Chapter 35
35
Modesty held Augustus, who was now asleep. There was a tremor in her hands that she couldn’t stop.
The warmth of her bedchamber in Pryde House enveloped her like a protective cocoon, so welcome after the biting wind and the churning waters of the Thames. The familiar scent of the lavender sachets her maid liked to lay between her clothes and the beeswax candles situated around the room gradually steadied her racing heart.
Seeing the baby so close to death… It would have all been her fault. Trusting George had been a terrible mistake.
Constantine had been right all along.
If only she had believed him… But how could she when he had held so much back?
She caught her reflection in the window—spine straight, chin high, the perfect picture of a dutiful daughter turned proper duchess. The image blurred as tears threatened. No. It was time to stop playing the role everyone expected of her.
It was time to stop blaming herself for everything that happened around her. Yes, she should have never entered George’s gig, never have believed him about a new Roman ruin, never have taken that tea.
She was still in shock about George’s betrayal.
But had Constantine told her his secrets from the beginning, she would have been more likely to trust his warnings.
She lowered Augustus into his cot, smoothed the creases of his swaddle, and brushed her knuckles down his rosy cheek.
Was she still angry with Constantine?
She was. Though she couldn’t help but understand his actions. The fear he’d lived with since he was a child. Constantly trying to compensate for his perceived flaws by striving for perfection—something no human could ever achieve.
And what had he done all this for?
For a title. For fortune. For status.
No. That wasn’t him.
She knew, at his very core, his actions weren’t for title, money, or reputation. It was his father’s approval he’d been seeking, long after the man’s death. His father’s—and generations of dukes before him. He’d thought his very existence made them ashamed.
What a miserable life.
The clock in the hallway struck the hour—it reminded her that Constantine should have been standing before the Regent, defending his title that morning. Instead, he’d chosen to come after her and Augustus. Her heart gave a peculiar flutter at the memory of his face when he’d reached for her on the ship. No mask of ducal perfection then—just raw fear and desperate love.
He hadn’t gone to the meeting to save his pride. When it mattered most, he chose her. Her and Augustus.
He was ready to sacrifice everything for them.
The door creaked open. Constantine stood there, hair still windblown, cheeks ruddy. His perfect ducal facade had been cracked wide open. He was holding a tray with a tea set, pastries, and biscuits, like a servant. Their eyes met.
Constantine hovered in the doorway. He had gone to the kitchen himself to give Modesty time to settle Augustus into his cot. To give her time to recover from the shock.
He thought she’d like some hot tea to warm up.
Though the floor wasn’t careening as it had on the ship, he still felt unbalanced. He didn’t think he’d feel steady ground under his feet again until he held his wife in his arms.
But soon, she’d want to separate from him in any way she could—once his resignation went through and he’d lost most of his possessions and his position.
He proceeded deeper into her room and put the tray on the round table as quietly as he could. She was standing by Augustus’s cot, following Constantine with her eyes. Outside, dusk was settling on London, and the candles that were lit around the room brought a golden-auburn glow into her hair. Augustus slept, adorable baby snores filling the quiet bedchamber.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked gently. “You must want to warm up.”
She nodded. “Yes, please.”
He poured the tea and brought it to her. She took the cup from the saucer, wrapping her hands around it and sighing deeply in satisfaction. He watched her plump, rosy lips curl around the edge as she sipped, closing her eyes briefly.
“Thank you, Constantine,” she said as her eyes met his. “Aren’t you having any?”
He cleared his throat. “No.”
Truth was, he couldn’t imagine taking a single sip or a bite.
He allowed himself to run his gaze over her body. “How are you feeling? You must still be shaken.”
“I’m fine. I should have believed you about George. If I had, none of this would have happened. But I was too vexed to listen.”
He shook his head. “No. Don’t say that. You were right. George was one of your oldest friends, and I’ve behaved like a complete ass. I hid things from you. I kept secrets. I…I betrayed you. It’s all on me, Modesty. None of what happened is your fault. And I’m just glad that you and Augustus are safe and well.”
Her shoulders sagged as if she was relieved. “It means a lot to hear you say this, Constantine. But still…”
There was a sharp pang in the center of his heart. “No, you have every right to be furious. I abandoned you and Augustus when I should have been there for you.”
Her shoulders lifted again. She put the cup on the table. “You should have. But then you wouldn’t have known the truth about George. I only wish you’d shared your secrets with me from the beginning.”
He nodded. “You’re right. I am so sorry I didn’t. This will always be the thing I regret most in my life. I was afraid to lose you. I have fallen in love with you, Modesty—and I was terrified that if I told you the worst things about myself, you’d think poorly of me. All my life I’ve lived terrified of the world learning my secret. Of losing everything that I felt lucky to have but that was never truly mine.”
