You, and Only You (32 page)

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.

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 have felt a sense of relief, but instead 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.

The butler’s expression tightened slightly in response.
 
“Lady Tiffany and her father departed for
Melborne Hall early this morning,” he explained.

“I was under the impression that the marquess was quite
ill,” Alex replied, skepticism evident in his tone.
 
“How is it that he is suddenly able to
travel?”

For a moment it appeared the man might not answer, but
visibly weakening under Alex’s intense regard, he wisely reconsidered.
 
“After consulting with the marquess’
physician, Lady Tiffany was assured the journey would not adversely affect his
lordship’s present condition.”

“Christ!” Alex muttered, running his fingers through his
hair in frustration.

Pursing his lips, the butler eyed Alex reprovingly.
 
“Will there be anything else, my lord?”

Without a word, Alex turned on his heel and strode down the
walk toward his waiting carriage, his thoughts spinning in turmoil.

Arriving back at his townhouse a short time later, Alex
reentered his study feeling utterly dejected.
 
Unfortunately, the sight of his mother sitting behind his desk, her
expression revealing both sadness and a touch of recrimination, only served to
intensify his miserable mood.

Dropping into one of the two chairs that sat before his
desk, he reluctantly faced his mother, his own expression solemn.

“I didn’t mean to pry, dear” Cecelia began quietly, “but I
was coming to speak with you and… well… I saw Tiffany’s ring lying atop your
desk,” she explained.

Alex nodded in understanding.
 
He wasn’t angry with his mother for being
curious.
 
He was angry with himself.
 
“I can only imagine what you must think of
me,” he said somberly.

Cecelia smiled tenderly.
 
“While it’s certainly not your finest hour, I know the kind of man you
are Alexander, and I could never think too poorly of you.
 
Besides, no one is perfect; we all make
mistakes.”

“If it’s any consolation, I folded the winning hand,” he
admitted.

“Purposefully?” she asked in surprise.

He nodded.

She studied him for one long moment.
 
“Why?” she asked softly.

Shaking his head, he then leaned back in his chair, staring
up at the ceiling.
 
“Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you?” she gently prodded.

He sighed.
 
“It hardly
matters, Mother, not now anyhow.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

He returned his gaze to his mother.
 
“I just returned from the Marlowe
residence.
 
She left town with her father
early this morning,” he said somberly.

“Oh, Alex, I’m so sorry.”

“No more so than I,” he acknowledged.

“Oh my darling, you
are
in love with her, aren’t you?”

Was he?
Was he in
love
with Tiffany Marlow?
 
Yes, of course you are.
 
Just admit it you dammed fool, his inner
voice sounded in his head.
 
“What
difference does it make?” he said aloud.
 
“Even if I do love her, it’s too late to do anything about it now.”

“But you can go after her and tell her what you did.
 
Tell her that you lost the wager on
purpose.
 
Surely that will make a
difference,” Cecelia replied.

Alex wasn’t so sure about that.
 
“Do you honestly think that she would believe
anything I have to say now, after all this time, after all that’s happened?”

His mother hesitated, seeming to ponder what he’d said.
 
“Maybe not now, not right away,” she
began.
 
“But perhaps with time, once her
hurt and her anger have had a chance to lessen, maybe then she’ll be ready to
listen, willing to hear the truth.”

Time?
 
Would it truly make a difference, he
wondered?
 
Regrettably, he simply had no
way of knowing.

 
Over the course of
the next several weeks, Tiffany spent the majority of her time overseeing her
father’s care, managing the staff at Melborne Hall, and slowly but surely
setting their financial affairs to rights.
 
Thankfully, the final sales agreement between her father and Alex had
been signed prior to the marquess’ infirmity, so once Mr. Stone had seen to the
completion of the transaction, she’d had more than enough funds to settle all
of her father’s outstanding debts.
 
And,
with the subsequent sale of a small estate located on the outskirts of Paris,
an inheritance she’d received from her late mother’s family, they were once
again in the black.
 
In addition, her
father’s dreadful cousin, Mr. Collingswood, had yet to pose any sort of
difficulty.

However, as much as she hated to admit it, a large portion
of her time was also spent thinking about Alex.
 
Although she was doing her best to move on, it was proving far more
difficult than she’d ever imagined it would be.
 
Fortunately, her weekly afternoon teas with Ashleigh, like the one they
were having now, provided a welcome diversion, albeit a temporary one.
 
“I’m sure Justin will be thrilled to have his
Uncle Brendon home for Christmas,” Tiffany said, watching as Ashleigh folded
the letter she’d just been reading aloud, and then set it onto the sofa next to
her.

“I’m sure that he will be,” Ashleigh replied with a
smile.
 
“Although, he has grown so much
over the past months that I fear Brendon will hardly recognize him.”

Although the baby hadn’t changed quite that much, little
Justin
was
growing rapidly and
beginning to look more and more like his father every day.
 
“Perhaps it will convince him to spend more
time at home and less time at sea.”