Impassioned by Darcy Burke
Chapter 21
Arriving at the ducal residence, Constantine marched up the steps, eager for the coming interview. Bender admitted him inside, taking his hat and gloves, and Constantine went directly to his father’s study. The duke was seated behind his desk, as usual.
The fury Constantine felt at learning his father was behind Brightly’s expulsion from White’s intensified. He was angry about so many things, including the duke’s overall meddling and manipulation. “You’re despicable,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” the duke barked.
Constantine straightened. A righteous wrath pulsed through him. “I am done working to please you. That’s all I ever craved—to be the heir you wanted me to be, so you’d be proud. Every decision I made, every action I took was all to be the man I thought I had to be, the man you insisted I be.” The words poured out of him, bringing a clarity he’d never experienced. “Then, as I grew older, I wanted to be sure I would never be on the receiving end of your disappointment and disdain, as Lucien was. As he is. I should have stood up for him. I should have shown him that not everyone is a callous, cruel autocrat like you.”
“It seems I arrived at the perfect moment.” Lucien sauntered into the room wearing a smug smile, but there was something beneath the surface—a thrumming, dangerous energy that belied his good humor. There was also a faint bruise on his cheek from where Constantine had struck him the night before. “Don’t be hard on yourself, Con. If not for you pleasing the old man, it would have been much worse for all of us. I accepted long ago that our good son-bad son situation works to both our advantage.” He took a position next to Constantine, facing their father’s desk.
The duke stood, his jaw clenched in fury. If he was going to speak, he didn’t get a chance, for Constantine had warmed to his ire.
He folded his arms over his chest. “I hear you had Brightly expelled from White’s. I hope you’re happy with that because I’m going to withdraw my membership as soon as I leave here. If it’s not good enough for a man with as much integrity and generosity as Brightly, it certainly isn’t the place for me.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” The duke sputtered. “You can’t. You’re my heir.”
Constantine shrugged. “Your heir will simply frequent Brooks’s.”
Their father’s hands fisted at his sides, and his eyes narrowed with rage. “Travesty.”
“Or the Phoenix Club,” Lucien suggested cheerfully.
In that moment, Constantine decided he would accept the invitation. Not just to irritate his father, though that was an enormous benefit, but to support his brother. Though Constantine was still quite angry with him for his meddling, he knew it came from Lucien’s desire to help others. It was why he’d started the club with its particular purpose. It occurred to Constantine in that moment that there was likely a reason for Lucien’s actions. He’d always seemed to have friends in excess, popularity among everyone, and an uncanny ability to charm and woo. But what if he’d felt isolated and alone because of their father, and even because of Constantine? What if he helped others in an effort to help himself?
A wave of understanding washed over Constantine, taking his breath away. He had accountability in his father’s treatment of his brother, just as he did with his marriage. It was long past time he stepped out of his father’s shadow, that he be the man he wanted to be. A man who wasn’t dispassionate like their father. In fact, Constantine realized he was the opposite of that. He was passionate about his work, his racing, and, most of all, his wife.
“You can’t leave White’s,” the duke declared, slicing his hand through the air. “I forbid it. Furthermore, I forbid you from coming to fisticuffs as you did at that catastrophe of a ball last night!”
Constantine exchanged an incredulous look with Lucien, who said, “We aren’t children, Father.”
The duke narrowed his eyes at Lucien. “Then stop acting as if you are. I can expect this sort of embarrassing behavior from you, but from Aldington?” He swung his angry gaze to Constantine. “I expect better from you.”
“How sad that you don’t expect the same things from your sons. You should. We were both raised by you.” But the duke had treated them differently, and Constantine was only just beginning to see how much. “I realize this will be hard for you to comprehend, Father, but my decision to leave White’s is not up for debate. You have no control over me, and your tutelage, or whatever this lifelong management has been, is over. I am my own man now. I will vote for—or against—things in the manner I choose, and I will allow my butler and his wife to have a cat in my house.” The duke had admonished him for that later on during the ball. “And if I want to hit my brother when he behaves like you, I will.” He glanced toward Lucien who mouthed the word “Ouch.”
