“Constance.” The warm tones of her mother had her closing the volume she had been reading.
“Yes, Mother?”
“You have a personal invitation.”
Her mother handed her a peach vellum paper with Constance’s name elegantly scrawled across its back. She reached for the letter opener and slit the seal, curious as to its content. She read it in silence, her heart thumping.
“What is it my dear?”
“It is an invitation to Lady Ellington’s annual ball.” The dowager duchess of Ellington’s invitation was most sought after.
Constance gave it to her mother who scanned the short but very personalized invitation, before handing it back to her.
“Would you like to attend?” her mother asked as her usual wont for all invitations they received of late.
Constance felt very ambivalent about it. Her mother showed some excitement, and Constance had to remind herself she was not the only party affected. While Lucan had ensured most of society’s scorn was directed at her, her mother had been affected as well. Her hand trembled, and she clenched the invitation in her hands. When would it abate? The pain that came whenever Constance thought about all she had endured and the knowledge that the man who had kissed and touched her so intimately was the same one who had encouraged society to shred her. She pushed the bitter thoughts from her mind and smiled in what she hoped was an excited manner. “Yes, I believe I will.”
Her mother nodded in approval and sipped her lemonade. “I believe it would be wise, my dear, to accept a few dance partners at this one. Even if it is only Lord Litchfield.”
“No,” Constance said firmly. On that she would not budge. While she did not rebel against society for seeking to forgive her perceived infractions, she had not forgiven them as readily as her mother.
“Constance,” her mother said with an exasperated sigh. “You must not behave foolishly. I have heard several young men referring to you as the Untouchable One, and in admiring tones. I need not remind you how swiftly the tide of society’s opinion can change. Lord Litchfield has tried at least twice this week to walk with you in the park, and you have refused him. He is an exceedingly agreeable man. With a good fortune and connections and I can see you having a good life with him.”
“I do not care about society’s opinion nor for the regard of Lord Litchfield.”
“Then what do you care about?” her mother snapped, slamming the glass of lemonade on the center table. “Sebastian has secured a bevy of invitations for you this week, and you have rejected them all. You have pleaded with him to not secure an invitation for you to the Prince of Wales’ annual country house party. This indifference you display cannot continue.”
Constance closed her eyes and gathered her composure. “I care about purchasing winter clothes and supplies for the home Mr. and Mrs. Benton operates. I care about hiring a tutor to help them educate the unwanted children they so generously care for. Not balls, not riding, and not picnics, and certainly not suitors. And most of all, I care about Charlotte, mother. My only friend that you thought to dismiss from my life despite my pleas.” And Lucan, I care about Lucan.
Her mother had the grace to blush and look discomfited. At every opportunity Constance inserted her anger at her mother’s actions against Charlotte.
“She endangered you. I could no longer, in good conscience, have her remain employed here. Your father agreed.”
Constance closed her eyes in frustration lest she screamed. “Charlotte did not endanger me mother. She acted as a true and caring friend by willingly following me into the club. I had been determined, and she understood. Instead you punished her for it. That is what I care about, the well-being of my friend. She needed this job, and you terminated her without any reference.”
She had argued with her mother on several occasions, ever since she received Charlotte’s note informing her that she was considering becoming the mistress of Marcus Stone. His mistress. Charlotte had not divulged the circumstances that led her to entering such an arrangement no matter how Constance had inquired. She had promised to send money and sell her diamonds if Charlotte needed, but her friend had refused. Constance had never felt so helpless. But she was soothed by Charlotte’s daily letters, which indicated she was at least safe, and she even seemed happy.
“Please excuse me, Mother. I have a bit of headache, and I need some fresh air.” Constance rose and exited the parlor, heading for the entrance that led to the gardens. Charlotte had encouraged her to travel with Anthony and Phillipa on their grand tour, and Constance had been in firm agreement. There was nothing for her in England, and she badly needed space to heal and forget Lucan. She only prayed with distance the tormenting dreams that left her so needy would dissipate, and she could move on with her life.