Page 71 of Never a Proper Lady

“Do you know where you came from? Who your family is?” he asked, not wanting to pry but genuinely interested in knowing more about her.

He stepped over a large stone, startling a brown hairstreak butterfly sunning itself.

“No. None of us do, although a few girls have been able to uncover the truth once they leave the academy.”

She pushed her bonnet off her head and let it dangle down her back. As was her wont, she wore no gloves. She possessed slim fingers with well-tended, oval-shaped nails, and somehow, she’d managed to rid the pink flesh of ink stains.

His own digits still bore a smudge or two, and he’d scrubbed them with pumice.

“We do know we were unwanted. Our names were changed to protect the identity of whoever decided we were inconvenient. Mrs. Shepherd, the proprietress, gave each of us a biblical name, and we all carry a version of her surname as well, Shepherd. She says we are all her daughters.”

“And do you know your given name?”

They were nearly to the top. Constantine’s breath came quicker as the incline steepened.

A pair of turtle doves took to wing at his approach. Probably nesting in the oak. They preferred dense pines, but as they built up to six nests each season, a pair wasn’t always particular where they constructed a nest.

The sun had edged higher in the sky, feathering the drowsy sky in hues of amber, lavender, and peach. Early mornings were Constantine’s favorite time of day. It was a rare day indeed that he stayed abed past five.

“No.” She shook her head, causing that loose tendril to spring loose again. “We aren’t told anything about our origins on purpose.”

A nuance of regret whisked across Faith’s porcelain features.

She cared more than she let on.

“They’re carefully guarded secrets. It’s all part of the agreement. Girls are provided a home, an education, and training for a profession. We are never meant to know anything about our families.”

She fingered the yellow-green ribbon tied at her neck.

“When I consider the alternatives, I’m grateful. At least someone cared enough to ensure I was provided for. I wasn’t abandoned on the street. That’s something, isn’t it?”

Those mesmerizing eyes searched Constantine’s, a tinge of uncertainty in hers.

Growing up knowing you were unwanted—an inconvenience—even if the academy was a remarkably unique institution must’ve been heartbreaking.

He made an affirmative sound in his throat. “It’s more than many have, but knowing you as I do, you’d rather know the truth. Sordid, scandalous, and all.”

She chuckled and pulled her bonnet back on.

“Sometimes I think I want to know, and other times…” She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t really care.”

They’d reached the top. Slightly out of breath, Faith asked, “What difference would it make? It’s not as if I’d track down my family and show up at their doorstep. They didn’t want me.”

No bitterness or rancor laced her voice.

Unlike Martin, she’d accepted her lot in life.

Constantine’s heart twinged for her, nonetheless.

He’d grown up surrounded by a loving family who, even when perturbed with him, would all rally to his side if he needed them.

They would rally to Faith’s too. If she were your wife.

Hold there, he chastised his conscience.

Yes, Constantine wanted Faith to stay on as his scrivener, but he wasn’t in love with her. Not once had he gone moon-eyed, awkward, and tongue-tied as his friends and Harvey were wont to do, though each would deny it. Their masculine pride wouldn’t allow for the vulnerability being in love created.

True, Faith had caused Constantine a sleepless night or two or ten, and he’d spent a good deal of time thinking about her. But in London, it was because she exasperated him to no end, and here, he’d been concerned about the uncomfortable predicament she’d been forced into.