, she set the tiny portrait gently atop the vanity table and then once again turned to the mirror. Picking up one of her most treasured possessions, her late mother’s small pearl earrings, she carefully fastened them to her ears. Staring at her reflection, she could only hope that her mother would have been proud of her, proud of the girl she had been and of the woman she was now.
Hearing a light knock upon the door, she rose from the velvet-cushioned vanity seat and turned toward the sound, struggling as she did to keep the nervousness from showing on her face. “Come in.” As the door swung open, she smiled hesitantly, watching as her dearest friend entered the room.
Ashleigh Leighton, Duchess of Sethe, took a few steps into the room and then stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Tiffany in open-mouthed astonishment. “Oh Tiffany,” she breathed, her expression slightly awestruck. “You look so beautiful.”
Tiffany could see the utter sincerity in Ashleigh’s expression and felt her eyes grow moist. Ashleigh was such a good friend, and she loved her dearly. In truth, they were more like sisters than friends. “Thank you, Ashleigh” she replied, smiling softly. “And thank you so much for tonight.”
“Oh no. Don’t you dare cry,” Ashleigh demanded with mock severity as she stepped forward and grasped Tiffany’s hand, “or in a moment we shall both be weeping buckets.”
Tiffany laughed and valiantly fought back her tears. “I won’t, I promise.”
“Good. Now come and sit back down, “Ashleigh said, pulling her back toward the vanity.
“Why? Is something wrong?” Tiffany asked anxiously as she resumed her seat. Had a wayward curl slipped loose of its pin she wondered, turning to the mirror.
“No, no, nothing is wrong,” Ashleigh assured her with a bright smile. “I have something for you, that is all.” Raising her left hand, she held out a flat, narrow case as Tiffany turned back around to face her.
“Oh, Ashleigh, no! You have given me so much already.”
“Nonsense,” Ashleigh responded, pushing the case into Tiffany’s hands. “Open it.”
Tiffany looked down at the small leather case and then slowly undid the tiny metal latch. When she lifted the lid the sight within, a magnificent four-strand pearl choker resting upon a bed of black velvet, nearly took her breath away.
“Happy birthday, Tiffany.”
“Oh Ashleigh, I can’t. It’s too much,” she gasped, astonished by the enormity of the gift.
In answer, Ashleigh simply lifted the necklace from its case, undid the tiny clasp and then promptly fastened it around Tiffany’s neck. Grasping her shoulders, she spun her back toward the mirror. “This is from Nicholas, Madeline, Brendon and me, because you mean so very much to all of us,” Ashleigh said, smiling widely as their eyes met in the reflection of the glass. “You are a part of our family, Tiffany, and you always will be.”
Despite her promise, Tiffany felt her eyes grow moist once again. She tried to voice her thanks, but she was suddenly too choked up to speak. Fortunately, it was clear that Ashleigh could see the overwhelming gratitude in her eyes.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly, suddenly blinking back her own tears. Then, giving Tiffany’s shoulders a loving squeeze, she stepped back. “I’ll see you downstairs,” she said, and then quietly left the room.
Watching as the door closed softly behind her, Tiffany brushed the dampness from her eyelashes with the back of her finger. Turning back to the mirror, she stared at the beautiful necklace for a moment. Though delighted by the thoughtfulness and generosity of the gift, she felt a twinge of sadness as well, for she recognized that it was her father who should have given her such a gift on her eighteenth birthday. Even so, she didn’t need nor did she crave a material sign of his affection. For her, a simple I love you would have more than sufficed. To hear those words from her father’s mouth would have meant more to her than any gift he could have ever given her. Unfortunately, however, she had never received anything but censure from her father, and as much as it pained her, today had been no different from the rest.
Rising to her feet, she smoothed the ice-blue silk of her gown and deliberately turned her thoughts to the night ahead. The Leighton’s had gone to great lengths to ensure that her informal debut would be an unparalleled success, and she wasn’t going to let unpleasant thoughts of her father or anything else mar the special evening they had planned for her. Ashleigh was right; they were her family too and she wasn’t going to let them down. Casting one last glance at her reflection, she squared her shoulders and then turned toward the door.
Exiting the room, she once again felt the intense combination of excitement and apprehension that had been building steadily for the past several days. She hated to admit, even to herself that seeing Alexander Warrene again was one of the primary causes of her rioting emotions. Though she had never been one to believe in the notion of love at first sight, the first time she’d laid eyes upon the Earl of Chesterfield across a crowded London theater, she had felt something extraordinary, something she had never felt before. Whether it was love at first sight or something else entirely she didn’t know, but whatever it was, their subsequent meetings seemed only to have intensified her fascination with the handsome earl. Upon each and every occurrence, simply being in his presence had made her senses reel and her heart beat faster. Not only was he incredibly handsome, but he was intelligent, charming and possessed a delightful sense of humor as well. When they spoke, his voice seemed to touch her like a gentle caress, and when he looked at her she felt an intense physical awareness that shook her to her very core. And at night, as he found his way into her dreams with increasing frequency, she had begun to understand the true meaning of desire. Regrettably, she hadn’t seen him outside
of her dreams since little Justin’s christening when she and the earl had been named as two of the baby’s godparents. Now though, knowing that he would be attending tonight and that she would see him once again, she could feel her heart begin to race.
Although it was difficult, she did try to temper her excitement, however. For unfortunately, it was common knowledge that the earl was in no hurry to wed and start a family. But while his unwillingness to hasten to the altar did put a bit of a damper on Tiffany’s idealistic musings, it didn’t squelch them altogether. She had only to observe the adoring look upon Nicholas Leighton’s face when he gazed upon his wife, to know that a man could easily reverse the staunchest opposition to matrimony with a little help from the right woman. And whether or not she was the right woman for Alexander Warrene had yet to be seen, surely a little wishful thinking couldn’t hurt.
When Tiffany reached the entrance to the ballroom a short time later, her carefully composed features belied none of her inner disquiet. In fact, she was fairly certain that anyone who chanced to glance upon her serene countenance would be hard-pressed to detect the tremors of nervous anticipation racing throughout her body. Largely due to her father’s prolonged antipathy, masking her true emotions was something she had learned to do at a young age, and she was usually quite adept at it. However, as she stood upon the threshold of the immense room, scanning the crowd of people who circulated within, she was inordinately thankful that she didn’t have to endure the embarrassment of a grand, formal announcement of her entrance, despite the fact that the ball was being given in her honor. She’d begged Ashleigh to allow her to simply slip into the ballroom without any sort of pomp or fanfare, and of course her friend had agreed to her request. Having been informed of her wishes, the Leighton’s butler merely smiled at her encouragingly as she waited to enter the brilliantly lit room.
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