by Stacy Reid
Constance’s throat burned at the wealth of emotions in her mother’s voice. But it only made her firmer in her decision to forge her own path. “You went through so much because of your love for Lord Radcliffe. How can you now say I must settle for something that does not even resemble love with Lord Litchfield? You are doing the same thing society is trying to do to me because I am a bastard, mother. You are telling me I am not worth more, that I should not strive for more, that I must accept what I can get and be grateful.”
Her mother’s spine shot taut, horror slacking her jaw. “I do not feel like that, Connie. I only want your happiness.”
“No, you do not. I live beneath the shadow of your indiscretion, rejected from everything I have ever known. Lord Litchfield treated me with contempt, and you are insisting that I heed his courtship. I will not. For the first time in months, Mother, someone has shown interest in me, and you are saying I should not entertain his suit because of gossip from the same people that flay me every day. Even if His Grace has no interest in courting me, through our brief encounters, he has only behaved in a gentleman-like manner.” Emotions roiled through Constance. She could hardly believe she had spoken to her mother so fiercely.
The gentle closing of the drawing room door had both of their heads snapping toward the sound. Lord Radcliffe, her father, strolled in, his face carefully blank. Constance could see from his demeanor he had overheard their argument.
“Sorry I am late, my love,” he murmured as he pressed a brief kiss against her mother’s cheek. She in turn gave him a wobbly smile with a sniff.
He turned to Constance, and she tilted her head in defiance. He did the same and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek before seating himself beside her mother on the chaise.
Every time she looked at Lord Radcliffe she saw herself, yet she had never wondered as a child at their close resemblance. It had never occurred to Constance her mother could have been unfaithful to the man she had thought her father.
“I happened to overhear most of the conversation,” Lord Radcliffe murmured.
Constance winced. That was one of the things she admired most about him. He was very direct.
“I will ask of you, Constance, not to berate your mother so harshly for errors she made many years ago.”
She stiffened, words begging to spill from her lips.
He held up his hand, a smile crinkling the corner of his eyes. “We know how much we have hurt you, albeit unintentionally. And I wager we will spend a good portion of time making up for it, as we should. But we all make mistakes, Connie. And the one your mother is making now is out of love and concern. The Duke of Mondvale is no young buck, and he has only moved in our circles for the last year since inheriting the title. Not much is known about him outside of the motions he favors in parliament. Your mother’s concern is understandable, but we also understand if you do not love Lord Litchfield.”
Constance relaxed somewhat.
“Mondvale has not asked your brother’s permission to pay address to you. Nor I. When he does, and we have ascertained his good intentions toward you, there will of course be no objections. We will not oppose your walk in the park with the duke and Charlotte of course, since you have already consented.”
“Edward!”
A speaking glance silenced her mother. To remove the sting from it, he reached over and clasped her hand and placed a kiss on her knuckles. He gave Constance a quick wink, and warmth unfurled inside of her. She returned the wink. He had been in her life for ten years, a constant father figure. He had treated her like a cherished daughter, and Constance now understood why he had spoiled her. It could not have been easy for him to suffer her coldness over the past few months. Not when they had been so close. And not once had he berated her, or tried to force his perspective on her. He had simply been there in the background, giving her the space she needed. A pang went through her heart. I love you, she mouthed, and she almost laughed as he caught it as he always did and stuffed it in his pocket.
She was content with not partaking in the light conversation between her father and mother. As she watched them, she fancied she could see the invisible strings of love and companionship that bound them together. One day she would love to hear from her mother, in full, their journey. But she knew that time was not yet, and she accepted that. Her brother Anthony had been right. He had told her when they had first found out of their illegitimacy, that what mattered was that they were a family that loved one another, albeit a complicated one.
And that was what she now saw and felt. Family, love, and companionship. And Constance felt more determined than ever to claim a similar future for herself. She would not marry unless it was for love. While she was interested in the Duke of Mondvale she would guard her heart closely until he revealed his intentions. He was, after all, the Lord of Sin, and based on rumors, he was firmly adverse to marriage. More than one young lady had learned that lesson in the most painful of manners when they sought to entrap him. Constance would not be so foolish to make the same mistake simply because he was the first gentleman to show her interest in months.
Chapter Six
After the encounter with her mother, Constance had wasted no time preparing herself, dressing in a dark red flounced carriage dress with matching hat and slippers. Lucan had collected her promptly at noon and assisted her and Charlotte into the carriage and bounded away to Hyde Park. The carriage ride had been achieved with a short conversation between her and Constance. The duke had looked on, the memory of their embrace clear in his silver gaze.
The equipage rolled to a stop and the door was opened by a footman. Lucan aided her and Charlotte’s descent. Constance breathed in deeply. She fancied she could feel the sunshine filling her lungs. Hyde Park seemed empty for such a glorious day. A few parties reposed on blankets and she could see two couples walking, chaperones discreetly trailing behind them. Her party walked to a spot by the lake and the footman spread the blanket near the edge of the waters, opening the basket and arranging the food—chocolate truffles, cold ham slices, chicken slices, sweet bread, a cake, apples, and a bottle of wine for their consumption. Mrs. Pritchard had outdone herself. No doubt the entire staff was abuzz with the news that Constance had a gentleman caller—and a duke, no less. The wine bottle was uncorked, the wine poured, and then the footman melted away.
