You, and Only You

by Jennifer McNare

  Chapter 16

  The following morning, Tiffany stood alone in the front parlor, looking out the window as Alex’s carriage pulled to a stop in front of the house. Watching as he stepped from the vehicle and made his way up the front walk, she could feel the familiar pull that seemed to tug at her heart strings whenever she looked upon his beloved face. In spite of everything, she couldn’t deny the truth; she was still in love with him. Knowing that only served to reinforce the decision she’d made late last night, as she’d waited in vain for sleep to claim her. She would honor her father’s wager.

  Although she didn’t intend to discuss the matter with Alex today, or even within the next several days, for the knowledge was still so new and her emotions still so raw, she recognized that she would have to bring things out into the open soon. She didn’t see how they could possibly move forward if she didn’t.

  “Come in,” she responded to the soft knocking upon the door a few moments later.

  “Excuse me, my lady, but Lord Chesterfield has arrived.”

  “Thank you, Penrose,” she said, turning from the window. “Please show him in.” Drawing a slow, steadying breath, Tiffany did her best to appear composed as she waited for Alex to enter the room.

  Walking into the Marlowe’s front parlor, Alex’s gaze fell upon Tiffany as she stood near the window. She looked tired, he noted, but of course that was to be expected. Having received her note little more than an hour ago, he’d been shocked to learn of her father’s condition.

  “Hello, Alex,” she said, feeling a slight catch in her throat.

  “Tiffany,” Alex began as he approached, “I’m so sorry about your father. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Thank you. It’s kind of you to offer, but no. Dr. Patton was just here and he has assured me that we are doing all that we can for him, at least for the time being.”

  “And what about you,” he prompted. “Is there anything at all that I can do for you?”

  “No. I’m fine, Alex. Truly.”

  “You don’t look fine,” he replied, eyeing her critically.

  She managed a weary smile. “I’m tired, that’s all.”

  “Come, let’s sit down,” he said, grasping her hand and pulling her to the sofa.

  Allowing him to lead her across the room, Tiffany felt surprisingly bolstered by his presence, despite all that she had learned. And as he settled her next to him on the sofa cushion, drawing her into the comforting circle of his arms, it was exactly where she wanted to be.

  Though Alex had only stayed for a short while, his visit had given Tiffany a renewed sense of strength and determination. As she made her way upstairs, she understood that there was still a great many things to be done if she intended to keep their lives running as smoothly as possible, and putting them off would surely only serve to make them all the more difficult. Although she had long-managed the day to day administration of the household affairs, the one thing she had never been privy to was her father’s financial affairs. It was with that in mind that she strode purposefully toward her father’s bedchamber. Knocking softly upon his door a few seconds later, Tiffany waited until she heard Mrs. Finnley’s call to enter.

  Stepping into the room, she glanced to the bed to see if her father was awake, but thankfully his eyes were closed. When she’d checked on him earlier, Mrs. Finnley had informed her that he had awoken several times during the night, seeming to become more lucid upon each occasion. And though she was glad to hear it, considering what she was after at that particular moment, she had no desire to rouse him. “Excuse me, Mrs. Finnley,” she said quietly.

  “Yes, my lady?” the woman replied, setting the wooden embroidery hoop she held onto her lap.

  “I was wondering if you might have come upon a set of my father’s keys, perhaps when you were preparing him for bed last night?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  “I did, my lady,” she said, setting aside her sewing and rising to her feet. “I put them here,” she continued as she stepped toward the small cabinet next to her father’s bed. Sliding open the top drawer, she extracted a small metal ring that held several keys of varying sizes from within, and handed it to Tiffany.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Finnley,” Tiffany replied, breathing an inaudible sigh of relief as she accepted the keys.

  Entering her father’s study, Tiffany went immediately to his desk and knelt down before the locked drawer she’d attempted to open a short while ago. After trying the first three keys on the ring with no success, she was immensely relieved when the fourth key slid smoothly into the lock. Pulling open the drawer, she was further relieved to see what appeared to be several leather-bound ledger books resting inside. Lifting them out, she set them atop the desk, pushed the drawer closed and then settled into her father’s chair. Opening the first one, she was inordinately thankful that she had a head for figures, and that her father had employed a tutor who had included mathematics in his instruction.

  Several hours later, Tiffany shoved the last of the ledgers aside, utterly wearied and equally dismayed by what she discovered. If her calculations were accurate, her father was nearly destitute. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head into her hands, groaning aloud. From what she’d been able to discern, a combination of bad investments, failed business ventures and exorbitant gambling losses had all contributed to her father’s financial ruin.

  Stacking the ledger books on top of one another, she pulled open the bottom drawer to put them away, too dispirited to do anything else at that moment. It was only then that she noticed the folded sheet of paper lying at the bottom. Setting the books back down atop the desk, she reached for the paper. Unfolding it, she realized that it was the agreement between her father and Alex, the written terms of their wager. Reading the briefly worded document, she had to go back and read it a second time before the horrifying reality of it fully sunk in. Alex had lost!

