“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.”
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.”