She wondered when it would all end. This was just the last of many attempts to attend a social function since her circumstances were revealed, and it was proving as painful and lonely as her first outing. A musicale yesterday and a picnic last week had been disastrous. She would have much preferred to remain in the country, away from prying eyes, wagging tongues, and the scorn of society. But she kept trying, for her family, especially her mother.
“Anthony should make an appearance soon,” Phillipa assured. “And Jocelyn has sent a note. She refuses to be confined at Sherring Cross while you face this damnable ostracism. She and Sebastian will be traveling to town in a few weeks.”
Constance contained her grimace. Her other sister-in-law, the Duchess of Calydon, had decided to stay at Sherring Cross, the family’s ducal home, for the Season, due to her pregnancy. Jocelyn had claimed to have no interest in residing in the foul London air. Constance knew the bigger reason was to lend her support when Constance had refused to reenter society after her illegitimacy had been revealed, and she loved Jocelyn more for it. Constance had no doubt Phillipa must have written to Jocelyn about her abysmal reception when her mother finally dragged her back to London.
“It will not make a difference,” she said wearily. “Over five months have gone by, but the rumor mill is still churning. Jocelyn traveling in her state is not necessary.”
Constance’s throat tightened in pain. The rumors really had not abated. It was almost as if they were being stoked, deliberately kept alive.
“I understand how you feel, Constance.”
“Do you?” She instantly regretted her waspish tone. “Oh, Phillipa, please forgive me. I know you also battle with the stigma, being married to Anthony.”
Phillipa had defied convention a few months ago and married Anthony—much to her parents’ and society’s objection. She had not escaped unscathed, but it did not seem to matter to her. Constance wished she had such a temperament, so she could also disregard society’s opinion.
Phillipa brushed a lock of Constance’s hair behind her ear. “You have every right to feel angry and frustrated. Please do not apologize to me. I am very aware that Anthony and I are invited to many more social events than you are.” Phillipa seemed to gather her composure before she pressed on. “I am beginning to realize ignoring the rumors will not quash them. They seem to grow stronger every day instead of fading. I am of a mind to think your mother might be right, that marriage may be the only way for you to be accepted.”
Constance flinched and stepped away. She and Phillipa had become very close over the past few months, and she was the only one in the family who had not seemed intent on pressing the idea of marriage. In fact, Phillipa herself had been firmly against marriage until Anthony charmed her into changing her tune. Whenever Constance listened to her sister-in-law talk about his courtship, a deep pain traveled through her. She wanted that same kind of passion and intensity in her own life. A few months ago, her prince charming had been Lord Andrew Bellamy, the Viscount of Litchfield. He had been amiable, witty, a beautiful dancer, and seemed to hang on every word she uttered. His family had adored her, and she’d been delighted when he made an offer for her hand…at least at first. Then, a few days after the gossip surfaced, he had cried off. Sebastian had been coldly furious, but she had refused to let him insist Lord Litchfield honor his obviously empty words. She was only grateful there had not been a public announcement of their engagement.
She was illegitimate, the by-blow of an illicit liaison. And the heir to the Earldom of Berwick could do far better.
As soon as that bitter thought occurred to her, she buried it, for she had vowed never again to label herself as society had done.
“Lord Litchfield—” Phillipa began, but Constance waved her off.
“Litchfield does not possess any tender affections for me, Phillipa. I asked him, and he just stammered.” Since crying off, Lord Litchfield had remade his offer twice. Constance knew Sebastian had something to do with it, but she was no longer interested. “I have told mother I will not marry him if he does not love me. Even if he did…I would not agree, because I know I do not love him.”
Constance watched Phillipa keenly and saw the discomfort in her gaze. “But—”
“I know Anthony and Mother asked you to speak with me. I have told them both I will not marry someone I do not love. Don’t you see? I want what you and Anthony, and Jocelyn and Sebastian have. The coldness in Sebastian flees whenever Jocelyn smiles at him. Anthony adores you, and it’s almost painful to see how you look at each other. Even Mother—” She took a deep breath. “The reason I am a bastard was because of how much she loved Lord Radcliffe. Why, then, do you all not understand that I do not want to marry unless it is for love?”