Invitations to balls and soirees arrived in tidal waves from the same people who had not long ago shunned her as undesirable. At first she had been skeptical, but she had accepted a few invitations and had been stunned at her reception. She was received with the greatest of cordiality by Lady Blade, whose musicale Constance attended. The countess and her daughter Lady Elisabeth had made every effort to converse and entertain her. Their efforts had been remarked upon on several occasions, before a few of society’s matrons had fo
und one matter or another to comment to Constance.
Callers had been slower, but they had presented themselves to Lord Radcliffe’s townhouse all smiles and charming grace. A few young men had tried to invite her on carriage rides, but she rejected them all. Lord Litchfield proposed once again and she refused him as gently as possible, to his outrage. He had gotten a bit nasty, referring to her as soiled goods. His profuse apology a few seconds later had fallen on deaf ears, and she had not seen him since.
Her most surprising callers had been influential ladies of the haute monde, more acquainted with her mother than herself. The only lady that had seemed genuine and caring had been the beautiful Lady Ashford. She had been so warm and sincere, and within a few minutes Constance had relaxed with her. Constance had even dined at Lady Ashford’s London home, where she met Lady Ashford’s dashing and somewhat roguish husband and their children. At first, Constance had been apprehensive, but the earl had charmed her, especially with his vivid and gripping tales of his adventures in Africa.
She had then attended Lady Prescott’s soirée only at Jocelyn, Phillipa, and Lady Ashford’s encouragement, and it was there she noted that the whispers had faded. The first young man to have requested her hand for a dance had been severely embarrassed by her rejection. It had not been intentional for her to walk away without responding. Her shock had been simply too great. Constance had, of course realized, what was happening. Someone was influencing her acceptance into society, but the joy of being received so well meant nothing to her. It had been a startling admission to realize the folds she would have desperately wanted to be accepted into a few months ago, were now inconsequential. She had no interest in men, especially those now seemed eager to court her.
Sebastian and Anthony noted the shift, had even mentioned they believed Lucan had something to do with it. Her breath had caught, and she had worked to hide all emotions at that declaration. Despite the pain that lingered in her heart, she missed him fiercely. But it was the dreams that tormented her. Wildly inappropriate dreams of her splayed open to him, while he poured champagne over her skin and licked her. Everywhere. She would awaken in shambles of twisted need, between her legs throbbing in a desperation she did not understand. Constance only knew she ached for him, that in the nights when everyone slept, she wept for what they could have been.
“Constance.” The warm tones of her mother had her closing the volume she had been reading.
“Yes, Mother?”
“You have a personal invitation.”
Her mother handed her a peach vellum paper with Constance’s name elegantly scrawled across its back. She reached for the letter opener and slit the seal, curious as to its content. She read it in silence, her heart thumping.
“What is it my dear?”
“It is an invitation to Lady Ellington’s annual ball.” The dowager duchess of Ellington’s invitation was most sought after.
Constance gave it to her mother who scanned the short but very personalized invitation, before handing it back to her.
“Would you like to attend?” her mother asked as her usual wont for all invitations they received of late.
Constance felt very ambivalent about it. Her mother showed some excitement, and Constance had to remind herself she was not the only party affected. While Lucan had ensured most of society’s scorn was directed at her, her mother had been affected as well. Her hand trembled, and she clenched the invitation in her hands. When would it abate? The pain that came whenever Constance thought about all she had endured and the knowledge that the man who had kissed and touched her so intimately was the same one who had encouraged society to shred her. She pushed the bitter thoughts from her mind and smiled in what she hoped was an excited manner. “Yes, I believe I will.”
Her mother nodded in approval and sipped her lemonade. “I believe it would be wise, my dear, to accept a few dance partners at this one. Even if it is only Lord Litchfield.”
“No,” Constance said firmly. On that she would not budge. While she did not rebel against society for seeking to forgive her perceived infractions, she had not forgiven them as readily as her mother.
“Constance,” her mother said with an exasperated sigh. “You must not behave foolishly. I have heard several young men referring to you as the Untouchable One, and in admiring tones. I need not remind you how swiftly the tide of society’s opinion can change. Lord Litchfield has tried at least twice this week to walk with you in the park, and you have refused him. He is an exceedingly agreeable man. With a good fortune and connections and I can see you having a good life with him.”
“I do not care about society’s opinion nor for the regard of Lord Litchfield.”
