Chapter 21
21
Modesty’s gaze drifted to Constantine, who sat next to her at the Duke of Eccess’s dining table.
Her body still hummed with memories of last night… The way she’d given herself to him, and he’d given her pleasure she never knew existed… The way he’d tenderly bathed her, sharing the deepest secrets of his past.
She felt closer to Constantine than she’d ever felt to another soul. Even his body revealed its secrets to her. As she combed and massaged his hair yesterday in the bath, she noticed a birthmark behind his ear. Hidden under his thick, dark hair, it was the color of red wine. Moving the wet strands aside, she discovered it matched Augustus’s mark precisely—in the same location and in the same wolf’s-head shape. Of course it was there—they were father and son.
Her chest grew warm as she studied it. There was something so incredibly intimate about it, it made her fingers tingle. Was it possible she was the only person on earth who knew of its existence? Even his valet might not know. The thought sent a thrill far more exhilarating than holding any Roman artifact or Pictish stone. Uncovering Constantine’s mysteries was her own personal archeological exploration.
Yet now, watching him lost in troubled thoughts, she felt that intimacy slipping away like water through her fingers. Last night had changed everything between them—and nothing at all. He was still keeping secrets, still building walls even as he drew her closer.
Taking a deep breath, she determined to set that unsettling feeling aside and try to enjoy the evening. The vast dining room that would have intimidated her mere weeks ago now felt almost welcoming. The air was rich with the aromas of roasted game, exotic spices, and the subtle perfume of hothouse flowers arranged in gilded epergnes down the table’s center. Everything was calculated to deliver the utmost pleasure and comfort. The walls, painted in deep russet and gold, reminded her of autumn leaves. The crystalline light from the chandeliers softened the edges of her lingering awkwardness rather than exposing it. Perhaps it wasn’t just the comfortable dining room that put her at greater ease but her own sense of belonging. Not through her title, but through the moments of closeness with Constantine.
The Duke and Duchess of Luhst sat opposite them, Chastity’s warm smile putting Modesty at ease as it had since their first meeting. The Duke and Duchess of Rath were placed near their host, Patience’s quiet confidence an inspiration for the kind of duchess Modesty hoped to become. Even Lady Jane Seaton’s presence felt more reassuring than intimidating now. All of these women had welcomed her as one of their own, despite her humble beginnings. The Dukes of Enveigh, Irevrence and Fortyne were here, too, as well as Lady Jane’s husband, Lord Richard Seaton, and his brother, the Duke of Grandhampton, along with his duchess, Penelope. Unlike at Lady Virtoux’s event, where Modesty had felt as if she was walking on needles, here she felt that she was among friends.
There were no whispered conversations behind fans about the recent gossip columns, no sidelong glances when she or Constantine entered a room. These were the people who would always stand by Constantine despite the rumors about his mother’s virtue that had been whispered at Lady Virtoux’s party. They had closed ranks around him.
Still, Modesty noticed the shadows under Constantine’s eyes, the slight tension in his jaw that hadn’t fully eased since he read the article yesterday morning. That was likely why he seemed so distracted tonight, his spoon frozen over the bowl of turtle soup as his thoughts clearly drifted elsewhere.
“…wouldn’t you agree, Constantine?” Eccess’s voice cut through the air.
Constantine blinked, his brow furrowing for a split second before smoothing out. “I… Yes, of course.”
Puzzled gazes and tense chuckles ran around the dinner table.
Clearly making a jest, Eccess had asked if women’s education was a frivolous endeavor. But Constantine, so lost in thought, had completely missed it. Everyone at the table had been discussing the Duchess of Grandhampton’s success in art and her school for women, as well as Lady Jane Seaton’s free school for Whitechapel children—both girls and boys—which she had run for years.
Modesty knew he supported both.
After the intimacy and tenderness they had shared, she was no longer angry with him for keeping his secrets, but worried, aching for his well-being, and wishing to relieve his burden.
She was a duchess now, she told herself, and had every right to act like one.
Pushing aside her shyness, Modesty raised her glass with a smile. “I believe my husband is reminding us all of the importance of context in any jest. After all, agreeing to such a notion in this company”—she gestured gracefully to the women at the table—“is as unlikely as the Duke of Eccess serving anything less than exceptional wine.” She turned to their host, who sat at the head of the table in his russet coat, his eyes sparkling with appreciative humor. “Speaking of which, this vintage is truly exquisite, Duke. Might we inquire about its origins? I’m sure Constantine would love to add it to our cellar.”
