Chapter 28
28
“Where is he, Modesty?”
Sunlight filtered through the church’s tall windows, illuminating her father’s starched white surplice as it hung over his black cassock. She’d never seen such a thunderous expression on his face. His bushy reddish eyebrows were snapped together over his small eyes, reminding her of an indignant owl.
Augustus was cradled in her arms, feeling heavier than usual in the thick shawl.The empty space beside her felt like a void, growing larger with every second that ticked past. Constantine’s absence was a physical ache, a hollow pit in her stomach that threatened to consume her. How ironic that this was the very place she’d first met him. He had rejected Augustus that day—and today he would formally accept him into his family. Wouldn’t he?
She’d smoothed her gown a hundred times, adjusted Augustus’s lace cap, anything to keep her hands busy and her mind from spiraling into despair.
Instead of her husband,the Duke of Eccess—the second godfather—stood by her side,his boulder-like shoulders seeming to fill the space beneath the chancel arch.
“He said he’d be here,” she whispered, and even her whisper echoed from the walls. “Please, Papa, let’s just wait a moment longer.”
Papa cleared his throat, displeased. “He wasn’t there for the pre-christening consultation. He isn’t even prepared.”
She felt compelled to defend her husband, though she was as angry and concerned as her father. “The christening was set for one o’clock. It’s five to one. He must be on his way. He promised he would make it.”
Father sighed. “Fine.”
Only the first two pews were occupied with their small circle of guests. The rest of the wooden pews stretched back empty and dark, worn flagstones between the rows. She was grateful there were no more members of the ton present to witness her humiliation.
The Duchess of Rath and the Duchess of Luhst had positioned themselves strategically near the front to offer support. Patience even caught her eye and mouthed, You’re doing splendidly , which gave her comfort. Neither Patience nor Chastity seemed disturbed their husbands were also missing.
Grace sat in the front pew, as well, along with the Dukes of Enveigh, Irevrence, and Fortyne. But no George. Where in the world could he be? She felt a little hurt; she hadn’t thought he’d miss Augustus’s christening.
The Duke and Duchess of Grandhampton were present as well as Lord Richard Seaton and Lady Jane. Lord Spencer Seaton, Richard’s oldest brother, and his wife, Lady Joanna Seaton, had accepted the invitation along with Lord Richard’s sister, the Duchess of Kelford, and her husband, the Duke of Kelford. The Dowager Duchess of Grandhampton, who was the grandmother of the four Seatons, had arrived with Lady Buchanan—Modesty’s two unofficial godmothers. The presence of such dear friends only highlighted her husband’s absence.She felt small and exposed before the altar.
What if he doesn’t come like he promised?
She’d ask everyone to postpone, then. She wouldn’t have Constantine miss such important event in Augustus’s life.
Finally, the arched doors at the end of the aisle creaked open, and her heart lurched. She was still upset with him, but at least he’d finally come!
When Lady Virtoux appeared between the doors, shock sent a chill through her entire body. Numbly, she watched the lady walk down the aisle, accompanied by her husband and son, a poorly concealed smirk on her face. The rustle of clothes made all her guests turn around and watch the new arrivals with as much astonishment as she felt.
Eccess leaned closer to her. “Duchess, I was not aware you invited more people?”
“I’m as surprised as you are. I didn’t invite them—Constantine must have.”
Anger roiled in her stomach now. They’d agreed to keep the christening small and intimate. How could he invite one of the biggest gossips in London without mentioning it? And why would he do so when he wanted to avoid a scandal?
Worse, he wasn’t even here!
Unease settled in her stomach as she felt Lady Virtoux’s estimating gaze on her.
The doors opened again. This must be Constantine! Finally…
But no.
She recognized the faces of the lady and a gentleman coming through—she’d seen them at Lady Virtoux’s soirée though she couldn’t remember their names. Her gut squeezed to point of pain when more ladies and gentlemen of the ton followed the others into the church.
She could probably count on her fingers the number of times this church had seen aristocrats in the past century and within the ten minutes that followed, they filled it completely. So much so that many had to stand in the back. Silks of all colors, fine wools, bonnets with beautiful flowers, pristine white cravats were everywhere. A few had wet umbrellas—it must have started to rain.
Sharp eyes seemed to judge her. People leaned to each other, and whispers filled the church.
“Where could the duke possibly be?” someone said.
“Surely nothing could be more important than his ward’s christening,” came another voice.
“Perhaps he’s reconsidered taking in the child.”
“Perhaps it’s not his ward at all…”
“‘His distant cousin’s orphaned baby…’ Is that not the same explanation every other nobleman gives for the scandalous appearance of his natural child in his household…”
“He did wed the vicar’s daughter in great haste…”
Modesty’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and frustration. She and Constantine were supposed to be a united front.
A footman came down the aisle with a paper in his hand. A note from Constantine explaining his absence?
