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You, and Only You

Page 20

by Jennifer McNare


  “He is, my lady,” he replied. “I believe the marquess is presently in his study.”

  As she made her way down the hall to her father’s study a few moments later, Tiffany’s stomach felt as if it were tied in knots. After tossing and turning throughout most of the night, she had finally come to a decision. Despite what Alex had said, she couldn’t seem to put her fears to rest. Therefore, she was going to ask her father outright about Lucinda Langdon’s allegations.

  Reaching the closed door, Tiffany knocked softly upon the wooden panel and then waited for permission to enter before turning the brass knob.

  “Yes,” the marquess said brusquely, looking up from the papers spread atop his desk. “What is it?”

  “Father, may I speak with you for a moment?” Tiffany asked hesitantly.

  William sighed in obvious irritation as he motioned her forward.

  Closing the door behind her, Tiffany made her way across the room, taking one of the seats that sat before her father’s desk.

  “Well, what is it you wish to speak with me about?” William prompted tersely, eyeing Tiffany impatiently as she sat down upon the leather wingback chair.

  Despite her trepidation, she boldly met her father’s gaze. She knew that if she was to get any kind of information from him she couldn’t beat about the bush, she would have to ask him straight out. “Father, does my engagement to Lord Chesterfield have anything to do with the property you hold? The property he’s been trying to acquire,” she clarified, her voice strong and steady.

  William’s expression turned guarded as he eyed his daughter. “Might I ask what has prompted such an impertinent question?” he demanded curtly.

  Tiffany stiffened her spine. She couldn’t back down now, not if she wanted to know the truth. “Someone suggested as much to me last night, at the opera.”

  The marquess’ eyes narrowed. “Who?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “When I ask you a question, daughter,” his tone was harsh and commanding, “I expect an answer!”

  “A woman,” Tiffany replied, quailing slightly beneath her father’s anger. “I do not know her name,” she lied.

  William snorted. “One of Chesterfield’s paramours no doubt.”

  Tiffany winced, for her father was likely correct on that score. Though he’d never confirmed it, she had little doubt that Alex and the baroness had once been lovers. But at the moment, that was neither here nor there. “Is it true? Is the earl’s proposal somehow related to your business dealing?”

  “Since when have my business affairs been any of your concern?” he snapped, rising abruptly from his chair.

  Was he deliberately avoiding the question, she wondered, feeling a sudden tightness in her chest? Nonetheless, she too rose from her chair, facing her father boldly. “If it is something that affects my future, I believe I have a right to know.” She watched as her father’s face turned red, a visible sign of his mounting anger, but she staunchly stood her ground. She’d never confronted her father before, and it was both terrifying and oddly gratifying at the same time.

  “Your right?” he bellowed, glaring at her from behind his desk. “You have no rights, girl. I am your father and you will do exactly as you are told to do, nothing more, nothing less.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said in a calm, surprisingly steady voice. Her father glared at her, his expression revealing his continued anger, but also a hint of astonishment.

  “Alright then,” he said, after seeming to consider it for a moment. “You want to know the truth of the matter?” his tone scathing, almost mocking.

  She met his contemptuous gaze, her head held high. “Yes, I do.”

  “Fine. It matters not to me whether you know or not. I only kept quiet because he asked me to.”

  “So it is true.” She felt the tightness in her chest growing slowly tighter by the second. “By marrying me, he gets the land he’s always wanted.”

  The marquis sneered. “Of course. Why else would he have agreed to the wager?”

  “Wager?”

  William’s expression faltered, as though he realized just then that he’d said something he hadn’t meant to say.

  “What wager?” Tiffany asked, feeling the bile rise up in her throat.

  “That is enough! Your impudence knows no bounds, daughter,” he barked.

  Tiffany was too dumbfounded to heed her father’s warning. “My future was decided by a wager between you and the earl?” she choked out in disbelief. “Dear God, what were the terms?”

