Chapter Nine
Hanover Square
Mayfair, London
“I’ve hardly seen you in recent days, cousin dear. How have you been filling your time?” Mild curiosity threaded through her cousin’s inquiry as she poured tea into a delicate porcelain cup.
“Oh, there has been quite a lot to do, which is surprising.” Constance accepted the cup from Lydia.
How much should she tell her cousin of what was currently occupying her time?
She’d met Gregory almost two weeks prior, and ever since then, her days had been full of new experiences as well as excitement, and her perspective on life in general—and carnal play in particular—had completely changed.
“Mmhmm.” Lydia eyed her askance. Once her own cup was filled, she stirred in a small lump of sugar. “One of my friends told me that she’d seen you at the opera the other night, on the arm of a man she didn’t know. Was that true?”
Heat went through Constance’s cheeks, but she strove to act natural.
“I did go to the opera. It was a lovely evening, and the play was comical. I found myself laughing, and it felt good to do so.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
“And since the rain that evening didn’t arrive until later, we wandered through the gardens and had dinner at handcarts. ”
“Is that so?” Lydia’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “Who is this mystery man? Where did you meet him?”
Should she tell her cousin about Gregory? Taking a rather large swallow of tea, Constance then sighed as she set the cup and saucer on the low table. “Will you keep this a secret and not toss it about as gossip?”
“Yes, I swear,” Lydia promised in a breathless whisper. She rested her wide gaze on Constance’s face. “Who is it? Surely not the man from the other night…?”
“Well, yes…”
“Connie!” A gasp left her cousin’s throat. “Say it’s not so!”
Heat again seeped into her cheeks. “It is, rather. His name is Gregory Hamilton. He is an up-and-coming barrister.” When Isabella joined them in the room with her customary meow of announcement, Constance poured a bit of cream into a saucer then set it on the floor as a treat for the cat. “I am enjoying this time in my life.”
Astonishment lined her cousin’s expression. “How many times has he called on you?”
“I don’t remember, but he’s taken me driving, to the opera, and…”
“And?” Lydia paused with her cup halfway to her lips.
“And he asked me to become his mistress,” she admitted in a soft voice.
“Connie!” Then her cousin modulated her voice. “Please tell me you aren’t…”
She shrugged. “I am. Rumor put us together anyway. Gossip said I was his mistress. Guests at the rout that night believed it, and whispers ensured that you heard it as well. You believed them over my truth, so I thought if society thinks I am a mistress, I might as well become one.”
Dear heavens, did I just admit to sin in front of my cousin?
Shock reflected on Lydia’s face. When she put her teacup into its saucer, the porcelain clattered as she rested it on the table. “Then you and he have…?
“Yes, more than a few times.” Over and above that first meeting when he’d sent her flying with his fingers.
However, at each coupling, he always withdrew moments before he exploded, regardless of where they were.
While she understood why he chose this, she couldn’t help but think such a thing cheapened the act.
Made her feel as if what they did was, indeed, scandalous and sinful in the eyes of society…
as if she wasn’t good enough to be a wife.
His wife.
“Oh, Connie.”
Not in the mood to receive a lecture from her cousin, Constance huffed out a breath. “I know it’s not what you would have chosen for yourself or even for me, but I made the decision fully knowing what such a relationship entailed.”
Except, she hadn’t expected spending so much time with Gregory would be so exciting.
“It isn’t exactly a life young women should aspire to.” She glanced over to where her son lay on the blanket. Apparently, the boy had exhausted himself and was now napping.
“No, it’s not, but I’m a widow. I have been a widow for longer than I was married. Frankly, fate cheated me out of much from life. In this way, I can chase whatever I want, and truth to tell, it’s been glorious.” That wasn’t a lie either.
Silence reigned in the room for the space of a few heartbeats before Lydia spoke again. “I am happy if you are.”
“I am, actually.” Constance nodded. “This endeavor has given me a new reason to stop hiding in the house. And I’m circulating within society like you asked, just not in the way you might have wanted.
” A slow smile curved her lips. “I even told Gregory that while I was with him, I’d be mindful of eligible men to marry. ”
“He didn’t mind?”
She shrugged. “Not in the least, for he knows he’ll need to marry someone his parents approve of from the ton, and he thinks it will be soon.”