Constantine continued, “I will also encourage my wife to assist my sister in any way she sees fit. She may not be her formal sponsor, but she will be there at Cassandra’s side, steering her toward success and, more importantly, happiness.” Constantine hoped she would anyway. There was so much he needed to say to her.
Lucien pivoted toward him and began to clap. “Bravo, brother. Bravo.”
The duke’s face pinched, and Constantine didn’t think he’d ever seen his father look more uncomfortable. “Lucien, leave us,” their father intoned. “Close the door on your way out.”
Constantine flicked a glance at his brother, whose features registered surprise. He gave Constantine an encouraging look, then left.
Clearing his throat, the duke sat back down. He settled his gaze on some sport behind Constantine. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t wish to discuss it. Just listen and go.”
Alarm raced through Constantine, but he said nothing. He’d never seen his father so stoic—but there was also a steady pulse in his throat, indicating the duke was not at ease.
“I don’t talk about your mother because I cannot. Loving her and losing her is the greatest pain I will ever know. You think I let her die, and sometimes I think that too. I summoned that surgeon. I allowed him to treat your mother over a period of time. I was blind with worry.” His voice tightened. “Then she died. You blame the surgeon and me. I only blame myself.”
A burning anguish sparked in Constantine’s chest. “I don’t—”
The duke’s gaze darted toward Constantine, but only for a second. “You do and we aren’t discussing this. If you speak again, I’ll stop.”
Constantine pressed his lips together and clasped his hands tightly behind his back.
“I chose Sabrina as your wife because she seemed a perfect match—good pedigree, beautiful, biddable, and utterly unremarkable in personality or passion. I thought it best you have a wife whom you would not love or be close to as I was with your mother. Having and losing that is a devastation I would never wish on my children.” He coughed.
“I can see, however, that despite my best intentions, you are enamored of your wife. While this causes me distress, it is because I fear for you should you lose her. I shall pray that does not happen.”
Constantine’s throat constricted. He wanted to speak but wasn’t sure he could even if he’d been allowed.
“I never meant to cause you pain. I was trying to save you from it. I am proud of you, even if I don’t agree with your actions.” The duke sniffed, and now his gaze found Constantine’s. “This is between us. I ask—and expect—that you not share this with your brother or sister. It doesn’t concern them in any way.”
Constantine couldn’t keep from asking, “Do you have the same hope for them, that they won’t marry for love?”
The duke glowered at him, and Constantine knew the interview was finished. And his father would never acknowledge this conversation had ever occurred. Even if he tried to tell Lu and Cass, they probably wouldn’t believe him. Constantine wasn’t sure he believed it himself.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “I love you, Father.”
Turning, Constantine walked out of the study. In the foyer, he retrieved his hat and gloves and bade Bender good evening.
Lucien was waiting for him outside.
Constantine sent him a perturbed stare. “I’m still annoyed with you.” His gaze fixed on the god-awful cravat his brother was wearing. “That neckcloth is the color of goose shit.”
“I know.” Lucien grinned. “Isn’t it wonderful?” He always wore an obnoxious cravat when visiting the duke. Wiping his hand over his mouth, he sobered. “You should be annoyed with me. But damn, did you have to say I acted like Father?”
“You were meddling and manipulating. Surely, you see the resemblance.”
“Though it pains me to no small degree, yes. I truly only meant to help, not manipulate. Between your frigidity and your wife’s terror, you were never going to find your way in marriage—or in bed. And you needed to.”
“How do you know about Sabrina’s anxiety? How did you even know to ‘help’ us in the first place?”
Lucien exhaled. “Your wife heard about my reputation for helping people and came to me—initially for help with obtaining a new wardrobe and making a splash this Season. I sent her to Mrs. Renshaw for assistance and, ah, Evie learned the true heart of the matter, that the countess wished to seduce you.”
“Is that what Sabrina said?” Because wanting to seduce her husband wasn’t the same as wanting a child, which is what she’d told him when she’d arrived in town. They could have accomplished the latter doing what they’d always done. But if she’d truly wanted seduction all along, they could have avoided a great many assumptions and misunderstandings. He realized that was the core of their discontent, not their inability to come together in bed.