  In a state of shock, she was all but oblivious as the paper fell from her trembling hands and landed atop the desk. Oh dear God, he’d asked her to marry him not because he’d won the wager as she had assumed, but because he’d lost; because he had to. Her mouth went dry, and for a moment the room seemed to spin around her in a dizzying whirl. No, no, no her mind screamed, it can’t be true! Please, don’t let it be true. But even as she made her silent pleas, she knew that it was true.

  Rising to her feet, she gripped the edge of the desk to steady herself, fighting down the bile that rose up in her throat. Breathe, just breathe, Tiffany, she told herself. Dragging large gulps of air into her lungs, she struggled against the tight, aching pain in her chest, pain that only seemed to intensify with each passing second. Oh God, the piercing anguish was nearly unbearable. She needed to get out of that room. She needed air. Stumbling around the side of the desk she managed to take only a few short steps before her wobbly legs gave out beneath her. Sinking onto her knees, she managed to put her hands out in front of her as she pitched forward onto the thick carpet. She stayed that way for several seconds, struggling for breath as she tried to focus. But it was to no avail, for as her eyes flooded with tears, the carpet’s intricate pattern seemed to shift and blur before her, and a few seconds later she simply collapsed, surrendering to the excruciating pain of her broken heart.

  When Tiffany was finally able to pick herself up off of the floor, she was only vaguely aware that the room had grown dark as she moved woodenly toward the set of French doors that opened out onto the rear garden. Reaching them, she pulled them open, allowing the cool night air to soothe her sore eyes and dry the last of the tears that dampened her cheeks. Sadly, it seemed as though she’d shed more tears in the past two days than she had in her previous eighteen years she thought somberly, gazing out into the night. But no more, she decided with a sudden resolve, for crying wasn’t going to solve her problems, mend her broken heart or rebuild her shattered dreams.

  Chapter 17

  “Hello, Mr. Stone. Thank you for coming,” Tiffany said, as she rose from behind
her father’s desk to greet his long-time solicitor. “Please, have a seat. Would you care for something to drink? Tea perhaps?” she asked politely as he moved forward into the room.

  “Ah, no thank you,” he replied, eyeing her in obvious confusion.

  “Thank you, Penrose. That will be all for now. And if you would, please close the door behind you.”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, pulling the door shut as he exited the room.

  “Forgive me, my lady, but I thought that I was meeting with your father this morning.” Mr. Stone stood beside the chair, glancing curiously about the room.

  “Please sit,” she said once again, motioning to the leather armchair situated before her father’s desk as she resumed her own seat. “And I shall endeavor to explain.”

  A bit reluctantly it seemed, Mr. Stone sat down upon the chair, his expression wary.

  Several minutes later, Tiffany had fully apprised him of her father’s condition and all that it entailed.

  “I’m terribly sorry, my lady,” he replied sympathetically. “This is most certainly a tragic turn of events.”

  Tiffany nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately however, my father’s medical condition is not the only tragedy we are presently faced with,” she began. “And that, Mr. Stone, is the reason that I have called you here today.”

  The solicitor’s brow rose questioningly.

  “After reviewing my father’s accounts, I have discovered that our financial situation is quite dire.”

  “I see,” he responded, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

  “As you can imagine, with my father currently unable to attend to such matters, I cannot help wondering what, if anything, that I might be able to do to try and improve the present state of our affairs.”

  “Yes, of course. I completely understand your dilemma,” he said. “Have you considered contacting you father’s cousin, Mr. Collingswood?”

  “I have,” Tiffany admitted with a slight grimace. “However, if at all possible, I would prefer not to involve Mr. Collingswood at this time.” To say that her father’s cousin and heir was an unpleasant sort, would be putting it mildly. Short and squat, with large, bulbous features and a balding pate, his appearance was nearly as repellent as his odious personality. In truth, even her father found the man difficult to stomach. Thus, the idea of involving him in her and her father’s welfare was distressing to say the least.

  “Knowing of the enmity that exists between him and your father, I can certainly understand your reluctance. Unfortunately however, you may not be able to avoid his involvement.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the severity of the marquess’ condition becomes known to Mr. Collingswood, he could petition the courts to take over the management of the estate,” he explained.

  Tiffany shuddered at the thought. “And the likelihood that such a petition would be approved?”

  He hesitated, appearing to consider the question for several moments before answering. “Unless your father is able to communicate effectively, demonstrate to the courts that all of his mental faculties remain intact and prove conclusively that he is capable of making sensible and coherent decisions, I would expect the likelihood to be quite good.”

  Oh God! She could not, no she would not allow their wellbeing to fall into the hands of Rupert Collingswood if there was anything at all she could do to forestall it. But after Dr. Patton’s last visit, she knew that it could take weeks, even months of physical therapy before her father was able to demonstrate such abilities. “Please Mr. Stone, I beg of you, tell me what I can do to prevent that from happening.”

  Nearly an hour later, after having gone through a detailed accounting of her father’s financial situation and a comprehensive evaluation of the options available to her, Tiffany and Mr. Stone had finally agreed upon a preliminary course of action.

