You, and Only You

by Jennifer McNare

  “Tiffany, please,” he implored. “Look at me.”

  She shook her head again. “Don’t do this, Alex. I… beg of you,” she beseeched, her voice cracking.

  “Tiffany-” he began, but just then the music came to an end.

  Looking up as the music stopped, Tiffany deliberately met Alex’s silver gaze, struggling to keep her expression composed. “Thank you for the dance, my lord,” she said with cool reserve as he released her. Then, after bobbing a polite curtsey, she abruptly turned and walked away.

  Damn it! Alex thought in frustration as he watched Tiffany wend her way quickly through the crowd. He should have known that she wouldn’t believe anything he had to say.

  Though Tiffany would have much preferred to run away and hide at that moment, as soon as she reached the edge of the dance floor she was approached by no less than half a dozen gentlemen seeking to place their names upon her dance card. Oh well, she reasoned, at least it would give her little time to dwell upon Alex and his guilty assertions.

  Watching helplessly as Tiffany was partnered by one gentleman after another throughout the evening; Alex realized he wasn’t likely to get another opportunity to speak privately with her that night. Discouraged, he knew that there was no point in remaining at the Devonshires any longer. However, he had no intention of giving up, he was simply going to have to employ a different strategy to try and win Tiffany back.

  Seeking a moment of solitude as the night wore on; Tiffany sneaked out of the ballroom and went in search of a temporary hideaway. Walking down a narrow hallway that ran along the rear of the house, she finally stopped at the last door on the right. Opening it, she could see at once that it was the Devonshire’s conservatory. “Hello,” she called, stepping inside. Hearing nothing in response, she hesitated a moment, and then pulled the door closed behind her. Although the room was unlit, the moonlight shining in through the glass walls and ceiling and reflecting off the snowy ground, served to effectively illuminate the vast interior.

  Walking along a wide stone path, Tiffany slowly meandered through a variety of trees and plants until she spotted an elaborately-carved stone bench set off to one side. Sitting down upon the flat surface she savored the peaceful setting as she gazed through the glass walls and out into the night, the distant sound of the orchestra adding a faint, melodious resonance to the otherwise quiet of the room.

  She’d only been sitting there for a few minutes however, when she heard the sound of the door to the conservatory opening and closing. Peeking her head around the large potted plant by which she sat, she looked to see who had entered the room. Surprisingly, as he stepped onto the path, she could see that it was Nicholas. “Hello, Your Grace,” she said, rising from the bench and stepping into view, alerting him to her presence.

  “Lady Tiffany, I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said as he walked toward her. “In fact, I would have thought that your many admirers would have given you little opportunity to escape the ballroom.”

  “I have to admit that I took Ashleigh’s advice and deliberately left several of the spaces on my dance card empty,” she divulged with an enigmatic smile. “Otherwise, my feet would surely not last the night.”

  “Ah, I see. And you came in here for a bit of peace and quiet during the interim?”

  “I did indeed.”

  “I can well understand your desire for a respite,” he said with a commiserating expression. “Would you mind if I joined you for a moment?” he asked, motioning to the bench she’d just stood up from.

  “Certainly not, Your Grace,” Tiffany said with a polite smile, as she sat down once again on the long, narrow bench, smoothing the silver-embroidered fabric of her lavender skirt over her knees. “But I can only imagine that you came in here seeking a moment of solitude yourself, so you mustn’t feel as though you need to keep me company.”

  “Nicholas,” he reminded her. “And actually, if you don’t mind the intrusion, it is you who would be keeping me company.”

  She regarded him curiously.

  “The Duke of Ravenfield is currently partnering my lovely wife on the dance floor, and I have decided that it would be in the best interest of our continued friendship if I occupied myself elsewhere for the duration,” he said with a wry grin.

  Tiffany couldn’t help grinning in return. His self-confessed umbrage at seeing his wife in another man’s arms, if only on the dance floor, was utterly charming. “Well then, I should be glad to serve as a temporary distraction, Nicholas,” she said, patting the space next to her.

  Sitting down next to her, Nicholas stretched his long legs out in front of him. “So tell me, are you enjoying your evening thus far?”

  “It’s a splendid affair,” she replied honestly. “I can certainly understand why it’s such a highly anticipated event.”

  “Quite true,” Nicholas responded. “Once again, the Devonshires have outdone themselves. But that said, I don’t think you actually answered my question,” he continued, studying her expression.

  Tiffany gave a quiet little laugh. “I suppose I didn’t, did I?”

  Nicholas raised his brow questioningly.

  “I hate to sound ungracious, for it was ever so nice of you and Ashleigh to include me this evening.”

  “But?”

  “But I suppose I’m not really enjoying myself as much as one might expect,” she admitted.

  “Forgive my boldness, but I noticed you waltzing with Alex earlier,” Nicholas said soberly. “Is that part of the reason, perchance?”

  Tiffany smiled wryly. “I can’t imagine that surprises you.”

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

  She nodded.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that it didn’t work out for the two of you,” he said.

  “As I’m sure you can understand, once I discovered the terms of the wager, and then learned that Alex hadn’t won as I’d assumed, but had in fact lost, I could hardly go through with it.”

