by Edith Layton
“You still don’t know?” he asked.
She shook her head and lowered her gaze, embarrassed to talk about womanly functions and humiliated because she had to.
“Well,” he said, “if there’s reason for haste, then, of course, we’ll go to the altar sooner. But we can’t announce it any sooner lest too many people guess at the reason for a rushed wedding. I won’t have any slurs on your name.”
“Or yours,” she whispered.
Now she did see his expression. He looked pained. He stepped back.
“Remember, whatever happens, you don’t have to marry me,” she said suddenly.
“Ah, fallen to Kendall’s blandishments, have you?” he joked. “Or is it Blaise? I’ve never seen the two of them so smitten.”
She grinned. “And they’ve never seen a lady who can ride out a sudden storm on a small skiff without swooning or casting up her accounts. Or one who could catch a bigger trout in a stream than they could, or bring it up with her own hands. And I’ll wager they never met a lady who could race them down a beach and … almost win.” Her smile faded. “Of course, they mightn’t consider me a lady at all because of that … and other things.”
She felt his hands close tight over hers. “I’ve told them nothing private about us,” he said. “Nor will I. Not that it would matter. Do you know how many fine ladies have sudden weddings and premature babes? It’s common. You’re not. They admire you; there’s the truth. Stop worrying. I’ll leave in the morning and send for you as soon as I can. Then you’ll meet the ton, and then after we marry it can be your choice how much time you wish to spend with them.”
“How much time do you want to spend with them?” she asked, aware that this was something they ought to have discussed long before this.
“That hardly matters,” he said. “We don’t have to live in each other’s pockets.”
She went still.
He dropped a kiss on her forehead, and moved into the darkness. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said softly. “Good night, Lisabeth.”
She stayed in the garden until the damp dew forced her inside. And then she stayed awake in her bed, watching the sickle moon fade into gray dawn.
This morning Constantine bowed over her hand.
This morning Constantine, Lord Wylde, was immaculate, cool, and calm. Nothing like the man she’d kissed last night, little like the man she’d made such passionate love to in the grass, infinitely far from the ghostly devil of a fellow in the dark portrait who had first seduced her.
Lisabeth realized that she herself was nothing like the woman who had kissed him last night either. She measured him with her eyes now, and not her heart. She’d decided, in the hours before dawn, that she might never go to London to see him. She’d realized that loving two men, one nonexistent, might be too much for one heart.
And if there were a child, she would have the raising of it, and he might never know.
She wanted to live in her husband’s pocket. She wanted him to live in hers. She didn’t want all the trappings of a society marriage. She wanted a friend, a companion, and a lover. He’d been that.
And yet, even now, when he was with his old friends, he reverted to his old ways. He became collected, stiff, and formal; a perfect, languid, mannered gentleman. London was filled with his kind. She didn’t deceive herself any longer. Once returned to his native ground he would revert to what he’d been before he met her. That wasn’t the man she’d fallen in love with. In fact, now she no longer knew who she’d made love to that rare day. She hadn’t seen him again, and didn’t know if she ever would.
One thing she’d resolved. She’d wait and see about many other things.
The drive in front of Sea Mews was filled this morning with bustling servants, and all the preparations for departing guests. Kendall was mounted on his horse, Blaise was on his, bending down to have a last word with her grandfather. There was a carriage for their valets and their luggage, but the gentlemen would ride before it, unless a heavy rain came down.
“One last word with you, alone?” she asked Constantine now.
His dark brows lowered. He looked around, took her hand, and they walked to a shady spot by the front door.
“Yes?” he asked her softly.
“Constantine,” she said as softly, looking at her slippers, the coach, the sky, anywhere but at his face. “I’ve been thinking. I think it would be best if you didn’t break off with your fiancée immediately. If it chances that we don’t have to marry in haste … why don’t we leave things as they are until we know? It won’t be long until I do know. Why rush things?”
He stood straighter, his expression grew tight. “Because we are not talking about fertility, but decency. Not only did I deceive and dishonor my fiancée, but I dishonored you. I have to make matters right.”
It was what she’d dreaded during her long vigil in the night. “I am not ruined,” she said, glaring at him. “Maybe I would be in your circles, but the point is that I don’t travel in those circles.”
“You will,” he said. “I made love to you. You were an innocent. I was not. There’s only one right thing to do, and believe me, I intend to do it. The question is not if I should but when I should.” His voice gentled, his expression softened. “I rue it, but I know I’m a stick, a prude, and a puritan in some ways. Hypocritical ways, to be sure,” he added, “like most men raised to be ‘gentlemen.’ But with you, I’m not. When I’m with you, I get a glimpse of what I might have been had I been able to choose what I would be. Don’t send me back to the stocks, Lisabeth. I realize I was never comfortable there. I like who I am when I’m with you, and I want to be the man you thought I was. Except,” he added, “please don’t ask me to commandeer any sailing ships, or hold up any coaches. I know I’d make a mess of it.”
She smiled.
