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“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.