Eccess gave a loud laugh, leaned back in his seat, and raised his glass to Modesty.
“I thank you for your compliment, Duchess. The taste you’re fond of is the allure of the forbidden. This wine was smuggled from France and acquired through certain contacts in Whitechapel.”
He raised his eyebrows suggestively at Lady Jane Seaton, whose eyes glinted behind her diamond-encrusted spectacles. No doubt Octavius meant the contact was her brother, the notorious Thorne Blackmore. The guests began jesting and talking, put at ease again. And under the cover of this distraction, Modesty finally turned to Constantine. In an instant, the tension in his shoulders eased. The corners of his eyes crinkled as a genuine smile spread across his face. To her absolute delight, he winked at her. A jolt of pleasure darted through her, and she beamed back.
She didn’t know he could wink !
Constantine leaned towards her. His breath tickled her ear as he whispered, “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Duchess.”
Discreetly, he rested his warm hand on her knee under the table. Modesty stifled a giggle, acutely aware of his inappropriate touch that spread fire in her blood. As he pulled away, his fingers trailed up her thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Their eyes met again, and his held the same heat they had when he was buried deep inside her. Suddenly, she felt a little distracted herself.
As the night progressed, she found her gaze drawn to him over and over again. Each time their eyes met, his entire demeanor would brighten, as if her mere presence was a balm to some hidden wound. In those moments, the world around them faded, leaving only the two of them in a bubble of warmth.
After the usual separation of the sexes following dinner, the gentlemen and ladies rejoined one another. Footmen threw open double doors of polished mahogany to let the guests into one of the several drawing rooms in Dulcis Court. The house was the embodiment of its name— dulcis was a Latin word meaning “sweet” or “pleasant.” Modesty’s breath caught not at the grandeur but at the warmth that enveloped her like an embrace. A massive hearth dominated one wall, logs crackling and popping cheerfully, their flames casting dancing shadows across a brown bear skin spread before it. The sweet scent of woodsmoke was so much more pleasant than the scent of coal, which heated most homes these days.
Unlike any other sitting room she’d seen, the wine-red sofas had plenty of cushions that looked inviting and comfortable. Even the carpet beneath their feet was thicker, softer than the finely woven Aubusson rugs in Pryde House. Constantine guided her to one of the sofas, and Modesty sank into it. When Constantine’s shoulder brushed hers, she felt warmed through to her very soul.
The rich, dark colors calmed her senses, a vast difference when compared to the austere white walls of her father’s house, where comfort had always been secondary to propriety.
Octavius stood before the fireplace. His coat stretched across his shoulders as he raised a crystal glass of his finest brandy. His eyes shone with pleasure as the guests positioned themselves around the room.
“Is everyone comfortable?” Octavius called out. “The trick is to heat the brandy glasses before serving. It brings out the aroma and softens the flavor.” He gestured to a footman who carried a tray of heated glasses, the crystal clouding slightly from their warmth.
A muffled giggle from behind the partially open door made him pause. Three heads quickly ducked back into the shadows—one dark, one fair, and one with unruly red curls.
“Sophie, James, Margaret,” Octavius called out, his voice stern but his lips twitching. “I believe it’s well past your bedtimes.”
“We wanted to see the party,” came a small voice. An eight-year-old girl ventured a peek around the door frame.
Seeing the sweet child reminded Modesty painfully of how much she missed Augustus. But tomorrow…tomorrow the two weeks Constantine and she had agreed on would conclude, and she could finally take Augustus home.
“And try the brandy,” added a twelve-year old boy with a cheeky grin, earning him an elbow from a fourteen-year-old girl who must be his eldest sister.
She stepped into view. “We heard there would be riddles. Couldn’t we stay just for one?”
Her spine was rigidly straight, and her hands were clasped precisely before her like a miniature lady of the ton. Watching her trying so hard to seem grown-up made Modesty’s chest ache. Was that how Constantine had been at fourteen?
Octavius’s expression softened. “Right. And how would you do that after your fifth governess this year left her post yesterday because she found a frog in her bed and her spectacles stained with ink? Off to bed, you rascals.”
The children shuffled their feet, caught between pride and chagrin. Modesty noticed how their eyes kept darting to Octavius, seeking his approval even though they clearly knew they were naughty.
Constantine leaned to her. “They’re the orphans of Octavius’s deceased cousin. Since Octavius has no children as of now, James is the heir to the Eccess title.”