But he handed the paper to the Duke of Fortyne. He read it and whispered to Enveigh and Irevrence. Her heart sank. Surely this couldn’t be Constantine’s message. He’d send a note to his wife rather than his friends, would he not?
Octavius moved closer, standing slightly in front of her, as though to shield her from the crowd. Like a protective mountain.
“Do not fash, Duchess,” Octavius kept telling her, though there was no conviction in his voice. “It’ll be all right.”
She felt like an imposter in her elegant gown, her new title ill-fitting without Constantine by her side.
The door opened again, and yet again her heart leapt with hope. Please, let it finally be Constantine…
But as the crowd parted and whispers of shock and awe rippled through the congregation, Modesty’s heart sank.
The Regent himself walked down the aisle, head high, cold eyes on her. He wore a pristine black coat and breeches with a white cravat. His cheeks were ruddy, and his graying hair was in the windswept style.
Fortyne, Enveigh, and Irevrence stood up and hurried towards her, surrounding her protectively as the Regent approached.
“What is going on?” she demanded.
“Constantine is going to be further delayed,” said Fortyne, smiling at the Regent.
Disappointment and anger fought within her.
She felt tears prickle her eyes. “He’s not coming?”
“I’m afraid it’s unlikely,” said Irevrence, looking serious for once in his life.
Modesty felt her throat clench. “Why?”
Fortyne cleared his throat. “He’s detained. Trust me, he’d be here if he could.”
“What is the Regent doing here?” asked Enveigh quietly.
“Uh…that might be my fault,” murmured Eccess.
He shot her a guilty look. Did he have any signs of the drunkenness so typical for him? She could smell the faint odor of alcohol, but he maintained a perfectly composed appearance.
“How so?” she barked out.
“I…” He let out a deep sigh. “There was an exclusive soirée at Elysium last night. The Regent often invites me to those. Says I’m a good sport. Claims he doesn’t know anyone who shares his taste for fine wines and gastronomic delights so much as I do.”
“And?”
“And…I don’t remember most of the night. Goddamn it. I must have told him of the christening…” He paled. “I must have also told a few other lords who were in attendance…”
“Damnation, Octavius,” growled Enveigh under his breath. “You must get this drinking under control!”
With her pulse drumming in her palms, Modesty wished for the hundredth time she could just run away. She couldn’t have felt more abandoned and betrayed.
But, she supposed, she was made of stronger stuff than she had given herself credit for. Her father’s shoulders slumped at the sight of the Regent. But she, contrary to her old instinct, straightened her back even more, setting her neck higher.
She curtsied deeply—not so easy with a baby in her arms. “Your Royal Highness,” she managed, surprising herself with how steady her voice sounded. “We’re honored by your presence.”
Eccess and the three other dukes bowed. “Your Royal Highness.”
“There’s no need to guard the Duchess of Pryde like loyal dogs.” The Regent chuckled, looking the four of them over. “I’m not going to bite.”
Somehow, Modesty very much doubted he was as harmless as he claimed.
“Take your seats, gentlemen,” the Regent commanded.
“I’m afraid the duchess requires our assistance—” Fortyne started.
“No, she does not. Return to your seats.”
Modesty watched as some conflict was fought behind Fortyne’s, Enveigh’s, and Irevrence’s eyes for a few moments. But they did as requested, no doubt reluctant to make a scene and worsen the situation. Octavius, however, took one step closer to her.
“You look quite well for what last night brought,” the Regent said, looking Eccess over, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when his gaze returned to Modesty. “I wouldn’t dream of missing such an…interesting occasion,” he said, looking down at Augustus. “Though I can’t help but notice we’re missing the proud father. Or is it uncle twice removed? Thrice removed?I confess, I’m a bit unclear on the relationship.”
Modesty felt the blood drain from her face. “Augustus is the son of Constantine’s distant cousin, orphaned in a carriage accident just days after his birth.”
The Regent leaned in close, his voice low. “Of course he is. That is what I heard. And church records will, no doubt, reveal the truth.” Her skin prickled as he leaned even closer. “Might we have a private word, Duchess, if you please?”
“I should come, too,” said Eccess, for which she was entirely thankful.
“No, I do insist that you stay here,” said the Regent. “Take the child and wait.”
“But Your Royal Highness—” started the duke.
“Is the duchess not to be trusted with her prince?” asked the Regent sharply.
Modesty stared at Eccess, who was blinking rapidly. He shot her an apologetic, helpless look and took Augustus in his arms. “I merely hoped to be of assistance.”
The Regent nodded. “Then do so by holding the child.” He offered Modesty his elbow. “Duchess, if you please?”
She laid her hand on his elbow, and he steered her towards a small chapel, leaving the confused guests gaping in curiosity. Once inside, he turned to her, his expression a mixture of false sympathy and barely concealed triumph.
“How are you feeling, Duchess, given everything?” he began.
“Everything, Your Royal Highness?”
