A deep ache burgeoned inside her. Her life had become so tedious. For enjoyment, she had been reduced to watching others enjoy themselves.
“What was Lady Lawrence thinking, inviting her?”
“Her brother is the Duke of Calydon. Lady Lawrence may have had little choice,” another voice muttered.
Constance wanted to turn around to identify the speakers, but she focused instead on the dancing couples.
“Don’t you mean half-brother?”
Her breath hitched. The mocking laughter and twittering grated on her nerves. She wanted to lash out and hurt them as they had hurt her. But she knew a lady did not behave in such a manner. And while her mother had failed to inform her of her true parentage, the viscountess had raised a lady.
With deliberate movements, Constance walked away, heading toward the refreshment table. She did not have much of an appetite, but she needed something to do. She selected a plate and put a few bite-sized morsels on it. She stiffened as she heard another cackle of whispers from a group lounging idly by. Her shoulders relaxed when she realized for once they were not discussing her.
“He is so devilishly handsome,” an unknown voice gushed.
“Shhh!” Lady Felicity giggled. “Not so loud.” Then she imparted her own juicy titbit. “They say he killed a man in the Orient.”
The gossiping ladies gasped in unison, then went silent as if they could hardly breathe.
“I do not believe it,” the unknown voice proclaimed, as if declaring it to be so would make it a fact. “My brother says he is very wealthy and a good catch.”
They gasped again, scandalized.
“Oh Maryann, only you would dare admit such a thing! They call him the Lord of Sin for good reason.”
Someone giggled. “The moniker suits him. He is sinfully tempting.”
Constance gritted her teeth, for while they whispered about them both, the haute monde hated her, yet reluctantly loved him. She who had done nothing to deserve their disdain, while Mondvale actively flouted the dictates of polite society. It was so unfair.
Lady Felicity continued caustically, “Mother says he is a degenerate, and if any young lady were to dance with him she would certainly be ruined. He is nothing but a common gambler. He is not fit for the title. But look at him, one would think he had inherited the title at birth rather than by accident.”
Constance’s disgust threatened to choke her. An accident? Mondvale had been the next in line to inherit, whether he had been several times removed or not. It was the rule of primogeniture, but apparently that did not matter. She knew what they saw—the self-assurance and the arrogance that was normally only inbred from birth—and they resented him for it. He cut quite a commanding figure, generations of aristocratic breeding evident in every inch of his bearing despite not being an entitled eldest son. She realized it was the mantle of power that sat so easily on his broad shoulders. Not breeding, as far as society was concerned.
“He’s absolutely beautiful.” This voice had a dreamy undertone of need. “Mother says I must positively stay away from him, and I must refuse him if he asks me to dance. But to be his duchess!”
Constance’s lips curled in distaste, for she knew all the mothers were secretly hoping he would single their charges out for attention.
“Father says he’s been out of the country for years, mingling with savages and all sorts of inferiors.”
“Almost ten years, I am told. He returned to our shores only for the title. They say—”
Unable to listen to any more of their vileness, Constance left her plate on the table and slipped through the French doors that opened onto a wide terrace overlooking the ornate glass conservatory and the stunning garden below. There, she breathed soft sighs of freedom. A slight chill bit into her bones, but she found she did not mind it. It was a welcome relief to feel something other than dread and crushing disappointment.
“Constance?”
She shifted and smiled when she espied Lady Phillipa, Anthony’s wife. Clad in a lime green gown that accentuated her lovely coloring and fiery red hair, she looked stunning. Phillipa held out her hands, drawing Constance closer, hugging her briefly. Constance could see the glow of concern in her sister-in-law’s golden brown eyes.
“Are you doing well? I did not mean to leave you for so long,” Phillipa said softly.
“I…” Constance forced a smile. She knew she failed in hiding her feelings when Phillipa winced. “It is more difficult than I had imagined.” Constance glanced through the French doors at Lady Annabelle, who had made a dedicated effort to ignore her since her arrival. “I am regretful I came.”