  “By dammed, girl, you go too far! I have told you what you wanted to know and now this discussion is over!” Sitting back down in his chair, William glared at Tiffany in barely suppressed rage. “And just so that we are clear, if you ever speak to me with such flagrant disrespect again, or dare to question me or my decisions, you will most certainly regret it. Now get out,” he said, motioning angrily to the door.

  Fighting back the sobs that threatened to break from her chest, Tiffany turned to leave. When she reached the door however, she stopped. Though a part of her had always known that her father didn’t love her, until that very moment, she had harbored the smallest of hopes that he cared about her, at least a little. But now, that tiny glimmer of hope was gone. Summing the very last bit of courage she possessed, she squared her shoulders and slowly turned back to face her father. “I have always known how you felt about me, father” she began, “but until today I chose to believe that somewhere in your heart, you might care about me, even the tiniest bit. But what you have done,” she said, shaking her head, “has finally proven to me without a shadow of a doubt that you do not.” Her gaze unwavering, she severed the final tie in her relationship with the man who’d father her. “You are a cruel, hateful person, but the fact that you would wager your own daughter is beneath contempt, even for you.”

  “How dare you!” the marquess’ exploded, slamming his fist onto his desk as he stood up, his reddened face a mask of fury.

  Tiffany flinched, but she didn’t flee. At that moment she didn’t care what he did to her. Let him strike her, she thought rebelliously, it would only prove what she had said. But instead of advancing toward her, her father seemed to wobble a bit as he gained his feet. As she looked on in surprise and uncertainty, he seemed to struggle for balance. Then, clutching at his arm, the marquess’ expression grew pained as he suddenly dropped back down onto his chair.

  William’s eyes grew wide as he attempted to focus them on Tiffany. “Send for Dr. Patton,” he rasped.

  “Father?” Tiffany took a step toward him, and then watched in horror as he suddenly slumped forward onto his desk. “Father,” she gasped, hurrying around the side of his desk. Grabbing his shoulder, she struggled to pull him upright, but he was a dead weight and she was unable to move him.

  “Penrose,” she shouted, moving away from her father and rushing to the door. “Penrose, come quickly!” she cried, as she pulled it open.

  Penrose was at her side within seconds, his normally unflappable expression now flustered. “My lady?”

  “It’s my father,” Tiffany said, motioning frantically to where the marquess lay slumped over his desk. “Send one of the footmen to fetch Dr. Patton at once.”

  Looking over Tiffany’s shoulder, Penrose’s face registered his shock as he spotted the marquess’ motionless form. “Yes, my lady,” he uttered, spinning on his heel.

  Hastening back to her father’s side, Tiffany tried once again to rouse him, but her efforts were to no avail. The marquess remained limp and unmoving, but thankfully it appeared that he was still breathing.

  “I’ve sent Geoffrey to fetch Dr. Patton,” Penrose informed her as he hurried back into the room with two burly, young footmen at his heels.

  “Good.”

  “I’ve brought David and Henry,” Penrose said. “Shall we move him, my lady?

  Tiffany considered it for a moment, glancing briefly to the nearby sofa. “Yes, let’s do,” she decided, doi
ng her best to remain calm as she motioned the men forward. “Let’s take him upstairs.” Surely he would be better off in his bed than lying upon the narrow sofa, she reasoned.

  Stepping back, she allowed the footmen to lift the marquess from his chair and then carry him out the door. Following a few steps behind, she and Penrose trailed them as they moved swiftly to the stairs.

  Biting her lower lip, Tiffany eyed the unconscious form of her father anxiously as David and Henry laid him out atop his bed a few moments later. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she said as the pair stepped back from the immense four-poster bed. “Penrose, please send Dr. Patton up the minute he arrives.”

  “Of course, my lady,” he replied, casting one last nervous glance at the marquess before ushering the two footmen from the room.