“I see.” Yet her cousin frowned. “Please tell me you have thought this through. Being a mistress to a titled lord is one thing, but being a mistress to a younger son who will never have a title? Regardless of whether he’s a barrister?
That is quite another.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “I can’t help but feel he’s using you.”
There was always that chance, but he didn’t exhibit such behavior.
“Please don’t concern yourself. This is not forever, and I am enjoying this.
It’s lovely having a man’s attention.” When Isabella hopped up on the sofa next to her, Constance gave the feline’s ears a scratch and her head a pat.
Apparently satisfied with that, the cat settled in for a bath.
“Not his full attention, for he works for a living.”
“That is what makes him more relatable. I admire his dedication and drive. He knows what it is to struggle.”
Lydia took one of Constance’s hands. “But you want marriage.”
“Yes, I do, and I’ve made no secret of that. Neither has he. At least we aren’t flaunting the relationship for attention. We are being as discreet as we can.”
“I suppose that’s true…” Her cousin shook her head. “Listen to me, dearest. You deserve to be someone’s wife for more than two months.”
“I know.” Gentle pain radiated around her heart. “But when I’m with Gregory, I can forget that I miss Samuel, that I lost him too soon.”
“Then why are you wasting your time with this Mr. Hamilton?”
“Why do you think it’s wasted time?” Even now, as she talked with her cousin, she looked forward to the next time she would be in his company. Would she see him soon? They’d yet to settle on a schedule for his visits.
“Because nothing can come of it.” Lydia squeezed her fingers. “You are naught but a mistress, and men in the beau monde cannot marry their mistresses.”
“I know that.” Yet she needed the reminder to keep that in mind. It was easy to forget when she was in his company.
Lydia’s stare became more intense. “He must be more than a decent lover. You are over there woolgathering, and I’ll wager you’ve thought more than once about a future with him.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You fell tip over tail for Samuel quickly. Why wouldn’t you with this fellow?”
“Oh…” Heat again infused her cheeks. “He is… lovely.” Except each time they’d coupled, he’d either withdrawn from her body or wore a sheath.
While she was flattered that he considered her future, another part of her was selfish and wanted all of him.
Yet, she refused to use pregnancy to entrap him.
Stupidly, perhaps, she wanted him to have real feelings for her, but in the grand scheme, nothing could come of it, like Lydia said.
That didn’t stop her from dreaming. “In all the ways a man can be. Truly, he is more than a lover.”
“Oh, Connie, don’t be a ninny.” Lydia shook her head “In this sort of life you’ve chosen, in the position you’re in, you’d be a fool if you fell in love with a protector.
Because he won’t marry you. In fact, since he’s a son of a viscount, we both know he can’t. His parents would put a stop to that.”
Yet she stubbornly clung to that tiny dream. Why, she didn’t know. “Gregory is his own person. He can buck tradition or his parents’ dictates if he wishes.” Would he, though? In all their previous conversations about it, he didn’t lean in that direction.
“Perhaps, but you and I both know what society is, what it demands of us all. If we want to remain in good standing and keep the matrons happy, we follow the rules.” Her cousin shook her head. “The sad fact is, you are not of the beau monde, not even the ton; he is. It will always be that way.”
Annoyance flashed through Constance’s chest, even if the words were the truth. “The daughter of a seamstress and a banker can never aspire to join such a world, hmm?”
“You can hope, of course, but the likelihood of that happening is slim. Perhaps if you hadn’t become his mistress…”
“I’m sure titled men have married their mistresses, and Gregory isn’t titled, so where is the same?” Had she made a mistake in agreeing to any of this? Was she, even now, locking herself in a position where she would remain for the remainder of her days? A chill raced down her spine.
“No doubt it has happened, but it’s rare, and you might find yourself constantly fighting for respectability. That sounds exhausting.”
“Perhaps, but if I didn’t wish to continue in society, where is the harm?” Not that he would ever offer for her hand or make an honest woman of her.
“There are too many variables to consider, and none of them matter in this moment.” When Lydia rested her gaze on Constance, faint pity reflected there. “I’m sorry for your position all the same. Do you have feelings for Mr. Hamilton?”