Chapter Sixteen
Hutchinson House
Berkley Square
Mayfair, London
Constance fought against the need to retch into the nearest potted fern. She and Lydia, as well as Lydia’s husband, were attending a rout tonight at the home of Lord Conklin, the man who’d been courting her for the past six weeks.
Her heart had been in a perpetual state of aching since Gregory had met her at the opera last week.
Though he’d told her he loved her, and it had been as lovely as she could have thought, but he didn’t ask for her hand and hadn’t mentioned anything about spending a life together with her as his wife.
Love was glorious, of course, but a woman needed to think about her future. She refused to be a mistress for the rest of her life, and she absolutely refused to have bastard children, which would affect their futures as well.
All of that prevented her from moving on without Gregory. It had been torture to see him last week, to know he wasn’t hers and he never would be, despite the feelings involved.
“Stop woolgathering,” Lydia whispered as she elbowed Constance in her ribs as they approached the drawing room. “I have a feeling this night will be extraordinary, and you will be engaged by the end of it.”
“I suspect that as well.” Though that excitement was dimmed by thoughts of Gregory. As much as she wished reality had been different, she couldn’t afford to dwell on it any longer.
Lord Conklin—Philip—had faithfully called on her for the past six weeks, had taken her about London, had escorted her to various social functions, had even joined Lydia and her husband for dinner a few times.
Now, at this rout he was hosting, it was clear what the main objective would be: he aimed to propose tonight.
“It will be such a lovely thing for you, cousin,” Lydia continued as they paused outside the drawing room while Lydia’s husband went inside. “And you’ll be part of the beau monde as a lady!”
The heat of embarrassment went through Constance’s cheeks. “Do hush, Lydia. We don’t know that for certain.”
Philip was a dear sort, of course, and given enough time, she might come to love him, once the pain in her heart subsided.
He would take care of her and look after her, would give her the family she craved and would make her a mother.
To say nothing of the reach in society she would have as a viscountess.
It would only help her newly launched meetings for battered and abused women.
Would she accept his suit if he should ask?
Yes, but doing so would further break her heart.
How long would it take before she was fully whole again? Only time would tell.
“It’s true, dearest.” Lydia grabbed one of Constance’s hands.
Excitement danced in her cousin’s eyes. “I’m happy for you.
Conklin isn’t bad looking and from what my husband told me, he’s not doing too horrid with his investments and farming income.
Securing your future will give you so much peace, I think. ”
“Let us hope this is true.” Yet every time she thought about making a promise to the viscount, to speaking sacred vows to him that she wouldn’t truly believe, she wanted to retch.
Lydia linked arms with her. “We should go in. I’m sure Lord Conklin is anxious to see you.” Then she moved them both inside the drawing room that already contained quite the crush.
Her heartbeat slammed through her veins. “Perhaps I should find the retiring room to calm my nerves before I have an episode”
“Pish posh.” Lydia shook her head. “All of that is in your mind, I think, invented as protection after Samuel died. You don’t need that anymore.”
“That’s not true.” She frowned, for her cousin had never understood the way anxiety affected her. “It means my body can’t differentiate between what is truly fear and what is merely being uncomfortable in a strange place or person’s company.”
Except when she was with Gregory. He had been the only person to feel like home to her—beyond Samuel—and that had been wonderful.
“Oh, I didn’t know…” Lydia said with concern in her eyes.
“That’s the only way I can explain it.” She cleared her throat. “And yes, it is a form of protection because the people in my life, the ones I love, keep leaving.”
Gregory left, and I don’t know how I’m going to move forward without him.
“I’m certain when you’re settled again, such things will fade. You’ll have much to occupy your mind and won’t have the time to indulge in those silly notions.”
Wasn’t that how it was in society, though? Any thoughts that were different or went against what was usual were considered silly or fanciful.
Then Lord Conklin was there before them.
He gave each of them a half-bow from his waist. “Mrs. Morton. Mrs. Knight. You both look lovely tonight.” After scooping up Lydia’s gloved hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed the back.
Seconds later, he did the same to Constance.