  “Er, well, actually I…,” Nicholas began, then faltered. “That is, until you just said so, I wasn’t altogether certain that it was related to your engagement,” he continued, his brows drawing together as he once again studied Tiffany’s expression. “Though I assumed that it involved the land that Alex was seeking to purchase from your father, I have never been privy to the exact terms of the wager between him and your father.”

  Tiffany regarded him in surprise. “But how can that be, when your own signature is clearly visible upon the document itself?”

  “Although I was asked to serve as witness, I was told nothing about the wager itself,” he explained. “In addition, the document that you are referring to was purposely positioned so that only the line upon which I signed was visible to me.”

  She stared at him incredulously.

  “Though I can surmise, now, what the terms of the wager may have been,” he said, eyeing her sympathetically. “In truth, I do not know for certain, thus it would only be supposition.”

  “I see,” she murmured, casting her eyes downward.

  Nicholas regarded her intently for a moment before he spoke. “I hope that you will forgive my boldness,” he began, “for I know that it is none of my affair, but nonetheless I think that there is something you should know.”

  She looked up, eyeing him curiously.

  “Alex didn’t lose.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tiffany, I know for certain that Alex held the winning hand,” he said solemnly. “He let your father win.”

  Tiffany stared at him in disbelief. “Did he tell you that?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Then how…?”

  “When your father turned over his cards, Alex looked to his own cards and then a moment later he purposefully laid down his hand, conceding his defeat,” he began. “But when he and your father left the room a few minutes later, I remained behind,” he continued. “Merely out of curiosity, I turned over Alex’s discarded cards.”
r />   “You did?” Tiffany replied softly, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest.

  Nicholas’ expression was utterly sincere. “He had your father beaten.”

  Tiffany couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re certain?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “But if that’s true,” she uttered softly, “why wouldn’t he have told me?”

  “I’m sorry, Tiffany, but I cannot answer that, for I honestly do not know.”

  She nodded mutely.

  “Well, I’m sure you could use a minute alone,” Nicholas said, rising to his feet. “And I should probably make certain that Ravenfield hasn’t tried to make off with my wife,” he continued, interjecting a lightheartedness to his tone.

  Tiffany managed a weak smile. “I’ll be along shortly.”

  Tipping his head, Nicholas turned to walk away.

  “Nicholas,” Tiffany said quietly, momentarily halting his departure. Turning back around, he met her heartfelt gaze. “Thank you.”

  Once Nicholas had taken his leave, Tiffany struggled to come to terms with what she had just learned. Alex had let her father win. But why, and what did it mean? And even more importantly, had he meant what he’d said to her earlier? Was Alex in love with her?

  Reentering the ballroom a short time later, Tiffany moved purposefully through the crowd in search of Alex. After several minutes however, she still hadn’t located him. Thinking that he might have taken a seat in the card room, she peeked her head inside, but Alex wasn’t there either. Finally, in desperation, she sought out the Devonshire’s butler. Much to her dismay, he informed her that the Earl of Chesterfield had departed nearly half an hour earlier.

  Chapter 20

  When Tiffany entered the front foyer the following morning, she immediately sought out their family’s long-time butler. After a long and restless night, she remained confident in the decision she’d made in the early hours of the morning, shortly before dawn. And now it was time to act upon it. She was going to Chesterfield to speak with Alex.

  “Andrews, could you please have the coach readied,” she directed as she came upon him. “I would like to pay a visit to the Chesterfields this afternoon.”

  “Yes, of course, my lady,” he replied, with only a hint of surprise reflected in his otherwise impassive expression. “I shall see to it at once.”

  “Thank you, Andrews.” Knowing that she would have at least a quarter hour before the vehicle was brought round from the carriage house, she turned toward the stairs. She had yet to pay her daily visit to her father, and she supposed that she might as well get it over with.

  When she entered his bedchamber a short while later, she found him seated upon the edge of his bed, his nurse, Mrs. Silverton propping him up on one side while, Mr. Broward, the man she’d hired to try and help her father regain some of the function that he’d lost, sat on the other.

  “Good morning, my lady,” they both greeted.

  Her father shifted his gaze in her direction, eyeing her in silence. Though his speech had improved somewhat, his words were still slurred and often difficult to understand.

  “Good morning, Father,” she said, moving toward the bed. “How are your exercises coming along this morning?”

  He merely grunted in reply, his now lopsided features reflecting little emotion as he coolly assessed her.

  Tiffany turned to Mr. Broward then, her eyebrows raised inquiringly.

  “We’re working on strengthening his leg muscles today,” he informed her.

  She nodded. “Will you be using the chair today?” she asked, referring to the wheeled chair that had arrived a few weeks earlier, and now sat empty in the corner of the room.

  Mr. Broward cast a sidelong glance at the marquess, his expression dubious.

  Tiffany sighed aloud, for her father was being inordinately stubborn, refusing to even try the specially designed chair. In fact, he had obstinately refused to leave his room since returning to Melborne Hall. She knew that he was ashamed of his condition and his inability to function as he once had, but hiding away in his bedchamber for the remainder of his life wasn’t going to change anything. He needed to accept his newfound limitations and prepare to face the world again, for better or worse.