  Checking to see that her father was still breathing, Tiffany was relieved to see the steady rise and fall of his chest as she moved to stand over him. Reaching out her hand, she placed it lightly against his forehead, but she felt no hint of fever. “Father, can you hear me?” she asked, watching his face for any sign of awareness. “Father?”

  Unfortunately, the marquess remained unresponsive.

  Frightened by the cold, clammy feel of his skin, Tiffany pulled her hand away. In spite of everything she’d said, he was still her father and she didn’t want him to die.

  Rising from her seat, Tiffany looked expectantly at Dr. Patton as he entered the front parlor. “How is he?” Nearly forty minutes had passed since the physician had arrived and promptly ushered her from her father’s bedchamber.

  Dr. Patton’s expression was grim as he met her gaze. “Perhaps we should sit,” he suggested.

  “Alright,” Tiffany agreed, feeling an unwelcome tightness in her chest as she resumed her seat upon the settee.

  Settling into one of the armchairs across from her, Dr. Patton set his black medical bag onto the floor beside him. “Although your father has regained consciousness, I’m afraid the news isn’t good,” he stated solemnly.

  “He’s awake?”

  “He is, though at present he is only somewhat lucid,” Dr. Patton stated. “Sadly, it appears that what your father experienced earlier was an apoplectic seizure, or in layman’s terms, a loss of blood to the brain. It’s quite serious I’m afraid.”

  The tightness in her chest intensified. “How serious?”

  “Your father has suffered complete paralysis on his entire left side. In addition, both his speech and vision appear to be impaired, though in his present state I was not able to determine the exact severity of either.”

  Paralysis? Impaired speech and vision? It was even worse than she’d feared. “Is the condition… permanent?”

  “Although some individuals have been known to regain some degree of lost function,” he began, “the long-term prognosis for those who have suffered an apoplectic seizure is generally unfavorable.”

  Stunned, Tiffany could only nod in response.

  “If your father is to improve, even marginally, he will require constant nursing care from this moment on, as well as daily rehabilitation therapy.”

  “I see,” she managed.

  “I’m sorry to say, but if your father had heeded my earlier advice and sought preventative treatment for his elevated blood pressure, this might have been prevented,” he said, shaking his head as he rose from his chair and collected his bag.

  Tiffany stood as well.

  “If you’d like, I can arrange for one of the nurses from the hospital to attend to your father until you are able to make permanent arrangements.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Patton. That would be most helpful.”

  “Fine. I’ll see to it at once,” he replied.

  “Is there anything more that I can do?” Tiffany asked, feeling completely helpless.

  “Love and support, my dear,” he said compassionately. “In times like these, those two things are what truly help the most.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I will return to check on the marquess first thing tomorrow morning,” he informed her as he moved to the door.

  A little over an hour later, as Tiffany sat at her father’s bedside, a petite, grey-haired woman wearing a white nurse’s uniform and cap was shown into the room by one of the footmen who’d helped carry her father upstairs.

  “Mrs. Finnley has arrived to tend to your father,” he announced, his expression solemn.

  “Hello, Mrs. Finnely,” Tiffany said, rising to greet her. “I’m Tiffany Marlowe. Thank you for coming.”

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Mrs. Finnley replied, walking forward. Glancing toward the bed, she eyed the marquess. “He’s sleeping?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dr. Patton has apprised me of your father’s condition,” she began. “Has there been any change in the past hour?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed.” Her father had been drifting in and out of consciousness shortly after Dr. Patton had taken his leave. But he’d been sleeping for the last twenty minutes or so.

  “I see.”

  “May we get you anything, Mrs. Finnley? Something to drink? Some tea perhaps,” Tiffany asked politely.

  “No thank you, my lady. I’m fine for now.”

  “Alright then, but if you should change your mind, or if you need anything at all, you have only to let someone know,” she said, motioning to the bell pull beside her father’s bed.

  Mrs. Finnley nodded in understanding.

