Free The Conqueror's Dilemma by Elizabeth Bailey Page A

interests, you’ll kiss goodbye to any hope of becoming
settled. Believe me, there ain’t nothing more fatal to your chances than to
have it known you’ve an uncle in trade.’
    Since she had no reason to
suppose Ariadne Membury to be more forgiving than others of her circle, the
reminder was timely, if painful. Nothing felt more natural to her than to
parade her pride in Dick and Joe, who had followed their father into the
shipping business.
    It occurred to her belatedly that
she had already given it out to their hostess that Uncle Matt was a ship owner.
Had Mrs Membury turned from her in disgust? No, she had not. But the triumph
was short-lived. No doubt she had assumed the Feltons were not actually
involved in the business. There were gentry enough who owned ships, she knew,
for Uncle Matt had dealings with a number of them.
    ‘They’ll take the brass all
right,’ she had heard him say, ‘but they won’t dirty their hands, not your
gentry.’
    But Mrs Membury, when Tiffany
took courage to look at her again, apparently had her attention fixed upon
other matters, for she was staring at a gold case clock on the mantelshelf.
    ‘Speaking of brothers, I had
expected mine to call this morning. But Hector is never to be relied upon for
punctuality.’ A gleam entered her eye—was it of malice or mischief?—as she
turned it upon Lady Drumbeg. ‘However, I may be maligning him. If he did call
and Northwick told him there was a young lady here, he may well have left again
on the instant. Hector lives in dread of matchmakers.’
    Tiffany stiffened. Was she
supposed to be on the catch for Lord Kilbride? The hint had been directed at
her chaperon, but it clearly applied also to herself. Her liking for Mrs
Membury began to fade. If Uncle Matt truly believed she could be happy in this
milieu, subject to suspicions and insults of this nature, then he knew nothing
of the world he would thrust her into. Perhaps Mama’s expulsion had not been as
unfortunate as she had supposed.
    Before any answer could be made,
a sound filtered up from below stairs. It must be the door knocker. Another
visitor? Then her purgatory was at an end. They had not been here all of their
allotted fifteen minutes, but it was bad form to remain when another morning
caller came in. Perhaps it was Lord Kilbride, after all. At least nothing had been
said of the Conqueror.
    Anxious to be gone, Tiffany
forgot protocol and rose to her feet. ‘I am afraid we must be going.’
    She saw Mrs Membury look to her
chaperon and her cheeks suffused. It was not her place to announce their
departure. On the other hand, Eva was not rising. A dagger look came Tiffany’s
way. She stood irresolute. Why could not Mrs Membury encourage them to go? She
could not wish them to remain when another visitor was upon the doorstep.
    Lady Drumbeg directed a fierce
nodding gesture towards her indicating she should reseat herself. Aware of her
hostess’s cool glance, and feeling much like a jack-in-the-box, Tiffany sat
down again.
    Footsteps were clearly ascending
the stairs. Agonised, Tiffany cast a beseeching look at Eva, but her chaperon
steadfastly avoided her eye, obviously determined not to budge. The butler
entered the room.
    ‘Mr Westerham.’
    Tiffany sprang to her feet again.
‘Oh, no!’ Realising she was giving herself away, she tried to retrieve her
slip. ‘I mean—should we not be going, ma’am?’
    But the Conqueror was already in
the room, bowing to his hostess. Tiffany dared not look at him, but she could
not help noticing the smile of welcome—and was it relief?—sweeping across Mrs
Membury’s features. Desperate, she looked across at her duenna. Eva rejected
her silent plea, against all convention remaining seated when etiquette
demanded she take her leave. Tiffany felt ready to faint with embarrassment.
    Mrs Membury rescued her. In the
same voice of cold politeness with which she had first accepted the promise of
a morning call, she made it impossible for Lady