“Then what do you care about?” her mother snapped, slamming the glass of lemonade on the center table. “Sebastian has secured a bevy of invitations for you this week, and you have rejected them all. You have pleaded with him to not secure an invitation for you to the Prince of Wales’ annual country house party. This indifference you display cannot continue.”
Constance closed her eyes and gathered her composure. “I care about purchasing winter clothes and supplies for the home Mr. and Mrs. Benton operates. I care about hiring a tutor to help them educate the unwanted children they so generously care for. Not balls, not riding, and not picnics, and certainly not suitors. And most of all, I care about Charlotte, mother. My only friend that you thought to dismiss from my life despite my pleas.” And Lucan, I care about Lucan.
Her mother had the grace to blush and look discomfited. At every opportunity Constance inserted her anger at her mother’s actions against Charlotte.
“She endangered you. I could no longer, in good conscience, have her remain employed here. Your father agreed.”
Constance closed her eyes in frustration lest she screamed. “Charlotte did not endanger me mother. She acted as a true and caring friend by willingly following me into the club. I had been determined, and she understood. Instead you punished her for it. That is what I care about, the well-being of my friend. She needed this job, and you terminated her without any reference.”
She had argued with her mother on several occasions, ever since she received Charlotte’s note informing her that she was considering becoming the mistress of Marcus Stone. His mistress. Charlotte had not divulged the circumstances that led her to entering such an arrangement no matter how Constance had inquired. She had promised to send money and sell her diamonds if Charlotte needed, but her friend had refused. Constance had never felt so helpless. But she was soothed by Charlotte’s daily letters, which indicated she was at least safe, and she even seemed happy.
“Please excuse me, Mother. I have a bit of headache, and I need some fresh air.” Constance rose and exited the parlor, heading for the entrance that led to the gardens. Charlotte had encouraged her to travel with Anthony and Phillipa on their grand tour, and Constance had been in firm agreement. There was nothing for her in England, and she badly needed space to heal and forget Lucan. She only prayed with distance the tormenting dreams that left her so needy would dissipate, and she could move on with her life.
…
Lady Ellington’s annual ball was a crushing success. Lucan stepped out tonight for the first time in weeks, wanting to observe Constance’s reception for himself. He had been careful to ensure he was not seen at the same social gathering as her over the past few weeks, not wanting their names to be linked. After only being inside the glittering ballroom for a few minutes, the soft whispers of voices referring to her as the Untouchable One reached his ears and infuriated him. He drifted through the crowd, skillfully staying in the background listening. While he was angry at her new moniker, he felt pleased with the other whispers he heard from Lady Prescott to a group of other high society ladies lounging by the refreshment table.
“Lady Constance is a most extraordinary young lady. In character and in her mind. So elegant and well poised,” Lady Prescott murmured.
“Indeed,” the Countess of Blade affirmed.
“I have always thought her well-mannered and intelligent.”
Lucan made a note to forgive Lord Prescott his debt at Decadence, and to gift Lady Blade’s daughters horses sired from his much coveted thoroughbred champions. Heat rippled over his skin, and instinct had him slipping behind a column as he discreetly scanned the crowed room. When he spied Constance, need drove the air from his lungs. Draped in a silver gown, low cut enough where he could see the swell of her breasts, the lady looked exquisite. Floral designs embroidered the hems of her dress and sleeves, and similarly in her hair that was plaited to appear like a crown on her head, and rubies dripped from her ears and throat. She was oblivious to the many admiring and envious stares of young ladies and gentlemen. In fact, the look on her face was sheer boredom.
“Beautiful isn’t she?” an intense voice asked from beside him.
Lucan glanced at the Viscount of Belfry, trying to ignore the flare of hot jealously that filled him at the look of hunger in the man’s eyes. But Lucan needed to do better in masking his emotions. The only reason Belfry could possibly have to mention Constance was because he must have seen the naked desire Lucan stared at her with. He needed to be more discreet, but to look at her without being able to touch her hurt.
“She is,” he agreed, forcing his limbs to relax.
The man gave him a probing look, and Lucan could see the knowledge of the rumors in Belfry’s eyes. Lucan could also see the speculation.
“Lady Constance has yet to favor any man with a dance, perhaps she is waiting for a request from you,” Belfry insinuated slyly.
Lucan forced himself to chuckle disarmingly, very much aware of the way several ladies and lords were suddenly attentive and trying not to be obvious. A few even had the temerity to step closer. “I have tried, but the lady refused me. Said I am not fit to lick her shoes,” Lucan drawled.
Everyone went quiet and a young lady gasped.