Page 79 of Never a Proper Lady

Constantine heaved a defeated sigh and dragged his attention back to his mother.

Consternation shone in her eyes.

“In point of fact, I did. Let’s just say my ineptness was not well-received.”

“Hmm, perhaps you might try something a trifle more romantic next time?”

A glint of humor replaced her dismay.

“Next time?” He scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor, regret bludgeoning his heart. “There won’t be a next time, I’m afraid. Faith is leaving in two days.”

“Pshaw. You’re a scientist, Constantine.” A twinkle entered her eyes, now filled with maternal affection and pride. “Do you give up the first time when conducting an experiment or research when the results are not what you wished or hoped for?”

No. He certainly did not. He took a different approach. Over and over until he found what worked. But that took time, and he didn’t have time.

True, but he did have tonight and tomorrow.

The minuet ended, and after bowing and curtsying, the couples ambled from the dance floor.

Holding a glass of champagne, Leopold chatted with Father and a couple of the duke’s cronies. He spied their mother in deep conversation with Constantine and cocked an eyebrow as if to say, Glad it’s you and not me, old chap.

Face flushed and appearing wholly vexed, Uncle Hayward plowed his way through the throng toward Father, unceremoniously shoving guests out of the way. His rudeness earned him several scowls, and not a few muttered reprimands.

He seemed uncharacteristically frazzled and didn’t even offer Lady Wortley-Titherton an apology when his pumping elbow jabbed her arm, causing her to splash champagne down her well-endowed, violet silk-covered bosom.

Her strangled shriek of outrage paled in comparison to Miss Looram’s when Uncle accidentally tripped Mr. Neville Dempsey, Wilfred Howerton’s shy and awkward curate. Flapping his arms like a stork about to take flight, the unlucky fellow took the flailing and screeching Miss Looram to the floor with him, landing atop her.

Several guests, including Howerton and Charlotte, rushed to assist them.

Across the ballroom, Cedric dissolved into laughter at the spectacle, his shoulders shaking so hard that he dashed out the open terrace doors.

“Constantine, pay attention.”

His mother whacked his shoulder with her fan—this one a gold and ivory lace affair.

Just how many fans did Mother own?

For her not to notice the commotion across the dance floor meant she was good and truly absorbed in his dilemma.

“Yes, Mother?”

“I’ve seen how you and Miss Roth look at each other when you think the other isn’t looking. Love is different for everyone, dear. Don’t discount your feelings because they don’t mimic what you’ve seen others experience.”

That was exactly what he’d done.

Convinced himself he didn’t love Faith because he wasn’t a mopey, confused mess like Harvey or giddy as a grig, a perpetually grinning sot like Brockman.

What Faith made Constantine feel defied description. Words were inadequate, especially for a man not eloquent with words.

She made him a better person. Everything seemed more vibrant and intense when Faith was near. She invoked deep abiding contentment and filled his soul with joy.

And he wanted to be with her, day and night, in every situation. Wanted to share his thoughts, ideas, dreams, and worries just to hear her voice and see her eyes alight with excitement or soften with compassion.

If that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was.

He, Lord Constantine Peyton Harland Kellinggrave, loved the impossible, obstinate, clever, witty, beautiful, maddening as Hades Faith Roth.

Stupid dolt.