You, and Only You (31 page)

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.

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.

 
“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.”