You, and Only You (2 page)

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
she’d heard that Alexander Warrene was an incorrigible rogue, for apparently
his reputation with the ladies had long-bordered on scandalous, the knowledge
didn’t trouble her overmuch.
 
Over the
past months, she had gleaned as much information about the earl as she possibly
could, and despite his rakish reputation, nothing she’d learned was all that
damning and certainly hadn’t changed the way she felt about him.

Though she’d initially tried to hide it, Ashleigh, who knew
her better than anyone, was not easily deceived and had quickly perceived her
romantic interest in the earl.
 
Although
Ashleigh adored Alex and clearly fancied the thought of him and Tiffany
together, her concern was evident as well, for apparently it was common
knowledge that Alex was in no hurry to wed and start a family.
 
And although Alex’s 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.
 

Spotting her father standing amongst a small group of people
a short distance away, Tiffany waited until she caught his eye and then
descended the few short steps to the ballroom floor as he approached.
 
He looked impeccable as always, from the top
of his neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair, to the tips of his highly polished
shoes.
 
The only difference she noted was
the unusually bright smile upon his lips.
 
In stunned disbelief, she realized that it was directed at her.

When he reached her side he cast a brief, speculative glance
at the necklace fastened around her neck, but he made no mention of it as he
leaned forward to bestow a light, fatherly kiss upon her left cheek.
 
“My dear, how lovely you look,” he exclaimed
as he drew back, his voice carrying to several couples standing nearby, as he
had clearly intended it to.
 

“Thank you, father.”
 
Placing her gloved fingers upon her father’s proffered arm, Tiffany
managed to conceal her shock as her father led her into the midst of the crowded
room.
 
Although the compliment had been
unexpected, it was the kiss that had sent her senses reeling.
 
In stunned fascination, she realized that it
was the only sign of affection she had received from him for as long as she
could remember.
 
However, much as she
might have wished otherwise, she wasn’t a fool and the fact that the
uncharacteristically loving display had not been for her, but rather for the
benefit of the other guests, was not lost on her.
 
And so, with eighteen years of practice to
her credit, she disguised her true feelings behind an artificial smile as she
greeted those eager to make her acquaintance and to wish her a happy birthday.

Before long, at least a dozen men had surrounded Tiffany,
all of them bombarding her with dance requests.
 
Her father generously nodded his approval at each gentleman in turn, and
before she knew it she found herself lost in the midst of the colorful silks
and satins of the swirling dancers, moving to the strains of a five-step
schottische with her first partner, an elderly baron who possessed a shock of
thinning white hair and a kindly, timeworn countenance.
 
However, despite his advanced years, the
baron was exceptionally light on his feet as he turned her about the dance
floor.
 
When she commented on his skill,
he literally beamed at the compliment.

“My wife and I used to dance all the time,” he told her,
smiling somewhat wistfully.
 
“Knowing how
I enjoy it, she insists I keep at it, even though she’s no longer able to
partner me herself.
 
She took a nasty fall
last year, you see,” he explained, “and her right hip has been troubling her
ever since.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Tiffany said compassionately.

“That’s my Millicent over there,” he said, smiling fondly
and motioning to a petite, grey-haired woman seated in one of the many chairs
that lined the edge of the room.
 

“She’s lovely,” Tiffany noted with a pleasant smile.

Catching their eyes upon her, the baroness returned their
smiles, waving her gloved hand daintily as she and the baron passed by.
 
From the looks on their faces, it was clear
to Tiffany that theirs was a love match.
 
It was a heart-warming realization, and she couldn’t help hoping that
she might one day be as fortunate.

As soon as the first dance came to an end, Tiffany found
herself in the arms of her next partner, a red-haired youth with a smattering
of freckles upon his nose and both of his cheeks.
 
Unlike the gregarious baron, he seemed
incredibly ill at ease as they danced and kept his gaze locked upon his feet as
they moved about the floor, quietly counting each step under his breath.
 
Seeking to put him at ease, she remarked
admiringly upon his proficiency.
 
She
regretted it at once, for the moment he looked up and met her gaze he abruptly
lost his concentration and trod heavily upon her foot.
 
Embarrassed, his cheeks turned nearly as red
as his ginger-colored hair as he stammered out a hasty apology.
 
Wisely, she made no further distracting
comments and the poor lad quickly returned his gaze to his feet, resuming his
quiet counting until the music finally came to an end.