He raised her hand, and kissed it again. “I have to go now. Write to me. I’ll send to you, and then for you. Take good care of yourself, and please, for my sake, stay far from Henri, and the good customs officer, will you? Remember me.”
He bowed to her, turned, strode to his waiting horse, and mounted it. He saluted her, and then, with Blaise and Kendall waving back at her, began to ride away.
She stood and watched him go. She couldn’t help the tears in her eyes, nor the fact that once he was gone the tears trailed down her cheeks.
“Ah, lass,” her grandfather said as he came to her side, “don’t despair. He’s a man of his word.”
“I know,” she said.
“Then why are you blubbering?” he asked.
“Because of what he didn’t say.”
Her grandfather frowned. “He never said he wouldn’t return, did he?” he growled.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Nor never said that he wouldn’t marry you?”
“No,” she said, as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “He’s said all that’s right and proper. But he never said that he loved me.”
“Oh, well,” her grandfather said. “But he’s a gentleman.”
“And not a liar,” she said.
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he only took her hand, and walked back to the house with her.
Chapter Sixteen
Miss Winchester was delighted to see him. Constantine saw her smile as she took his hand.
“Back at last,” she said with satisfaction, looking him up and down with approval. He’d dressed with care for this morning call, and could tell that his correct attire pleased her as much as his arrival.
“You remained longer than you’d said you would,” she said, “but I expect that the business that was occupying you is finally done, and done to your satisfaction.”
He bowed over her hand. Her welcoming smile made him feel terrible. They stood in her front parlor, alone together with not a chaperone or even a maid sitting stitching in a corner, because they were engaged to marry. He’d left the door open after he’d been shown in, because he knew that what he had
to say would change things forever. He didn’t know what he’d do if he found himself honor bound to marry two women.
“Now we can accept all the invitations that have been gathering in the front hall,” she went on. “It’s been vastly inconvenient telling people that you were called away on family matters. Now the only question is whether we ought to have a ball to celebrate our engagement, or go to all the fetes we’ve been invited to first. And Father reminded me: where shall we post the banns? At your church near your home seat, or the one near mine, or perhaps right here in London?”
She looked very well today, he thought. Dressed in ice blue, her hair pulled back, a cameo at her neck, she was a tall, slender, perfect figure of a lady of fashion. Her smile was cool, but it had never been warmer. He couldn’t remember what her laughter sounded like; he didn’t know if he’d ever heard it. He didn’t know why he’d ever proposed marriage to her.
Whatever she was, she was a woman who had no patience with nonsense. He’d have to get straight to the point.
“We have to talk,” he said seriously. “Things have changed. I went because of family matters, true. And now I think, from what I’ve discovered, that you may not wish to go forward with this marriage.”
She blinked. “Indeed? Then won’t you have a seat and we can discuss this? Or would you rather go to my father first?”
“What I have to say is to you,” he said gravely. “I’d wish that you would keep it in confidence, if not from your father, of course, then from all others. That’s all I ask of you, except for your forgiveness. But I didn’t know myself, until now. My uncle did, but he kept it from me.”
She chose a chair by the window, and sat straight-backed. She motioned him to take the chair opposite her, and clasped her hands together. “Tell me,” she said.
He did.
“I see,” she said when he was done. “Your great-grandfather was then a notorious pirate?”
He bent his head and nodded.
“Then why have I not heard of him?”
He looked up at her. That hadn’t occurred to him.
“You yourself had never heard of him,” she went on, “so he cannot be that famous, can he?”
“He was,” Constantine said carefully. “And still is in that part of the world.”
She nodded. “But we are not in that part of the world. And your father was a highwayman who was killed while committing his crimes? But that too is unknown to me, as it was to you. I thank you for your candor, my lord. Your honesty and morality are well-known, and what I prize about you. But I cannot think any of this matters now. It was well concealed for all these years, and there is no reason to think it will not continue to be. I see no reason for us to change our plans, though I thank you for considering my feelings in the matter.”
He repressed a shudder. She spoke of feelings and it seemed to him she had none. Why hadn’t he seen that before? Or had he been so frozen himself that the slight upturning of her thin lips had seemed like a true smile to him before? He thought of the vibrancy and laughter of the woman he’d lately left, and realized how much he’d changed since he’d left Miss Winchester. Still, that wasn’t her fault.
“Miss Winchester,” he said carefully, “it’s only a matter of time until such rich gossip leaks out. I found out because of the announcement in the newspaper; it awakened an old acquaintance of my father’s to my continued existence. His interest was only curiosity,” Constantine lied. Truth he would tell her. Just not all of it.
“Others have seen the announcement, or will,” he added. “My ancestors left enemies as well as victims, who will doubtless be eager to seek revenge or repayment. And too,” he added, looking down, because lying came hard to him, “there are many who believe bad blood will out.” He thought a silent apology to his father, who had turned to crime only out of love and desperation, “And obviously, bad blood runs in my veins.”
That got her attention. She rose, and went to the window. “My father will certainly think so,” she said thoughtfully.
