Chapter 6

As Tiffany took her fill of her prestigious surroundings, a familiar sugar-sweet voice floated across the room and seeped into her stunned mind, "Ah! There you are darling! We've been looking all over for you." The Duchess of Salisbury hurried over, which was strange, since she said 'we' when she really was alone.

Flustered, she pushed her way through toward Tiffany, careful not to crumple the flamboyant turquoise skirt. Her father obviously had not forgotten her disobedience. He hadn't come to look for like he usually did.

That knowledge somehow mellowed Tiffany's high spirits, and she found herself wishing it could all be over, wishing she'd needn't go through the tug-of-war that awaited her when they were alone again. She blamed herself for causing such bad feelings, tasting the distinct bitterness it released in her mouth. She felt sorry. After all, she was glad she came.

"Tiffany, dear, I want to introduce to you two very, very respectable and oh-so-generous people," the duchess was already leading Tiffany back the way she had come. Coming to an abrupt stop, Tiffany tripped forward a few paces before regaining her composure.

A gray, disagreeable man looked down speculatively at her, as if examining a specimen under a microscope. Beside him bobbed a somewhat… gaudy middle-aged lady, with blond trestles, red eye make-up around those round shallow eyes, and a fuchsia fur coat she wrapped arrogantly around her skimpy black lace dress. "Tiffany, this is Monsieur and Madame Laurien," her mother extended her palm to the two figures respectively; "they are our kind, generous hosts for this splendid ball!" Generous. Her mother sure had a limited vocabulary and poor judgment; they were anything but! Dropping her voice, her mother urgently hissed, "Go on, introduce yourself!"

Tiffany curtseyed, "A pleasure. Je m'appelle Cheldon, Tiffany Cheldon," looking meekly through her lashes. She had learnt the phrase from the young housekeeper at the hotel who had brought her a drink. The monsieur offered a sharp nod, while the madame swept her eyes over Tiffany's person repeatedly, meticulously judging her clothes, hairstyle, and god knew what else.

"Oh, Tiffany's just a little shy. You couldn't have known how pleased we were when we received your invitation. How utterly kind of you! Now that we know each other so well, you would be entirely welcome to take up residence at our humble place when you happen to chance by. I hope the York Suite is big enough, with such important people like yourselves…"

Her mother was a dear thing, but at times, she could so strangle-able! Where was that woman's pride?! Goodness, she quickly assessed her options and decided to bolt out of there before she died of embarrassment or started screaming at her mother. Another thought, how in the world was she to excuse herself presentably? Her face resembled a tomato more and more with each passing moment.

A firm hand slithered past her waist and rested on her torso. A kiss breathed down her neck. Instinctively, she twisted round and slapped her offender.

"Tiff-" Mortified, Tiffany recognized those acid green eyes. Lawrence. Her mother had abruptly stopped her chattering and placed a delicate hand over her lips. Lawrence had removed his arm and was staring coldly at Tiffany. The Lauriens looked disapprovingly at her, as if silently prosecuting her to social banishment. Desperate, Tiffany roughly hooked Lawrence's arm. And laughed.

"Why Lawrence! It was you after all. Oh, how foolish of me, but who else could possess such impatience. My, my, we'll have to work on that, won't we, darling." She forced a coy smile. "Or, we could pacify you first, and start on lessons tomorrow."

An almost imperceptible smile traced Monsieur Laurien's lips, but a smile nonetheless. The madame's smile, however, was quite different. She smiled widely, unabashed, with not-so-subtle hints of her plans to enlighten the guests before sundown. Lawrence's shock had grown, if that were possible, while her mother stood, mouth ajar.

Well, at least half the pot of tea had cooled, she decided. Leaving the explanation to her mother for warm-ups to the tug-of-war with her father, she curtseyed yet again and swiftly led Lawrence off toward the refreshments corner. "Are you alright? Look, I'm sorry, I mean it. I thought…"

Lawrence, finally getting over his shock, burned with anger. "Tiffany! What in god's name had gotten over you! I hardly recognize you anymore! Jesus!" he stepped away, and rounded upon her. "I want my fiancé back. Do you have any idea how much you have disgraced me?"

"Well, what was I to do, huh, if you so despise my actions," Tiffany attacked, defending herself, "Mister, if you had known better than to slip up behind me like that, I would have absolutely no need to so disgrace myself and my mother. Now you've made me humiliate myself in front of the hosts, you should be pleased with yourself, Lawrence!" Tears in welling up, she was on the verge of shouting.

Silently, he pulled her to the dance floor with strides so long, she worked hard not to trip. Roughly, he grabbed her waist and hand, and forced her into a dance that had started up by a mid-sized orchestra which had clambered on stage while all the action was happening to Tiffany.

His eyes fired. The violins crescendo-ed and he pulled her close, speaking clearly in her ear, "I have no need for a fiancé who will embarrass me at every social gathering, nor one who does not have the decency to apologize."

Ouch. It was moments like these that Tiffany tasted the failure. She felt her inadequacy, the weight of her faults. How had her life come to this state, where she now had bad feelings with everyone she cared about. She thought of her parents, first her father, then her mother. She had let them down tonight, first quenching her own willfulness, and later tarnished her family name.

Sick to the stomach, she excused herself as soon as the last cadence drew to a close. Lawrence let her go. Holding back the tears, she weakly searched for a place to sit. The only available ones were against the wall. Now she was a wallflower. Again, she questioned herself, what had she done with her life?