Modesty’s heart squeezed. “Poor children. I don’t know what’s worse, to have known your parents and lost them, or not to have known them at all.”
Constantine sighed, his gaze drifting to Octavius. “He needs help. A good governess who’d rule them, rather than be ruled by them.”
“And they need lots of love,” she added thoughtfully. “All four of them, I think.”
“To bed,” Octavius grumbled to the children. They scampered away, their footsteps echoing down the hall. Octavius shook his head, returning to his place by the fire. “My apologies. They’re quite impossible to manage. Now then, shall we begin our riddles?”
Around the room kind assurances came that there was nothing to apologize for.
Eccess cleared his throat and looked at a paper in his hand. “First riddle, ladies and gentlemen. ‘I was a treaty of peace, a symbol of power. My hammer fell at a famous hour. Once split in two, my fate was sealed. My destiny, to the victor, revealed. What am I?’”
A hush fell over the room. Lady Jane Seaton ventured, “Is it the Magna Carta?”
“I’m afraid not, Lady Seaton,” replied Eccess.
Modesty leaned close to Constantine. “It mentions a hammer…and being split in two. That reminds me of the wax seals used in important treaties.”
Constantine nodded, appearing intrigued. “What treaty would be significant enough to be called a ‘symbol of power’?”
“Well,” Modesty mused, “there was a major peace treaty in the seventeenth century… It ended a long war, didn’t it?”
“The Thirty Years’ War?” Constantine prompted.
Excitement stirred in Modesty’s chest. That was the war between the Holy Roman Empire, the Habsburg Monarchy, France, Sweden, Spain, and various Germanic states. But it wasn’t quite the right answer…
“The Treaty of Westphalia!” she exclaimed, feeling as if she would lift right off her seat. “It was signed in two cities—that’s why it was ‘split in two.’ The hammer falling would be the wax seal.”
“Correct!” said Eccess.
The room erupted in applause. She basked in Constantine’s proud grin.
“This is why I love archaeology,” she whispered. “Finding fragments, connecting patterns…” She studied Constantine’s profile, noting the tension that still lingered in his jaw, though he seemed more relaxed than he had when they arrived. Like piecing together ancient pottery, she was slowly assembling the puzzle of her husband. What secrets did he keep buried beneath his careful facade?
Constantine squeezed her hand. “You’re brilliant at it.”
The Duke of Grandhampton stood up to take Eccess’s place in front of the fireplace.He was tall and handsome, a stern man with hair almost as black as coal and dark eyes that lightened with incredible softness when he looked at his wife. He straightened the paper and read the next riddle. “‘My name means glory, though battle I lost. A lover, a mother, but at great cost. Who am I?’”
“Joan of Arc?” called out the Duke of Fortyne.
His tall frame was elegant despite his imposing height. Candlelight caught the auburn hints in his dark brown hair, which was tied back with a black ribbon at his nape in the current fashion. His shrewd hazel eyes swept over the gathering as though assessing odds and advantages even in this friendly game.
“No, that is not it,” said Grandhampton.
Modesty shook her head slightly. “It’s not Joan… She was never a mother. The name means glory…”
Constantine furrowed his brow. “A female historical figure known for love affairs?”
“And motherhood,” Modesty added. “Oh! Cleopatra!” she exclaimed.
Grandhampton nodded. “You’re quite right again, Your Grace!”
The rest clapped their hands, and Chastity, who sat with the Duke of Luhst on the other sofa, leaned over the end table towards her. “Modesty, you’re brilliant. You simply must join Misses with Microscopes!”
Modesty chuckled, her heart swelling with happiness. “I hope I can very soon.”
Lady Jane Seaton stood to read the next riddle. “‘My petals fall like winter snow, yet spring is when I choose to grow. My poison heart brings sleep profound, though beauty draws all eyes around. What am I?’”
While Modesty and Constantine looked helplessly at each other, she heard the Duke and Duchess of Rath whispering excitedly.
“Hellebore,” cried out the Duchess of Rath not a moment later. “It blooms in early spring, has white petals that drop like snow, and contains poisonous compounds that can cause deep sleep…or worse.”
“The answer is the hellebore,” Lady Seaton announced, her eyes smiling from behind her glittering spectacles as applause filled the room.
The Duchess of Grandhampton read next. She was a beautiful woman with dark blond hair. “‘I stand tall upon a land of stone,’” she read, “‘from far I’m seen, though none may call me home. My secrets hidden in air and rock, though I’m watched by gods who never talk. What am I?’”