Lucan glanced toward Charlotte who was some distance away on her own blanket, reading. “Will Lady Ralston not join us?”
Constance shook her head. “She means to give us privacy. I am in her sight so I am properly chaperoned. She also ate before we departed so as not to interrupt our time together.” Let him think on that. If he wanted to make his intentions clear, she just gave him the perfect opportunity to refute that they needed privacy.
“Ah.”
She stretched out her feet, and leaned back on her arms, tilting her face to the sun. A light breeze stirred, and the smell of the Serpentine Lake and the newly mown grass filled her nostrils. Fresh, crisp, and clean.
“You are enjoying being outside,” he observed.
She turned her head and met his gaze. Her heart jolted at the quiet intensity in his regard.
“I am. I have spent most of my days indoors. When I saw how glorious the day was, I really wanted to be out. Your invitation was timely, Lucan. It is a welcomed relief to be outside with someone who is not a family member.”
He leaned back on the large oak tree and drew up one of his legs. “I was told by your butler this morning that your mother had gone out riding. Why did you not ride with her?”
Constance assessed his curiosity, wondering how much she should reveal. From his slight smile she knew he sensed her hesitation. If he did not know how much society had shunned her, she did not want it brought to his attention. But she did not want to lie to him either. If he was considering courting her, she did not want to get her hopes up and then have him reject her weeks later for something he had not known. No, she would hide no longer. She wanted honesty between them.
“I did not want to venture out and face another day of malice and whispers.”
Discomfort flashed across his face so fast she wondered if she had imagined it.
“It is because of these rumors you have not been out much?”
She bobbed her head in confirmation. “You do not sound as if you approve of my tactics.”
“I doubt I will ever understand changing one’s actions to conform to the irrelevant views of a hypocritical society.”
She had thought the same thing at one point, but how could he understand? They were all she had known since birth. “I do not think you can understand, Your Grace. The title has only been recently conferred on you. I have been a part of this society my whole life. You cannot imagine what it feels like to be torn from all that you have ever known, to bare such hardship.”
“Can I not?”
An undercurrent ran beneath his tone, and she suddenly felt foolish at her assessment. She had lived a privileged life. One of the rumors that circulated about him was that he had lived and worked in the rookeries of St. Giles District, the poorest part of London. If that rumor was indeed true, he knew more of hardship than she could ever comprehend. “Forgive me for even thinking to compare our experiences, Lucan.”
He adjusted his spectacles, though they needed no fixing. A sign of discomfort? “Hardship is hardship, Constance, and I can see yours affects you deeply. There is nothing to forgive.”
His tone was regretful, and it made her curious.
“Thank you.”
“Are you without friends completely?”
She laughed lightly. “Charlotte—Lady Ralston—has become my dearest friend. She is three years older than I am, but we get along famously.”
“Are there no others?”
She shrugged. “I have been shunned by those who called me friend months ago. My friends from last season and those I have known most of my life have been forbidden to contact me as I may corrupt them with my wickedness. It never occurred to me that bastardy was so contagious. Lady Annabelle, who had been my dearest friend, now speaks to me with little or no civility,” she ended with a forced laugh. It was still a painful topic to discuss, and she resented it had such sway over her emotions.
“Is it important to you?”
She analyzed his serious mien. “What?”
“The haute monde, their opinion. Do you want to be enfolded back into their bosom?” he asked, his gaze never leaving her face.
She nibbled on a piece of cold ham, trying to appear indifferent to his question. Yes! Her pained heart screamed. “It is nothing of consequence. I do not yearn for it. My mother may dream of it, but I know it will never happen. My brother is the Duke of Calydon, and I am still shunned weeks after the rumors started. There are times I feel as if someone who hates me is feeding the grist deliberately. I am not the only bastard in high society, you know. It is hardly such an unusual revelation.”
A notable tension shifted through his frame. He tried to hide it, but she saw it. What had she said? Mayhap he found it distasteful for her to speak so casually of her circumstance. The silence was fraught with an unknown disquiet that unsettled her. They ate for a few moments in silence, and on more than one occasion he caught her looking at him. Constance very much wanted to be in his arms, feeling his lips on hers again. She lowered her lashes, lest he see the wanton need in her eyes. What was wrong with her? She knew because of her circumstances she would not be deemed a suitable choice for his duchess, yet she was having such shameful thoughts about him.
“Are you regretful Calydon was not your sire?”
She jerked her eyes to his in surprise. No one had ever asked her that question. Not even Charlotte. Constance frowned. The man she had thought her father had been unloving and cruel, yet she had grieved for him. Grieved for what they could have had, and grieved that he had not been happier in life. He had rarely smiled. Only Sebastian had made him happy, only Sebastian had met his exacting standards of comportment, and only to Sebastian had he shown love. Of course now she understood why she and Anthony never received a morsel of the old duke’s affections. Their mother had cuckolded him.