  “I’ll prepare the required documents at once,” he said, placing a handful of papers into his leather satchel as he prepared to take his leave.

  “Thank you, Mr. Stone. You have most definitely earned my undying gratitude,” she stated earnestly.

  The older gentleman smiled kindly. “It is an honor to be of service to a young lady such as yourself,” he replied, his tone reflecting an equal measure of sincerity.

  “Mr. Stone,” she said, forestalling him as he was about to rise from his chair. “May I ask you something else before you leave, something a bit more personal in nature?”

  He nodded, his expression now curious.

  “You’ve known my father for over twenty years, is that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I know that this may seem a peculiar question,” she began, “but do you have any idea why he never remarried?”

  “Your father never discussed the matter with you?”

  “No,” Tiffany admitted. “I’m afraid that my father was never particularly forthcoming regarding such things, especially with me.”

  “I see,” he replied, looking ill at ease.

  “Please, Mr. Stone,” she prodded. “If you know the reason, I beg of you to tell me. It’s… something I’ve long struggled to understand,” she continued beseechingly, “knowing how he desired to have a son, an heir of his own.”

  “Yes, well I’m not certain that I…” he trailed off as Tiffany looked away, casting her eyes downward dejectedly.

  Clearing his throat, Mr. Stone shifted once again in his chair. “Will you give me your assurance that this conversation will remain strictly between the two of us?”

  Tiffany looked up. “Of course, Mr. Stone. You have my word.”

  “Alright then,” he began. “The truth of the matter is that your father didn’t remarry because he was unable to father any more children.”

  “Unable?”

  “Shortly before you were born, your father was injured in a riding accident,” he began. “And though I do not know the exact details, I understand that his injuries were quite severe, one of which resulted in his, er… inability to perform in the marriage bed,” he finished uneasily.

  “Oh,” Tiffany remarked in surprise. “I had no idea.”

  Mr. Stone merely nodded.

  Clearly he was uncomfortable discussing such a private matter, but Tiffany was exceedingly grateful that he had. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Stone. It explains a great deal,” she said. And it did. Now she had a far better understanding of her father’s behavior and the reasons behind it. Not only had his first wife died in childbirth, but she had delivered him not the heir he so desperately craved, but a girl, the only child he would ever have.

  “You’re quite welcome, my lady,” he said, rising to his feet. “I shall be in touch.”

  As soon as Mr. Stone had left the room, Tiffany reached for a pen and paper. After penning a brief note to Alex, informing him that she would be unavailable for the next several days whilst she tended to her father, she sealed the missive and then summoned one of the footmen.

  “You rang, my lady?” David inquired as he entered the study a few moments later.

  “I did.” Coming out from behind the desk, she handed him the envelope. “Could you please see that this is delivered to Lord Chesterfield by this afternoon?”

  “Yes, of course, my lady,” he replied, taking it from her hand.

  “Thank you, David. That will be all for now.”

  Following him from the room, she then made her way upstairs, for she had a great deal to accomplish within the next several days and there was little time to waste.

  Chapter 18

  Walking through the front hall en route to his study, Alex was momentarily halted by his butler’s deep monotone.

  “Excuse me, my lord, but this just arrived for you,” he said, holding a small parcel in his outstretched hand.

  Taking the package, Alex looked for a return address, but aside from his own name and address, there was nothing to indicate who it was from. He looked up, raising his eyes questioningly.

  “It
was delivered by one of the Marquess of Melborne’s footmen, my lord,” the butler explained.

  “Ah, thank you, Hastings.” Continuing on his way, Alex studied the parcel curiously. Since receiving Tiffany’s note three days earlier, he hadn’t spoken with her nor had he seen her, allowing her time to focus on her father’s care as she had requested.

  Setting the flat, narrow package atop his desk as he entered his study, he sat down and pulled open the top drawer, extracting a small penknife from within. Slicing through the bindings, he removed the paper wrapping and discovered a sealed envelope inside. Opening it, he was stunned to see two separate sheets of stationery, along with Tiffany’s engagement ring inside. What the hell? he thought in bewilderment, as he extracted the ring. Placing it on the desktop, he quickly unfolded the first sheet of paper. He recognized it at once. Feeling a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach, he stared in mounting horror at the written terms of the wager between him and William Marlowe. It was the original document, displaying the date, as well as William and Nicholas’ signatures, along with his own unmistakable script at the bottom of the page.

  Laying it aside, he reached apprehensively for the second piece of paper. The note from Tiffany consisted of two short paragraphs. Reading them, he might once have felt a sense of relief, but now he felt only an overwhelming sense of sorrow and regret. He needed to fix this, and he needed to fix it now.

  Striding briskly from his study, he called for Hastings. “Have my carriage brought around,” he said as the butler appeared. “I’m going out.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” the Marlowe’s butler stated for the second time. “But I can assure you that Lady Tiffany is not here.”

  “Then where is she?” Alex demanded tersely, quickly growing impatient.