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Constance exited the parlor and lightly ran up the stairs. Life had never seemed so promising, not since the scandal of her birth. A shimmer of excitement pulsed through her and she sent a swift prayer to the heavens that her doubts would be all for naught, that the Duke of Mondvale could possibly be her prince charming.
Her chest squeezed, and she tried to quell the flare of need for normalcy, for what good could come from a liaison between the Beautiful Bastard and the Lord of Sin?
Chapter Five
Constance sat in front of a small walnut table by the window in the drawing room responding to some correspondence that had been ignored for too long. The one she dashed off now was to Jocelyn, assuring her she did not need to travel from the country in her delicate state.
Constance’s mother, Margaret Abigail Jackson, Viscountess of Radcliffe, swept into the room, dressed casually in a bright yellow tea gown with her dark hair piled high on her head. She looked invigorated as she usually did after her morning ride.
“Lord Litchfield and his mother will be joining us for luncheon. I have told Mrs. Pritchard to prepare pigeon soup, salmon mousse, lamb chops with leeks, and a pudding,” she imparted casually as she sat on the chaise lounge near the window.
Constance stiffened. She was glad she would not be present for lunch and would not see Lord Litchfield. Before she could speak, the housekeeper came in and laid out a few trays with cakes, a pot of tea, and a jar of lemon juice on the center table. She waited until Mrs. Pritchard left before she broached the topic of remaining in town for a few more weeks. “I have accepted a few invitations for the rest of the season.”
Her mother paused in the act of pouring tea, her piercing blue eyes observing Constance. “I do not understand, Connie. Are you now saying you intend to stay in town?”
Constance nodded firmly. “Yes, mother. I would like to stay in London for the rest of the season.”
A pleased smiled curved her mother’s lips. “I am relieved to hear that, my dear. I had spoken with your father about retiring to Hertfordshire, and we had agreed if that was what you wanted, we would travel down with you.”
Constance restrained herself from flinching as her mother referred to Lord Radcliffe as her father. She wondered when she would ever get used to the notion. Her mother had been married to him since Constance was eight years old, and she had happily called him Uncle Edward. To now re-adjust the relationship and refer to him as her father was exceedingly difficult. It was still painful to accept that the old duke was not her real father. In truth, it confounded her as to why it was so hard. Lord Radcliffe was a wonderful man, thoroughly kind and gentle. But she felt as if it had been easier when she had only thought of him as her mother’s second husband, instead of as her father.
“I am happy you are considering Lord Litchfield’s offer. His mother will be pleased to hear.”
Constance stiffened and pushed aside the papers and quills. “I am not considering his offer, Mother.”
“I do not understand, Connie. I thought—”
“It is not because of Lord Litchfield I wish to remain in London. I only thought to give the remainder of the season a try.” She had hoped to avoid this line of conversation.
Her mother sighed. “I know you have some affection for Lord Litchfield, Connie. You said yes to his proposal last year. It is unlikely you will receive another offer, sweetheart. And I believe your father is very serious about accepting Lord Litchfield’s offer if he makes it a third time.”
Constance tried to picture life with Lord Litchfield and could not. He sparked nothing inside of her. “I hardly think I will end up a spinster, Mother. I am eighteen, and I am sure to eventually find a beau who will make me happy. And I may have another suitor,” she offered tentatively.
Surprise and hope flashed across her mother’s face. “Another suitor? Who are you referring to, my dear?”
Her mind jerked to the kiss and dance in the conservatory. She imagined she could still feel the warmth of Lucan’s mouth on her lips. “The Duke of Mondvale called this morning.”
Shock chased her mother’s expression. “He called? Why was I not informed of this?”
Constance blushed and her mother’s gaze sharpened. “You were not here.”
“Was Charlotte with you?”
Constance fought not to blush harder. “Yes.”
Her mother was not reacting with the excitement she had hoped. Maybe her caution was for naught.
“But why would he call on you? You have not been introduced.” Her mother could not disguise the shock in her tone.
Constance swallowed in discomfort, not wanting to lie to her. “I met him last night at Lady Lawrence’s ball. We spoke. He invited me to the Hyde for a picnic and a walk and I said yes. So I will not be here for luncheon with the Viscount and his mother. I believe His Grace may be interested in courting me.”
Lady Radcliffe’s head shook with vigor. “Connie, please do not tell me it is because of Mondvale that you wish to remain in town?”