  “I’ve had a bedchamber readied for you, as well,” Tiffany continued, stepping to the adjoining door and pulling it open. “I hope that it will meet all of your needs during your stay.”

  “I’m sure that it will.”

  “Henry, could you please take Mrs. Finnley’s bag and put it into her chamber.”

  “Yes, of course,” he said stepping forward. “Will that be all, my lady?” he asked, as the older woman handed him the large carpetbag she’d been holding.

  “Yes, I believe so. Thank you, Henry,” Tiffany said, dismissing the young footman and turning her attention back to the nurse.

  Once Mrs. Finnley had been settled, Tiffany left her father’s room and made her way to her own. Though it was still quite early, the afternoon’s events had left her feeling exhausted, both mentally and physically and she needed to lie down, if even for a short while.

  Entering her bedchamber, she kicked off her kid leather slippers as she walked to the bed, and then promptly lay down upon the silken counterpane fully clothed. Resting her head atop one of the pillows, she turned onto her side, tugging another of the soft, down-filled pillows to her chest. Seconds later, the tears she had been struggling so hard to contain since she’d entered her father’s study, finally began to fall. Within the space of a few hours, her entire world had been turned upside down. Not only was her father likely to spend the remainder of his life as an invalid, but with only a few cruel and callous words, he’d managed to break her heart and crush her dreams as well. As the enormity of it all finally hit her, the pain she felt was nearly impossible to bear. With gut-wrenching sobs now wracking her body, she buried her face in the pillow and gave way to the anguish that seemed to tear at her very soul.

  Tiffany had no idea how much time had passed when her sobs finally began to lessen and her tears eventually began to slow, but when she opened her eyes at last, it was to see that her room had grown shadowed with the coming of night. Rolling onto her back, she stared morosely at the rose-colored canopy above her bed as she gradually came to grips with all that she had learned. With a heavy sigh, she accepted the fact that her father didn’t love her even the teeniest bit and likely never had, but even more painful than that, was the crushing weight of her shattered dreams surrounding Alexander Warrene.

  She was such a fool. How could she have allowed herself to believe that a man like Alex would so willingly give up his unfettered lifestyle to marry her? She should have known better, but she was too head over heels in love to see the truth. He could have a
ny woman he wanted, and surely had, but only she held the key to something else he wanted. Sadly, it was as simple as that. Oh, he might care about her a little, she thought glumly, he might even desire her physically, but he never would have offered to marry her for those reasons alone. She’d been right the night before, when she lay tossing and turning in her bed, replaying everything that he had said to her in the coach. He had chosen his words with great care, uttering half-truths and artfully misleading her when she’d asked him why he wanted to marry her. Knowing that was nearly as painful as it would have been to discover that he had lied to her outright.

  The question now, it seemed, was what was she going to do about it?

  Though her eyes were still puffy and red, Tiffany eventually left the solitude of her room, knowing the household staff would likely assume that her tears were due to her father’s condition rather than anything else. Stopping to check on him, she saw that he was still sleeping, and after a brief conversation with Mrs. Finnley, she then made her way downstairs.

  Knowing that there were several things that needed her immediate attention, she summoned Penrose, their housekeeper, Mrs. Higby, and their cook, Mrs. Wright, to a meeting straightaway. After discussing a general course of action regarding her father’s care, including assigning one of the upstairs maids to assist Mrs. Finnley, modifications to the marquess’ daily meal preparations, the hiring of long-term care givers and a number of other things, Tiffany felt reasonably confident that she had the household matters under control. However, she was well-aware that there were additional, non-household related matters that would require her prompt attention as well.

  Having concluded her meeting with the staff, Tiffany then made her way to her father’s study. Approaching the chair her father had occupied just hours ago, she hesitated for just a moment before lowering herself onto the fine-grained leather. Looking about the room, it seemed oddly surreal to be sitting behind her father’s desk, but nevertheless, there she was. Sitting in silence, she couldn’t help but marvel once again at how suddenly everything had changed.

 

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