She stepped closer to him, her gaze warming with empathy. “Oh, Constantine…”
He didn’t deserve her empathy, no matter how good it felt. “But I’ve corrected my mistake. Fortyne went to the House of Lords in my place to give my letter of resignation to His Royal Highness. I’ve given everything up for Augustus, it never belonged to me anyway. I should have done it the moment I learned of his existence. No. I should have done it the moment Ophelia came seeking my help. I’m so sorry. I made sure you’re always going to be his guardian.”
Modesty’s eyes clouded with confusion.
But before she could speak, he needed to say one of the most difficult things in his life. He loved her. And if it meant letting her go, he’d do it, no matter how much it would destroy him. The words poured out of him. “I am not asking for your forgiveness. I wouldn’t blame you if you could never forgive me, if we can never return to the happiness we once knew. And now, with my title gone, you have every right to seek an annulment. I misled you—committed fraud by concealing the truth about my identity. The Bishop of London would surely understand and grant an annulment. If freedom from me is what you desire, I will not stand in your way.”
He knew he’d never be able to forget her, though. She’d become a part of him. Even if she wished nothing to do with him, he’d watch over her and Augustus from a distance, protecting them if they needed him to.
Whatever she wished, he’d give her, expecting nothing in return.
“An annulment?” Her eyes widened, and she blinked, looking hurt. “I didn’t realize that was something you wanted.”
“No, I don’t want it. But if you wish it, I will not oppose.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Constantine…” Then she cupped his face in her hands. Her touch… He hadn’t thought he’d ever feel it again. It was heaven, simple and sweet. “I don’t want an annulment.”
Something loosened in him, and he exhaled deeply. Relief.
“You don’t?” he asked. “Why?”
“Because I love you.”
“You…love me?” he repeated, struck dumb. “After everything I’ve done?”
She shook her head with a soft smile. “I’ve loved you for some time now. And I understand why you did what you did. You’ve been chasing something unattainable your entire life. Your father’s approval. His love.”
Everything he was tightened in a spasm and then released. It was like the armor he’d worn all his life had dissolved. Like he didn’t need to fit into a mold anymore.
It felt strange. New. Completely foreign.
But wonderful.
He felt free.
“How did you know?” he began.
“Because I felt the same thing, darling.” She smiled. “Only, I chased approval by trying to fit the role of an invisible, obedient woman. But neither of us needs to be shaped by those molds anymore.”
“But…”
He was speechless. She understood him…when he couldn’t even understand himself.
“I’ve seen the real you,” she said. “Because you showed him to me. I saw the man behind the mask. And I’ve loved you since that day.”
His entire life he was sure he’d never kneel in front of anyone. Not his father, not the Regent, not the ton.
It was love that did it. His knees loosened, and something he’d never felt overcame him.
Surrender.
Love for her filled him to the brim, and a complete gratitude spread through him. There were no more barriers, no more walls, nothing more to defend.
He barely felt the impact as his knees connected with the floor. Modesty gasped softly in surprise—he was surprised, too. But there he was, wrapping his arms around his wife’s hips, burying his face in her soft stomach, inhaling her scent—lavender, wildflowers, and the heavenly sweetness of her skin. She knew him like no one else, and she fully accepted him.
“I love you, Modesty,” he murmured against her. “I’m yours—fully and completely. And if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy. Without a title, without a large fortune, but I’ll make up for it, I promise.”
Her hands caressed his hair, and he reveled at the touch of her fingers.
“No.” She chuckled. “I mean, I don’t care about the fortune, the title, or any of that. I will stay with you no matter what. What I meant was…”
She tugged him up to stand in front of her. He looked deep into her gorgeous green eyes, sinking in them.
“You didn’t have to resign,” she finished.
“I did. I want Augustus to take his rightful place.”
She shook her head. “You think you’re not your father’s son. But that’s not true, and I have proof. Your mama was mistaken—we will never know why she thought the parson was your true father, but we do know one thing.”
Constantine’s skin tingled in protest. Not true? No, he knew it like he knew his own body. That had been his reality for most of his life.
She wrapped her arm through his elbow and led him to the cot. Augustus was sleeping, his lips half-opened as he snored softly, still a little congested. She gently undid the laces of his baby cap and lifted it on the right side of his head so that Constantine could see the birthmark in the shape of a wolf.
“Do you see that?” she asked.
“I do. I noticed it long ago.”
The baby’s hair was starting to come in, fine blond strands beginning to cover the mark.
“You have the same one,” she said.
He frowned, touching his head. “Where?”
She went to pick up the hand mirror from her dressing table. “In the same exact spot. Come here,” she said as she beckoned him to stand by the big mirror. “This will take a little maneuvering…”
She positioned the mirror at an angle behind him, and when he could see the back of his head in the polished surface, she parted his hair with her free hand. It was a little hard to see at first through his thick, dark hair, but then he could distinguish a shape…a mark the same wine-stained color as Augustus’s…
The wolf’s head.
“What does this mean?” he asked.
“It means you two are connected by blood. Some birthmarks are passed down through families, like other traits such as hair color, eye color, facial features. A birthmark in same shape and location cannot be a coincidence. It means you must be your father’s true son, after all.”