Constance flushed. “Mother, I…”
Her spine stiffened and her lips went flat in disapproval. “Absolutely not. I forbid it.” Lady Radcliffe’s eyes flashed with anger and determination. “He is not interested in you, Constance. I do not know what he was doing here or how you met him, as your father and I have not made any introductions. Lady Lawrence certainly would not have introduced you! His reputation cannot be taken lightly and I fear his attentions are not honorable.”
An awful sensation sank into the pit of Constance’s stomach. She had not expected her mother to have such a reaction. She could only imagine her brothers would be the same. Everyone thought Lucan scandalous and wicked. But she had seen the gentleman, the man who had danced with her and had not behaved in a disrespectful manner after his first faux pas. She supposed she was like her mother, just as everyone whispered—a wanton—to be interested in a man with such a reputation.
She pushed away the shameful thoughts. They had made her miserable these past months, as though she had not lived at all. In fact, if the duke had tried to call on her last year, he would have been met with staunch resistance. She had always had an innate urge to be wicked and free, to do something as daring as riding without a side saddle, like Phillipa and Jocelyn. But the fear of being seen as wanton, and the possible fall to destruction like the one her mother had experienced, stifled any such inclination. It was only recently those thoughts had been stripped away under loneliness, and Constance refused to permit the viciousness of society’s whispers to further dictate her life. “I felt alive for the first time in weeks when we conversed, Mother. Though His Grace has not declared any intentions toward me, I am open—”
“This conversation is over, young lady. I will not entertain any thoughts of a courtship between you and that…that…” Her mother visibly composed herself. “Lord Litchfield is honorable. He has a cheerful disposition and is kind. Not to mention he very much wants to marry you. Our families have been acquainted for years, and they have informed Sebastian and your father that my past indiscretion does not matter. You must do the smart thing, Connie, and accept Lord Litchfield’s suit.”
Heat flared through Constance. “You married Lord Radcliffe only three months after Papa’s passing. Why? Was it not because you loved him and did not care about the opinion of society? Why must I be concerned now?”
“You speak foolishly, Constance. I forbid you from walking with Mondvale. He is not a gentleman. He is a common gambler with a shocking reputation.”
“You hypocrite,” Constance breathed, truly shocked at her mother’s stance. “You did not even mourn for Papa! And you lecture me on propriety? I am your lover’s daughter.” Her voice cracked. “A lover you had while married. Papa is not my father and I found out through rumors.”
Her mother paled. Constance had never spoken to her in this way. She herself felt appalled, but the unfairness stung. It was by her mother’s actions that Constance’s world had been shattered, and now
her mother sat before her spouting of propriety with no care for her daughter’s happiness? “Why did you do it?”
The silence became profound. She saw her Mother’s deep discomfort and did not care. Her actions had affected Constance’s life in the most horrible manner. She should feel some discomfort.
“Do what?” her mother’s hand trembled as she placed her cup of tea on the table. She had always shied away whenever Constance had probed. And she had always relented, fearful of upsetting her mother.
“I thought Papa was my father.” Constance’s throat closed. “You had a lover when you were married, and I am one of his children.” It was hard for her to understand her mother, who forever touted propriety, had been so scandalous.
“This is not a conversation we should be having here, Connie.”
Constance did not relent, despite the frantic beating of her heart. “I am not a child, Mother. You have never said anything to me except that you are sorry and you beg my forgiveness. I deserve to know more.”
Tears slipped down her mother’s face. “I loved him. I was in love with Lord Radcliffe before I even met Clement, but my father forbade our courtship. Your father’s coffers were empty, and my family needed money. I ended up marrying Clement even though I did not love him. He became cold when he realized my heart belonged to another. I tried to love him, Constance…I tried so hard, but I could not. Then Lord Radcliffe was there when I had been so lonely, hurting, when I needed someone, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to consummate our love, even though I was already married.”
The way her mother’s expression and voice softened when she said her lover’s name caused a deep ache to pierce through Constance’s heart. “You did not mourn the old duke.”
Her mother wilted in the chaise, all sense of ladylike decorum vanishing from her posture. “I love Edward so much, and he had waited for me so long. After I married Clement, Edward never married. I refused to wait another year or two to wed him. That is why I became Lady Radcliffe only three months after Clement died. Every time I thought to confess to you and Anthony that Lord Radcliffe is your father…I couldn’t. Edward and I thought we would have had more time. But in truth I was afraid of my children’s condemnation. Never did I dream Clement would leave letters renouncing Anthony and you as his children if Sebastian named Anthony as his heir, or that the knowledge would be made known to society. It is no excuse, for I should have made you both aware of the truth.”