“I don’t exactly recall,” Lucien responded. “You should know that she was reluctant at first.”
“I wish we’d been able to talk to each other without your meddling,” he whispered. “That we’d been able to be ourselves and not what others pushed us to be.”
“Oh hell, Con.” Lucien put his arms around him and hugged him tightly.
The action was shocking but incredibly necessary. Constantine hugged him back as years of stockpiled emotion loosened and flooded forth.
“I’m sorry,” Lucien said, stepping back as Constantine blinked repeatedly. “But wasn’t it worth it? You were both so happy. I thought you may have been in love.”
“I was. I am. Desperately. Though, I’m afraid she may not return the emotion.”
“I can’t say for certain, but she looked like a woman in love to me. Watching you together at the ball when everything was going horribly wrong was wonderfully satisfying. You appeared as partners, and I was sure your marriage was saved.”
“I thought so too, but then I fucked it up.”
Lucien’s jaw dropped in mock horror. “Such language! What are you going to do about it? About her?”
“I’m going home to my wife.”
“An excellent plan.” Lucien clapped him on the shoulder. “Let me know if I can be of any further help.”
“You should stop with that,” Constantine said. “It’s one thing to help and another to meddle.”
His eyes darkening, Lucien nodded. “Understood. I—we, Evie and I—overstepped here and I truly am sorry. I just need you to know that I only wanted your happiness.”
“I know that, and I appreciate it.” Constantine realized his brother and father weren’t all that different in their motivation. Both wanted to ensure his happiness. Though in his father’s case, he’d sought to do so by protecting Constantine’s heart. The irony was that in trying to keep Constantine from misery, the duke had actually delivered him straight into the heart of it.
The true gift was that they’d pushed Constantine to acknowledge his true self—not a dutiful automaton who only wanted to please his father and not an emotionless dullard with a stick up his arse. He knew who he was, and he was desperate to tell the one person who needed to see him most of all: his wife.
“Lu, do I need to formally accept the Phoenix Club invitation, or can I just show up to the assembly tonight?”
Lucien grinned. “Aw, you called me Lu. Come on, we’ll go together. On the way, you can tell me what Father said after I left.”
“Actually, no, I can’t. And please don’t ask me to.” There would probably come a time when Constantine would feel the need to break his father’s confidence, but for now, he would keep the man’s secrets.
As they made their way to the Phoenix Club, Constantine’s chest threatened to burst with emotion. Unfortunately, when they arrived, it was to learn that Lady Aldington had already returned home.
“Go,” Lucien said. “I look forward to when we can spend time together here at the club, but tonight is not that night.”
“No, it is not.” Constantine caught a hack and when they arrived on Curzon Street, he practically jumped from the vehicle. As they neared the house, he saw an unfamiliar gig outside.
Constantine bounded into the house where Haddock met him with a pinched expression.
“What’s the matter?” Constantine demanded, his blood running inexplicably cold at the worry in Haddock’s eyes. “Whose gig is that outside?”
“Her ladyship sent for a physician. He is upstairs with her now.”
The world tilted sideways. Constantine couldn’t breathe. He rushed upstairs, raced to their sitting room, and came face to face with her maid. “Where is Lady Aldington?” he demanded.
Charity paled as she pointed toward the closed door to her bedchamber. “She’s in there with Dr. Montbourne.”
Oh God, what if he was too late to stop whatever treatment the man had probably forced upon her? Who was this Dr. Montbourne anyway? Constantine didn’t know him, had never heard of him. And holy hell, why was his wife seeing a bloody doctor?
Constantine stormed into the room to find Sabrina perched on her bed and the charlatan Dr. Montbourne standing beside her. The man was too handsome to have serious medical credentials and certainly didn’t look old enough to have the requisite experience. Except none of that was regulated, which was why they needed the damn apothecaries bill.
“Back away from my wife,” Constantine shouted. “Don’t you dare touch her.”