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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.