“No,” he murmured. His world was tilting on its axis. “That can’t be. I don’t look like Papa. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and a Roman nose—same as Ophelia, same as Augustus…”
She chuckled as she watched him with a calm smile. “Yes, you have your mama’s coloring, and maybe that’s why she assumed you were not your father’s son. But the birthmark is clearly from your papa since Augustus has it, too. I noticed it when I combed your hair after…well…” She blushed.
Oh, Constantine remembered… In the bathtub, after she had fallen apart around him, and he’d felt for the first time that he could be himself with her.
She put the mirror away and looked at him, empathy shining through her eyes. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it was significant that you and your son would have the same birthmark. Then when you shared that Augustus was your father’s heir, I thought it was also obvious that you both are your father’s descendants. So I didn’t pay it any mind. But now that I know you doubt your blood relation to your father… There’s nothing else that can prove your blood ties better than this.”
His world was careening, transforming.
Relief…anger…regret…rushed through his heart and stayed in a strange mixture of swirling emotions.
All he was trying to be—desperately, obsessively—all he could never be…
He already was.
What a jest.
What a complete and utter jest.
His hands dropped to his sides.
“I am the Buccleigh heir…” he murmured. “My father’s true son…”
“You are. And Ophelia was your half-sister. So Augustus is your true nephew.”
“So George was powerless.”
“He was. And he never had your mother’s letter. He was bluffing all along.”
He stared at his reflection in the large mirror, trying to make sense of all this. “I left everything to Augustus and you. I wrote a letter resigning my title for Augustus’s sake. And I made sure a significant part of my fortune that wasn’t tied to the title belonged to you.”
She smiled as she cupped his face, and he met her eyes. “You’re a more generous and thoughtful man than you let others believe. But I’m sure the Regent will not be bold enough to take away your title when he is shown evidence that you are the rightful heir. Especially since there is no actual proof to suggest otherwise. Only gossip.”
Constantine exhaled. “Fortyne took the letter to the House of Lords this morning, but nothing will be signed or decided upon today.”
“So you can ask for an audience with the Regent and show him the birthmarks. Tell him the scandal was started by a jealous suitor not in his right mind. I’m sure your six dukes will support you, as well as the Duke of Grandhampton, the Duke of Kelford, and the rest of the Seatons.”
His throat relaxed and softened. The man he used to be would have protested, too proud to ask for help. But he no longer felt the need to justify himself, to prove anything to anyone. All he wanted, all he needed, was already his.
“I am sorry you had to go through all that,” she said, laying her hand on his chest, “just to discover you were the heir all along.”
He drew in a slow lungful of air. For the first time, his heart was full and peaceful, all its broken, jagged pieces glued together. “I am not sorry,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her to him. “I don’t care. Let them gossip. I would go through all this again if it led me to you.”
A slow, happy smile spread her lips. “Oh.”
“With the exception that I would have helped Ophelia and would have never sent her away. That decision will always be my reminder of pride’s consequences. But thanks to you, I have realized who I really am and have come to peace with myself.”
“You are a good man.” She cupped his face. “The best person I know.”
“I disagree. That position will always belong to you, my duchess. You healed me. I’ve been convinced my whole life I needed to be perfect to be happy. To be appreciated. To be respected. But you showed me I don’t need to be perfect at all.”
She was melting in his arms. Warm and soft and so wonderfully his.
“I love you, Constantine,” she said. “Perfect…imperfect…you. For all that you are.”
He breathed out and felt like he was about to burst with lightness and joy. Words poured from a warm place in the middle of his chest. “My darling, ‘love’ doesn’t begin to describe what I feel for you. You’re the reason for my existence. My heart began to beat for you the moment I saw you in that church, even if I kept denying it. I may have offered you a marriage, but it was never for convenience. I’ve wanted you—in my bed, in my house, in my life—since that day. My future doesn’t exist without you in it. Somewhere, someone designed me and made it so that I could never be complete or happy without you. Please know this, darling, in me, you have a trusted friend, a husband, a lover, a protector, and a servant bound to your happiness. I don’t need anything from you but you, existing, breathing, living somewhere in this life. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I always will.”
Tears filled her eyes, but before she could respond, he pressed his lips to hers in a long, slow kiss that had his whole body tingling with love for her. There were no more secrets in his soul. He stood bare and open—for her, for the little boy he’d accepted as his family, and for the best friends he could ever have in the world.
They were the true treasures of his life, not his title or his fortune or his reputation. Not his father’s approval—or society’s.
This woman had seen straight into his heart and chosen him and made him see that he didn’t need anything external to feel worthy and loved. Didn’t need masks and rigid defenses to belong.
He already did. Thanks to her, he’d found his home was where he’d been all his life, even though he hadn’t felt it.
He knew it now. Her love had showed it to him.
From this day forward, he had a lifetime to make her just as blissful as she made him.