“I’ll make sure that she does.” Victory sang in his blood as he sipped his claret.
A footman arrived at the table and handed Constantine a letter. “Lord Aldington, this was just delivered for you.”
Anticipation gripped Constantine as he opened the parchment.
“Who is sending you notes here?” the duke demanded.
Constantine scanned the words. Lucien had set the appointment for one o’clock. That was still so many hours from now.
“No one of import.” Constantine refolded the paper and tucked it into his coat. He glanced toward the center of the room and wondered if he could endure an entire evening here. Or perhaps he should follow Brightly to Brooks’s.
Returning his attention to his father, he made the decision. He certainly didn’t want to spend the evening with the duke. Not that his father would want to either. He would likely go home soon.
Constantine finished his claret. “If you’ll excuse me, Father, I have another appointment.”
The duke glanced toward Constantine’s coat. “To do with that note?”
“Not directly, no.” Constantine stood. “It’s of no concern to you, in any case. You are not privy to my entire life, nor will you be. Good evening.”
He turned and left without allowing the duke to respond. His father was likely seething—he hated not having the last word, and Constantine rarely spoke to him like that. When he did, uncertainty and regret often took hold. He didn’t hate his father, and he actually understood why the man treated him with exacting expectation. He only wanted Constantine to be the best. He also demanded the same of Lucien and Cassandra, except they apparently fell short in the duke’s eyes. That bothered Constantine.
Walking to Brooks’s, Constantine felt the note’s presence in his coat, searing him as if it were heated. Or perhaps that was just his blood as he contemplated another meeting with the anonymous tutor. Who was she? And why was he looking forward to seeing her so much?
He realized he’d enjoyed their conversation. Some of it had been uncomfortable, but it had been necessary. He had to think of Sabrina differently, had to treat her differently.
That her anxiety and shyness had been so crippling for her was distressing. Along with the fact that her parents hadn’t seemed to care. Why force a Season on a young woman who wasn’t prepared? Let alone a marriage? Not even his father was that cruel. When Cassandra had asked to delay her Season, he’d allowed it. And she wasn’t plagued by a paralyzing fear of people.
The fact that he was looking forward to his time with the tutor later picked at Constantine’s mind. He shouldn’t be anticipating it, and he wouldn’t allow what had happened last night—they would only talk. Now that he knew Sabrina didn’t actually loathe him, he could, perhaps, seduce her.
Hopefully the tutor could help him formulate a plan. Her purpose was to educate, and he was ready to learn.
Chapter 12
The moment Sabrina stepped inside the Phoenix Club, she felt an overwhelming sense of lightness. There was joy here—sparkling candlelight, laughter, warm and genial employees who greeted her and offered to take care of any need.
It was quite different than her previous visit the night before when she’d been secreted into a side door, ushered up the backstairs to Evie’s office, and then taken through a hidden doorway to the gentlemen’s side of the second floor.
She looked up at the massive painting of Circe with her nymphs as they seduced Odysseus’s men. Some of them already sported snouts and hooves.
“Isn’t that a magnificent piece?” Evie met her in the foyer.
“Quite.”
“Lucien had it commissioned. It has a brother over on the men’s side—Pan hosting a bacchanalia.”
“How decadent.”
Evie laughed softly. “That describes Lucien, actually. Or at least, the image he projects.”
Sabrina thought of her brother-in-law’s unassuming residence and wasn’t sure she agreed with that assessment. “He strikes me as a rather economical person.”
“To do with himself, yes. But when it comes to the club or others, he will spare no effort and no expense. He’s an incredibly generous person.”
He did seem that. She wondered how the Duke of Evesham had managed to rear such a child. But then she thought of all the ways in which Constantine had been generous—from ensuring she had a beautiful, comfortable residence to allowing her to claim it entirely and make it her own. The red-covered book detailing the plans for the renovation of the parkland was another instance of his generosity, as well as his thoughtfulness. While he may not say the things she wanted to hear, he’d certainly acted in ways that let her know he cared.
And what, exactly, did she hope he would say?
Thankfully, she wasn’t able to chase that intrusive thought because a footman approached with a missive for Evie. “Lord Lucien bade me give this to you. I’m to wait to see if you have a response.”
“Thank you, Dexter.” Evie opened the parchment and read, her lips curling into her heart-stopping smile. “Aldington has requested a meeting with the tutor. Shall we say one o’clock so you have ample time to enjoy the ball?”
Constantine wanted to meet with her—rather, the tutor—again? He’d said he wouldn’t. “I—” Her mind arrested, wondering what had provoked his request.
“I need to give Lucien a response,” Evie urged.
“Yes, one o’clock is fine.” Her mind swam. She’d had to prepare herself extensively for their last meeting. There would be no such luxury this time. Perhaps she would drink an extra glass—or ten—of champagne.
Evie gave their verbal response to the footman, who then departed toward the gentlemen’s side of the club. She offered her arm to Sabrina. “Don’t be nervous.”
“How can you tell I’m nervous?”
“Because though our friendship is young, I believe I’ve come to know you well. You require time to think about things and to muster your courage, particularly when it is a new or intimidating experience.”
A lump rose in Sabrina’s throat. “You do know me well. No one has ever understood that about me.” She whispered the last, feeling as if she’d received the greatest gift.
Evie patted her forearm. “Thank you for sharing your true self with me. I hope you’ll do the same with your husband.”
Sabrina had, at least a little, that evening when she’d told him about her anxiety. There was so much she should have revealed about herself, things that could have helped their marriage be more successful.
“I wasn’t ready to do that before,” Sabrina said quietly. “But I am now.” Her parents had pushed her into this union, and it had taken her this long to get to where she could feel a modicum of comfort.
“Marvelous,” Evie said brightly. “Now, let us go into the assembly. You look stunning in this new ball gown, by the way. The blue-green suits you well.”
Sabrina murmured her thanks as they moved past the cloakroom into the ballroom. The large space was really two spaces—each club had a ballroom—with doors that separated them. Locked at every other time, they were thrown open during assemblies to make one large ballroom. Gleaming chandeliers cast a glow over the brightly clothed ladies and the dashingly garbed gentlemen as they moved over the polished parquet floor.