  “Father, you really should give it a try,” she said, motioning to the vacant chair. “As I’ve told you, we can easily construct a ramp and use it to get you up and down the stairs.”

  In answer, the marquess simply turned his head away, staring fixedly at the wall on the opposite side of the room.

  “Fine,” she muttered. “But one of these days you are going to have to leave this room.”

  Arriving back downstairs a short while later, Tiffany donned her heavy outer garments and then made her way to the waiting coach, noticing as she did a few delicate flakes of snow floating down from the sky. Timothy, their driver, and George, one of their footmen, were seated atop the drivers box; both of them bundled up against the winter chill. As another of their footmen assisted her up the iron steps and into the vehicle, she was pleased to see that a stack of blankets had been piled high onto the seat and several heated bricks had been placed along the floorboards. Settling them around her as the door swung shut, she felt the pull of the horses and the turning of the wheels a moment later.

  As the coach rolled along the frozen winter ground, Tiffany tried to keep her nervousness at bay by focusing her attention on the small book of poetry she held in her lap. Though it wasn’t entirely successful, she made the effort all the same.

  However, once the coach turned onto the private road leading to Chesterfield Park, approximately thirty minutes later, Tiffany’s anxiety quickly began to escalate. Was she making a mistake, she wondered suddenly? Last night, and even this morning, she’d felt confident in her decision to journey to Alex’s home and ask the questions that were now plaguing her, but suddenly she was beset with doubts. What if Nicholas had somehow been mistaken? What if Alex hadn’t really lost at all? What if she’d been right all along? What if he had only said those things out of guilt? Was she merely setting herself up for additional heartbreak?

  Regardless of the sudden doubts now skirting along the edge of her thoughts, she supposed that it was too late to turn back. Besides, she reasoned, whatever it might be, she needed to know the truth.

  Stepping from the coach a few minutes later, Tiffany was surprised to see the ground covered in a fresh layer of white. Lost to her tumultuous thoughts, she’d scarcely noticed that the gently falling snowflakes had increased in both size and number, or that the wind had started to blow with increasing force. Summoning her resolve, she clutched the collar of her coat tightly about her throat as she made her way slowly up to the front steps of the magnificent house that stood before her, careful not to slip upon the snow-covered path. A moment later, she rang the bell.

  As the door swung open, the Chesterfield’s regal-looking butler regarded her curiously for a moment, glanced over her shoulder to the waiting coach, and then back to her. “May I help you?”

  “Good morning,” she said, handing him her card. “I’m here to see Lord Chesterfield.”

  The butler glanced down at the card and then returned his inquiring gaze to Tiffany. “Is the earl expecting you?”

  “No, he isn’t,” she admitted. “But it is rather important that I speak with him.”

  The stoic butler hesitated for a moment, and then ultimately stepped aside so that she could enter. “If you would care to wait in the front parlor, I shall ascertain whether or not his lordship is home to visitors.”

  Tiffany nodded. After being divested of her coat, hat and gloves, and once she’d been assured that her driver and footman would be attended to; she proceeded to follow the uniformed butler as he directed her to the parlor.

  “If you will wait here, my lady,” he instructed as he motioned her forward.

  “Yes, of course,” she replied, stepping into the richly-appointed space. As the butler left the room, leaving the wide set
of doors standing open, Tiffany could hear the diminishing sound of his footsteps moving across the marble floor. Looking about the elegant parlor, she glanced briefly toward the settee, but she was far too nervous to sit. Instead, she walked over to the tall row of windows that overlooked the front of the estate, watching as the snow continued to fall and swirl in the now blustering wind.

  “Come in,” Alex responded to the knock upon the door of the library.

  “Excuse me, my lord, but a young lady has just arrived and is requesting to speak with you.”

  Alex looked up in surprise, setting the book he was reading aside. “A young lady?”

  “Yes, my lord. Lady Tiffany Marlowe,” he replied. “She is unaccompanied,” he added with a slight, disapproving frown.”

  Alex was stunned. Tiffany had come to Chesterfield, alone? “Where is she?” he demanded, rising swiftly to his feet.

  “I put her in the front parlor, my lord,” the butler replied, clearly taken aback as Alex brushed past him, hastening from the room a second later.

  Slowing his steps as he neared the double-doors leading into the parlor, Alex then hesitated for a moment upon the threshold. She was there, standing at the window, her gaze fixed upon something outside. But why had she come? Stepping into the room, he turned and pushed the doors closed.

  Hearing the sound, Tiffany turned from the window. Alex stood just inside the doors, his expression indecipherable. “Hello, Alex,” she said softly.

  “Tiffany, I… wasn’t expecting you,” he finished lamely.

  “I know,” she replied, smiling hesitantly. “I was hoping that we might talk,” she explained.

  “Of course.” Moving forward, he motioned to the nearby settee. “Would you like to sit?”

  Tiffany nodded, walking toward the stylish piece of furniture. Sitting down, she nervously smoothed the skirt of her blue and green striped, muslin day dress as Alex settled into one of the two facing chairs.