Constance buried the flare of unease she felt at Lucan’s question, and tried to shrug it away. “I had been invisible to him for years, more of an annoyance than a cherished daughter. I am not sure if I am devastated he was not my sire. I am more hurt because for years I never knew Lord Radcliffe was my true father. ”
“Thank you for being so forthright with me.”
“If we are to be friends, I hope for only honesty between us.”
His beautiful lips curved, and she wondered if it would be too inappropriate to mention the matter of their kissing. She had hoped he would have said something about them being more than friends. Whenever she had walked or picnicked with Lord Litchfield or other gentleman in the past, they had always hinted about being more than casual acquaintances, flirting and establishing the path of courtship. Lucan was doing neither and it flummoxed her.
I am a bastard, maybe he only wants a taste of a forbidden fruit.
She winced at her crude thoughts and tried to see some positive in their outing. He was here despite the rumors, and the impact it might have on his name. At least he was interested in learning more about her. Even Lord Litchfield had only ever asked superficial questions.
“I understand you have only recently arrived in town for the season.”
“Yes, I was in Dorset with my mother and spent some time in Norfolk with my brother. I am happiest at Sherring Cross, Sebastian’s ducal estate.”
He bit into the cold chicken sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “Your brother, the duke, he is not in London now? Rumors speak of his reclusiveness,” he drawled, and Constance wondered if she imagined the menace in his tone.
“Hardly reclusive,” she said drily. “But Sebastian has no use for the frivolities of society. And like us, Your Grace, he is much used to foul rumors being in circulation about him. I wager he finds society irrelevant. But I think he is more enthralled with his duchess now than anything else.”
“Is that so?”
She tried to keep the wistfulness out of her voice. “It is a love match you know.”
“Is it?” he asked blandly.
“Hmmm,” she agreed reaching for an apple and biting into it. She swallowed before replying. “Jocelyn and Sebastian positively glow around each other. I am thrilled to see him so contented. He most assuredly deserves it.”
“You are fond of him?”
“I daresay it is the duty of every sister to love her brother, is it not?” she chuckled. “I love both my brothers. From when I was a child they were the slayers of my dragons. I cannot think of better men.”
His face closed even further, and she wondered what she had said.
“I have been thinking of returning to Sherring Cross, to the simplicity of the country air.” She watched his expression carefully, trying to see if he was alarmed about the possibility of her being too far for courtship. He was frustratingly bland, and the writing on the wall could not have been clearer to Constance. Lucan was not interested in her as a woman, and she slowly started to build a protective wall around her heart, stifling the hope that had been festering inside. She should have known better than to think a man of his stature would be interested in her when lesser titled men were not. She would gladly accept his friendship. But should she try and get him to fall in love with her so circumstances would not matter? She froze as the thought occurred to her. Was it possible, or was she being even more foolish?
“What did you do in the country? I assume your days were extremely tedious.”
“Not all the time, there I had a few friends,” she said on a laugh. At the lift of his brow she expounded. “When I was walking one day, I ended up wandering for miles. I came upon a little boy, Johnny, and we got to talking. It then became a habit for me to walk that path every day where we would meet by the lake. He was so happy, so full of good cheer, even though he had nothing. He had
no parents, no siblings, and he lived with Mr. and Mrs. Benton, a kind, well-meaning couple who cared for children who were left alone in this world. Johnny invited me to visit his home and I did. I met several young girls and boys who shared similar birth circumstances to mine. But they had been abandoned, unwanted by their fathers and mothers. There I was being morose and dour because I lost the regard of people who didn’t care about me…and I had everything. I’d never been cold, never been hungry, and I had family that loved me. It was a startling realization, and it shamed me.”
“Shame?”
She winced. She had not meant to confess that. Her hands scrabbled in the grass until she found a stone and skipped it across the lake. She followed the ripples in the water until it disappeared. What she had felt was deeper than shame; she doubted she had any word for it. It was as if the veil to what was important had been shifted. And she had found herself lacking.
“Until my self-imposed exile, I felt as if everything I ever wanted existed here—with my ‘friends’. Balls, the opera, musicales, house parties, fashionable clothes, and even carriage rides. For years I had looked forward to my season, and when I was introduced last year, it had been the most thrilling time of my life. I shall miss it all dreadfully, of course, but I have come to see the shallowness of society, and how empty my life is. It shamed me to know if not for what I suffered, I would have been blissfully unaware of how much others endured, and I really had nothing to be so miserable about.”
A spark of admiration lit within his eyes and warmed her. “I see.”
He said nothing further, but she was deeply curious about him, a curiosity she found irresistible, and Constance feared she would be unable to keep from prying. Why was he called Lord of Sin and why did he run a club? Did he have family? Was he looking for a wife? She tried to direct her errant thoughts and wondered if she should breach such intimate questions on such a short acquaintance. But then he had been bold enough to ask her several just now.
