Page 55 of Never a Proper Lady

I shall be traveling outside of England soon and shall require a passport. As you’ve traveled extensively, I need your advice. How were you able to acquire a passport without knowledge of where you were born or providing information regarding your parentage?

Are there other traveling papers required for specific countries?

I am so looking forward to seeing you at Joy’s…

~Miss Faith Roth, in a letter to Miss Trinity Ablethorne,

started but not finished because Lady Edyth entered the room

Dovetonwick Court stables

Two hours later

Faith hadn’t left.

At least not by coach or horse. That knowledge should have brought Constantine a degree of peace, but it did not. His stomach remained a knotted ball of guilt and concern.

Everything within him told him she would find a way to flee. Not because she feared what the tattlemongers said, or that the fake betrothal was likely exposed, or because Constantine had disparaged her to Leopold.

No, Miss Faith Roth was too stalwart and intrepid to let those things deter her.

She’d leave because she couldn’t face Constantine after his brutality.

Dual whips of remorse and regret upbraided him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t known Faith hid behind the draperies and would never have opened his mouth had he been aware.

He closed his eyes for a blink.

Please, God. Give me a chance to make amends.

Constantine wasn’t in the habit of praying, but if the good Lord saw fit to grant his petition and help repair the damage Constantine had inflicted, he’d start praying regularly. In fact, he’d make church attendance, Bible reading, and prayer part of his regime.

For a man of science and logic, true concessions, indeed.

What was that scripture his mother used to quote when he and his siblings squabbled, saying hurtful things and then claiming they didn’t mean what they’d said in anger?

The things that come from a person’s mouth come from the heart.

That truth scraped his conscience raw until he felt bloodied and bruised.

It was no more than he deserved.

He’d succumbed to his blasted pride and jealousy, causing Faith, the bravest, smartest, cleverest woman he knew, untold pain.

Hands on his hips, Constantine perused the tidy stable. Horses whickered and snorted equestrian greetings. The typical aromas of hay, horseflesh, and leather lingered in the air. Normally, nostalgia filled him when in the stables, bringing memories of hide-and-seek in the lofts or litters of sweet-faced mewling kittens and puppies. And newborn foals.

Not tonight.

No, tonight, self-recrimination blotted out happier times.

“And you’re certain, Magnus, that no one has requested a conveyance or a horse saddled within the past two or three hours?” Constantine asked for the third—or was it the fourth?—time.

“Positive, Lord Constantine.” Peering around the stalls, Magnus shook his head, nearly bald except for a fringe of pewter-gray hair curling over his large ears. “I’ve been here all evenin’. All the horses are accounted for, even the guests’. No one went anywhere unless they were on foot.”

Faith wouldn’t be that foolhardy.

It was four miles to Bishop’s Knoll. Even with the moonlight, the trek to the small village was dark and foreboding, though there was little chance of wild animals attacking her. Besides, Edyth had checked her bedchamber an hour and a half ago on his behalf, and Faith hadn’t removed her possessions.

She must be on Dovetonwick Court grounds, but where?