Modesty frowned, her mind racing. She leaned towards Constantine. “It’s on a ‘land of stone,’ and it’s watched by ‘gods who never talk,’” she mused.
Constantine responded softly, “Could that be referring to statues?”
“Oh! Of course! And a land of stone…it must be Greece!”
“Acropolis,” they said in unison, grinning at each other.
Modesty stood, addressing the room with confidence. “The answer is the Acropolis of Athens.”
“That is correct!” announced the Duchess of Grandhampton, beaming at her.
As applause filled the room, Constantine squeezed Modesty’s hand, his eyes shining with pride as he pulled her back onto the couch beside him. She chuckled as her body swayed closer to him as though drawn by an invisible force, their shoulders brushing as they leaned in close, already beginning to discuss the possible answers for the next riddle.
Out of the corner of her eye, Modesty noticed Chastity nudge her husband with a joyful smile. “Would you look at those two?” she whispered. “They’re quite the team, aren’t they?”
The Duke of Luhst gave his wife a boyish smile. “Indeed. I’ve seen statues look more animated than Pryde at most social gatherings. Yet here he is, practically grinning like a boy who’s stolen all the sugared plums from the kitchen.”
Modesty chuckled to herself. Surely she was not the reason for such a transformation of her husband…and yet…
For the final riddle, the Duke of Eccess returned to his place in front of the fireplace. “‘A fire lit my streets, swallowed by flame, I fell and rose again to fame. My bridge fell first, then walls the same, yet still I stand and bear my name. What am I?”
As the others began discussing between themselves, Modesty and Constantine leaned together.
“Paris!” cried Patience.
“No, I’m afraid not,” replied Eccess.
Constantine smirked. “Wait…London burned to the ground several times, and now it’s bigger than ever, isn’t it?”
Modesty grinned, standing to announce their answer. “It’s London!”
Eccess laughed. “Of course you’d know this. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to announce the winning couple of tonight’s evening. The Duchess and Duke of Pryde!”
As the applause exploded around the room, Modesty found herself caught up in the excitement of the moment. She turned to Constantine, her stomach flipping with enthusiasm. She’d never had such a partner, someone who brought out the best in her.
“Archaeology is fascinating,” she said to him in a low voice. “It’s like solving the most intricate puzzle imaginable. But instead of just words on paper, you’re piecing together the very fabric of human history.”
Constantine’s chestnut eyes shone. “What a fascinating way to look at it. How did you come to this?”
“Growing up, I was surrounded by religious texts and sermons. You can probably guess how strict my father’s upbringing was. I could read stories of ancient times, then started reading more books on history, and so on. Papa didn’t mind it since religion and history come together. Then I met George.”
Constantine’s face darkened at George’s name, that now-familiar flash of jealousy tightening his features.
“The Lockharts had a summer house in our parish,” she continued. “George introduced me to antiquities, showed me little trinkets he found. Fossils. A medieval coin. That’s how I came to love archeology even more than history. It allows me to touch the past, to see it with my own eyes, not just through the words of others.”
“And your papa let you and George talk?”
“Grace was always with us. We didn’t simply talk, he took me to my first excavation near Shepherdsbrook, even if it was only digging in the dirt. But I did find my own pieces of clay vases and dishes. There were also the ruins of the old Roman church where I found the mirror and Pictish stone. Can you imagine the implications?”
“With George?” he asked, his eyebrows still furrowed.
“Yes,” she said, a little annoyed now. She was revealing such a profound thing about herself, and he was still asking about George? “But it wasn’t about George or Papa or anyone. I made my own discovery. For the first time, I felt free,” Modesty admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I made my own conclusions, could explore the world, challenge my mind, and feel connected to history. On my terms. I was not just accepting what I was told. I was discovering truths for myself.”
She looked down, her cheeks heating. “I suppose that might sound terribly rebellious of me.”
His face softened as he covered her hand with his. Around them, the guests spread around the room, talking, laughing.
And there she was with her husband, huddled on the sofa like two people in love…
“Rebellious?” he chuckled. “No, I’d say revolutionary. You’ve quite transformed my understanding of the field. And perhaps…other matters as well.”
His fingers tightened around hers, but even as warmth bloomed in her chest, doubt crept in. Her heart was swelling for Constantine, more and more every day.
But the higher she soared on hope’s wings, the harder she feared she’d fall.