Sins of a Duke(17)
But if other gentlemen were to see them together, more offers for genuine outings might come her way. A lady is always seen to be more suitable and appealing when other gentlemen pay her attention. “I see I am not the only one aware of their moniker, Your Grace,” she offered with a small smile.
“Lucan, please. I do not like to stand on formality.”
“Then please refer to me as Constance, when we are alone of course,” she invited.
She fancied it was pleasure that lit up his eyes at her request. She felt warmed, and a little bit flushed. She tried not to stare overly long at his lips. “I will prepare myself for our outing, Your—Lucan. I think cold chicken and sandwiches with wine will be appropriate for our picnic.”
He nodded his agreement. “I will be back around noon if that is acceptable.”
“It is very much acceptable, Your Grace”—she smiled—“Lucan. If you will excuse me?”
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.