“I would also recommend Lady Vivian Ashford.”
Lucan frowned, thinking of what he knew of Lady Ashford. She had not made it into his black book at all. He only dealt with those he held secrets about. Before he could question her the dowager duchess expounded.
“Several years ago Lady Ashford was known as The Paragon. She helped me at one time with a delicate issue I had, and she was very efficient. She moves within society, smoothing out scandals and stopping gossip where needed. It would be good to have her on your side, if you wish to succeed.”
He nodded. “It will be done.”
Lady Ellington smiled at his arrogance. “If I have your permission I will speak with Lady Ashford. She is no longer referred to as The Paragon, but she is very gracious and is influential in many circles. While I do not believe you will need to offer Lady Ashford any compensation for her aid, it would be wonderful, however, to let it be known that the Duke of Mondvale will be available if she ever needs your assistance.”
“You have my permission.”
The speculation grew in her gaze, and then a slow smile of admiration lifted her lips. “I see. I will make my rounds in the morning, Your Grace.”
He stood and sketched a small bow. “It is very important, Lady Ellington, that it is understood that any words or actions that threatens Lady Constance’s happiness, that any hints of her illegitimacy, will meet with unimaginable consequences.”
“I see,” Lady Ellington murmured. “Should I indicate a wedding soon? An alliance between Calydon and Mondvale.”
He willed his body to relax. “No. Our names must not be linked under any circumstances while you move through society. In fact, it is best you paint me as unworthy of Lady Constance as subtly and delicately as possible.”
Lady Ellington rose to her feet and dipped in a shallow curtsy. “I understand, Mondvale.”
He titled his head in acknowledgment and walked away. This was just the beginning of his atonement.
The hardest thing would be facing Constance again.
Chapter Eighteen
Over the course of three weeks, the whispers around Constance had started to change. Her moniker evolved from her being the Beautiful Bastard to the Untouchable One. Young men and titled lords who had before ignored her, afraid of tainting their names, now became intrigued.
Invitations to balls and soirees arrived in tidal waves from the same people who had not long ago shunned her as undesirable. At first she had been skeptical, but she had accepted a few invitations and had been stunned at her reception. She was received with the greatest of cordiality by Lady Blade, whose musicale Constance attended. The countess and her daughter Lady Elisabeth had made every effort to converse and entertain her. Their efforts had been remarked upon on several occasions, before a few of society’s matrons had found one matter or another to comment to Constance.
Callers had been slower, but they had presented themselves to Lord Radcliffe’s townhouse all smiles and charming grace. A few young men had tried to invite her on carriage rides, but she rejected them all. Lord Litchfield proposed once again and she refused him as gently as possible, to his outrage. He had gotten a bit nasty, referring to her as soiled goods. His profuse apology a few seconds later had fallen on deaf ears, and she had not seen him since.
Her most surprising callers had been influential ladies of the haute monde, more acquainted with her mother than herself. The only lady that had seemed genuine and caring had been the beautiful Lady Ashford. She had been so warm and sincere, and within a few minutes Constance had relaxed with her. Constance had even dined at Lady Ashford’s London home, where she met Lady Ashford’s dashing and somewhat roguish husband and their children. At first, Constance had been apprehensive, but the earl had charmed her, especially with his vivid and gripping tales of his adventures in Africa.
She had then attended Lady Prescott’s soirée only at Jocelyn, Phillipa, and Lady Ashford’s encouragement, and it was there she noted that the whispers had faded. The first young man to have requested her hand for a dance had been severely embarrassed by her rejection. It had not been intentional for her to walk away without responding. Her shock had been simply too great. Constance had, of course realized, what was happening. Someone was influencing her acceptance into society, but the joy of being received so well meant nothing to her. It had been a startling admission to realize the folds she would have desperately wanted to be accepted into a few months ago, were now inconsequential. She had no interest in men, especially those now seemed eager to court her.
Sebastian and Anthony noted the shift, had even mentioned they believed Lucan had something to do with it. Her breath had caught, and she had worked to hide all emotions at that declaration. Despite the pain that lingered in her heart, she missed him fiercely. But it was the dreams that tormented her. Wildly inappropriate dreams of her splayed open to him, while he poured champagne over her skin and licked her. Everywhere. She would awaken in shambles of twisted need, between her legs throbbing in a desperation she did not understand. Constance only knew she ached for him, that in the nights when everyone slept, she wept for what they could have been.