He breathed a sigh of relief, and rose to stand beside her. “And why shouldn’t he?” he said. “So I come to you to apologize and ask you to free me of our bargain. I know I’ll never find another like you, but I also know you deserve much better. Now, would you like to explain to your father? Or shall I?”
“I’ll put the notice in the paper,” she said absently. “No need to make you look like a jilt.”
He felt terrible again. She was doing what he wanted, but so nobly that he felt like a low cur.
“Or have people asking why you decided not to marry me,” she added. “That would give rise to all the wrong, unwarranted sort of speculation about me.”
He felt much better.
“Of course,” she added, “I shouldn’t like being known as a jilt either. And it will reflect upon you, you know.”
“I should think it will do wonders for your reputation, making you seem like the wise and discriminating female that you are,” he said. “And I can take care of myself.”
“But I suppose it’s far better in the long run,” she mused. “That is, should anyone ever discover the truth about you.”
“Exactly,” he said, bowing.
“We should not avoid each other in public after the news of our decision not to marry is known,” she said. “Nor gossip about each other either. A simple statement that we saw we would not suit will do.”
“Precisely,” he said.
“And I shall tell Father. He will be angry that his investigations didn’t find this, but relieved at my narrow escape. I thank you, Lord Wylde, and wish you the best in future. The announcement will be in the papers tomorrow. Good day.”
He bowed, clapped on his high beaver hat, and strode out into the hall and then out the door, restraining himself from whistling like a boy. But once he strode a street away, he let himself grin, ear to ear.
“So she took it well?” Blaise asked.
“And with relief,” Constantine said, stretching out his legs, and blowing a cloud of smoke from his cigarillo.
They sat in his study that night, swilling brandy and smoking.
“Bad blood indeed!” Kendall snorted into his goblet of brandy. “Horses and dogs can have bad blood, but not men. Men think, and can overcome it.”
“Men think they can overcome it,” Constantine said. “To tell the truth, I don’t know. When I looked at the old portraits and then when I rode the waves, even in that stinking fishing smack, on that turbulent sea, I swear I felt something stirring in me.”
“Seasickness,” Kendall said.
“Idiot,” Blaise told Kendall fondly. “Your blood stirring?” he asked Constantine mildly. “She caused that, you fool. Your Lisabeth would stir a dead man’s blood.”
Constantine said nothing. He was too busy remembering Lisabeth, especially those dazzling moments in the grass with her that he couldn’t forget. He’d never made love in the sunshine before. He’d never felt such profound lust. She’d lain beneath him, her hair spread out like a shining corona behind her, her lovely face glowing with blushed color, her shining eyes on his as her lips parted for him. He’d felt the rise of her body against his, and realized that the man he’d thought himself to be could never have come to her as a lover. That had to have been the wild blood thundering in his veins, set free at last. It had both shocked and delighted him. If that was bad blood, he was glad of it. He’d felt alive as he’d never felt before. But since then, sometimes he wondered what else was lurking inside of him, just waiting to be set free.
“So when are you sending for her?” Blaise asked.
“After the announcement in the paper is old news,” Constantine said, called back to reality. “After the gossip about my aborted wedding with Miss Winchester has died down. Let’s give the ton a chance to chew over something else for a while first. I don’t doubt Miss Winchester will be engaged to another lucky fellow soon. Something about one man wanting her and then being thrown over by her will make her more desirable
to all men.”
“You’ve become a philosopher,” Kendall muttered.
“I don’t know what I’ve become,” Constantine said truthfully. “I do know I don’t want Lisabeth embarrassed. And I dislike getting up at dawn to fight fools in the morning mists. I’m sure you two wouldn’t want to be rousted up that early in order to be my seconds either. There’s bound to be some unwise words said and overheard after a thing like this. Those words are usually said by a drunk or a fool, and that means man to man.”
Blaise laughed. “Whatever you’ve become, you’ve become more clever, Con.”
Constantine sketched a bow from his chair. “Speaking of clever, I can fight men, but women are cleverer than we are; they deliver cuts so sharp they aren’t seen until they’re bleeding. Why should Lisabeth be victim to that? Or just imagine if her grandfather heard of it and responded in his own inimitable fashion? Now that would be a tragedy. I’m going to let things calm down. Then Lisabeth can safely come to London at last.”
“I’d think you’d be longing to see her, come what may,” Kendall said.
So had Constantine. But now he felt infinitely tired. Much had happened. He’d changed; his world had changed. He couldn’t quite believe what he’d done, or know what he wanted to do next.
Of course he wanted to see her. He wanted to hold her in his arms, hear her laughter as well as her sighs of pleasure; have her to himself once again. He’d thought of little else—except for the future, and the consequences of doing what he wanted.
Could he live in London with Lisabeth? Would she even like the life that he led or the life she’d be expected to lead? She was an original, a rare handful; the prize of her grandfather’s eye and doted upon by all the people in her little village. But it was only a little village. Could she cope outside of it? Would she care to? She’d surely miss her home. Could they live on his estate, or near her grandfather, instead? Would he feel cheated of all he’d previously enjoyed? If so, could they live apart for part of the year?