Then he peered into her eyes. “Could you do me a favor and come with me? I would like to ask a question and hopefully make an announcement to the gathered guests.”
“Oh.” Heat went through her cheeks. She cast a glance at Lydia. “What do you think?”
Her cousin’s grin could light up the room. “I think it’s a splendid idea.” She gave her a wink. “I’ll talk with you later.”
“Right.” Without having a distraction or excuse to flee, Constance gave the viscount a nod, and he took her hand in a stronger grip.
“Of course you can talk with me.” Knots of worry pulled in her belly, for she suspected what was about to happen, and as much as she wanted it to, another part of her did not.
How could she marry Philip when Gregory had her heart?
The viscount tugged her into the middle of the room that had been cleared of furniture, a sure sign that there would be dancing later that evening. He raised his free hand. “If I could have everyone’s attention for a few moments?”
Good heavens. Hot saliva filled her mouth, so she swallowed a few times to alleviate the urge to cast up her accounts right there in the drawing room in front of at least thirty people.
Why did he need to do this with an audience?
Why couldn’t he ask her privately and then come out and announce the engagement?
This is so embarrassing. She would be put on the spot, and this would only call attention to the fact that she wasn’t part of the ton.
Perhaps people would remember her father, since he was a banker and he had many connections throughout society, but she was a nobody. Just a soldier’s widow.
As the din of conversation and laughter quieted, Constance sent a frantic glance to Lydia, who waited across the room with her husband. Her cousin gave her an encouraging smile. When the viscount released her hand, her attention swung back to him.
Philip peered at her. Victory reflected in his eyes, and he offered a soft grin.
Then he flicked his gaze back to the company at large.
“Over the past six weeks or so, I have been calling upon this fetching widow. And now, I have decided that she is perfectly suited for my viscountess and the mother to my small child. That being said, I would quite like to make her my wife, if she’ll have me. ”
Surprised whispers circulated around the room.
Philip turned toward her. “Perhaps this comes as a shock to you; I can see it in your eyes.” The grin he gave didn’t reflect in his eyes, but it didn’t take anything from the jovial state of him.
“It is, of course. I didn’t expect it so soon.
” Yes, he was a decent man, and yes, he would undoubtedly make a good husband, but could she go through the rest of her life with a man she didn’t love by her side?
Could she let him into her bed, bear his children knowing he didn’t have her heart?
That he might not ever have that? That she would always think of another man?
“Why wait when this will prove beneficial to both of us?” With another glance at his guests, he nodded. As his gaze came back to hers, he asked, “Constance Knight, will you do me the honor of being my wife? We can leave for the country immediately and perhaps wed there if you wish it.”
This was all happening too fast. She thought she would have time.
She assumed she would have some say in where and when she would marry him, that she could convince herself to stop thinking about Gregory.
Why did the viscount want her compliance so quickly?
“I…” When she glanced at her cousin, the look of expectation on Lydia’s face sent another round of worry knots into her belly. “I…”
“Stop!”
Every head turned at the frantic shout, even hers, and when Gregory strode through the double doors, she gasped.
Dear heavens, he was stunning in his requisite dark evening clothes, but he looked as if he’d been through hell and back.
With a loosened cravat, his hair stuck up all over his head like he’d shoved his hands through the tresses, the buttons on his tailcoat mismatched with the holes, and boots on instead of dress shoes, it was obvious that he’d either dressed in a hurry or had been quite distracted.
Since those boots were a faux pax to wear at a society event, he either didn’t care or he wasn’t thinking straight.
“Gregory.” With her breathing coming in quick pants and the pain around her heart intensifying, she took a few steps toward him. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to speak with you.”
“But I’m—”
The viscount moved in front of her, blocking her view of Gregory. “Mr. Hamilton, I don’t believe you were invited to this rout.”
“No, I wasn’t, but I don’t care about that. I’m here to talk to Mrs. Knight.” Quiet authority rang in his voice that didn’t brook argument. “Move aside, my lord.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The viscount crossed his arms at his chest while the room full of rout guests stared on, enthralled, as if this were a poorly run Drury Lane production. “I am in the middle of something important.”