“Well, the rumors, of course. The duke has always had a spotless reputation. But then his hasty marriage to you, the latest publication implying his mama had a lover. Scandalous. And now this child, and a christening for which he is absent… This whole situation does leave me puzzled. And given the suspicious will the late Duke of Pryde left…”
She felt as if she had been abandoned to steer a sinking ship in the middle of a storm. Should she keep up the pretense that she knew everything? That Constantine had shared this information with her? She drew strength from the thought of the Dowager Duchess of Grandhampton and Lady Buchanan. They’d advise her to handle the situation diplomatically.
“I’m certain it’s only gossip,” she said.
“Certain, are you? Given that the will stipulates the title must pass to the former duke’s true blood heir?”
Modesty’s fingernails bit into her palms. She could not pretend any longer. She had to know the truth. “I don’t understand. Constantine is his heir.”
The Regent arched an eyebrow. “Is he? Then why such a stipulation in the will? Why such secrecy around this child? Why the rush to marry you, a woman so far below his station? No offense intended, of course.”
The pieces were starting to fall into place, but the picture they formed was still blurry. Constantine had told her Augustus was his father’s grandson. But why would that matter unless…
“Your husband has gone to great lengths to keep this child’s true identity a secret. One might wonder why, if there’s nothing to hide.”
Modesty’s head spun. The secrets, the blackmail, Constantine’s desperate need to protect his position—it all stemmed from this. The gossip about his mother and a clergyman, Augustus being his father’s grandson, and now this strange clause in the will. She could almost grasp the solution to this puzzle. The most obvious conclusion—if all that was true—was that Constantine wasn’t his father’s true son. He was the result of his mother’s rumored affair. But that couldn’t be so…
Her knees were weak. Her ears rang louder than her own thoughts. There must be another answer to all this, but she just couldn’t grasp it.
“I fear your husband may not be quite the man you believe him to be, my dear. Nor, indeed, the man any of us imagine. But do not distress yourself—all shall be revealed in due course. Rest assured, I am attending to the matter.”
He reached into his finely tailored coat and retrieved a letter, which he offered to her. She looked at it, but couldn’t take it, feeling as though it was a snake about to bite.
“I was hoping to give this to the duke personally. But I’m sure you will be so kind as to deliver it for me. He’s summoned for a hearing in front of the House of Lords, in three days.”
She took the letter in shaking hands. Was it possible to be angry with someone and yet want to protect them?
The Regent nodded with satisfaction. “For now, shall we return to the christening? Everyone is waiting.”
As the Regent guided her back to altar, Modesty felt as though she were moving through a fog. She put the letter in her reticule. The faces of the congregation blurred before her, their whispers a dull roar in her ears as she took her place at the font.
She barely noticed Eccess asking if she was all right, if she needed to sit down. She looked into his eyes, searching for answers. Did he know the extent of Constantine’s secrets? Did all of the dukes know?
She clutched Augustus closer as the weight of countless eyes pressed down on her. The whispers grew louder with each passing moment.
“What would you like to do, Modesty?” Papa asked. “Postpone?”
The suggestion sent a jolt of panic through her chest.
The ship was still sinking, but she was the one at the helm. She wouldn’t sacrifice anything more. She’d take charge and guide it safely to shore.
“No,” she said. “We have the godmother, and we still have one godfather. That is enough, is it not?”
Papa frowned as he eyed Eccess. “Are you certain, Your Grace? Will you accept the responsibility of being the child’s only godfather?”
Octavius hesitated, then gulped. His large palm almost swallowed Augustus’s little head as he patted it. “I will not let the duchess down.”
The ceremony began. As she held the baby over the font, watching the holy water trickle over his forehead, Modesty was determined to be strong for Augustus, no matter what came next. But underneath her calm, capable exterior was an aching sadness for the family they could have been. And fury at Constantine for letting her down.
Her father had taught her well—a proper, obedient woman always put others first, excused their poor behavior, shouldered their burdens without complaint. For years she’d done exactly that, making herself smaller to lift others higher. But standing here alone, abandoned on what should have been their family’s proudest day, she felt that old instinct dying inside her.
She didn’t deserve this betrayal.
Augustus didn’t, either.
The whispers and stares that would have crushed her months ago now barely touched her. She’d faced down the Regent and conducted Augustus’s christening with grace under extremely difficult circumstances. She was no longer that timid vicar’s daughter who shrank from confrontation. She was the Duchess of Pryde, and she would not let anyone—not the ton, not the Regent, not even her husband—make her feel small again.
She held herself together through the final congratulations, through Eccess’s concerned glances, through the slow dispersal of guests. But once she stood alone in the antechamber, her composure cracked. Her body shook as she held Augustus close, hot tears spilling onto his christening gown. Constantine’s desertion cut bone-deep, but she loved him still, God help her. Regretfully, love wasn’t enough to rebuild what his lies had broken.