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.”