“Lord Apthorp,” Lane Day said with a bow. “My sincere congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Apthorp said. “Lady Constance, allow me to introduce you to Mr. L—”
“Oh, Mr. Lane Day needs no introduction,” Constance said, switching fluently from the knowing, flirtatious manner she had used on Avondale to a tone of demure respect pitched perfectly to the serious young politician. “I hear such glowing things about his speeches in the Commons.”
“Surely you flatter me,” Lane Day said, looking floored.
Constance leaned in and shook her head. “Not at all, sir. I’ve been eagerly following your success in the election, and I can’t say how long I’ve wished to meet you. I know how grateful Lord Apthorp has been for your skill in guiding his bill through the Commons.”
Lane Day’s smile bloomed, for if there was one thing he had a weakness for, it was politics. “The legislation will be a great thing for the Midland shires. The price of coal is far too dear without a reliable means of transport.”
“Indeed, it is a scandal,” Constance said solemnly. “I intend to work tirelessly on behalf of the people of Cheshire and I hope we can be allies. In the meantime, if there is anything I can do to be of service in securing an advantage in the vote, I hope you will let me know. The hospitality of Westmead House is entirely at your disposal.”
Lane Day beamed at her. “I shall keep that in mind.”
Avondale smirked at her blatant political pandering. Apthorp was so proud of Constance he could have kissed her. He’d always suspected she’d make an admirable partner in politics, with her instincts for flattery and favors. He’d not suspected she had an ear for policy as well.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gillian Bastian and Lord Harlan Stoke rounding the corner toward them. The hair on his neck stood up.
Constance followed his gaze. “Excuse us, gentlemen. We must congratulate my dear friend Miss Bastian on her happy news.”
She turned and inclined her head at the approaching couple with a warm expression, raising her fan.
Lord Harlan whispered in Miss Bastian’s ear. Apthorp saw in Stoke’s eyes what was about to happen.
“Constance,” he hissed, touching her elbow. But she had already fluttered her fan in friendly greeting, drawing interest from the crowd.
For the briefest of moments, Gillian paused, training her eyes on Constance. And then she picked up her skirts, turned with a dramatic pivot, and walked in the opposite direction without a word.
Constance stopped abruptly, fan still held aloft.
“Did you see that?” she breathed.
He had. Everyone had.
She stared up at him. “She just cut me. Gillian Bastian just cut me.”
Her big, beautiful blue eyes went misty.
Christ. Was it possible that the indomitable hellion Constance Stonewell—moments before at her most confident and insouciant—was on the verge of weeping?
He stared at her, struck dumb.
It’s an act. It’s always been an act.
She was not entirely the haughty, saucy woman she presented herself to be. She just worked very, very hard at pretending that she was.
For some reason, this broke his heart.
He pressed his fingers lightly around her wrist until she looked up at him.
“Smile,” he said softly.
She obeyed in a dazed kind of way.
“Lean up like you’re saying something light and clever and above all cruel, then laugh.”
With empty eyes, she did as he instructed, though she whispered only nonsense words—swishes of air with no meaning that tickled his ear.
He shouted with laughter and gazed down on her like she’d said something so cutting he was shocked.
“Perfect,” he murmured under his breath. “Now take my arm and go directly to the box. If anyone approaches, smile and wave, but don’t stop until you regain your composure.”
For once, she did exactly as he said.
“Sit there,” he told her, pointing to the seat nearest the wall, which was partly hidden behind a curtain. He sat down beside her and shifted the bottom of the drape with his shoe, moving it so that she was shielded from the view of the crowd, but he was fully visible, lest there be any question of decency.
He felt her shaking.
“It’s all right,” he said softly. “No one can see you.”
She put her knuckle to her lips and leaned against the wall.
“Constance,” he whispered urgently. “Don’t let them hurt you. It’s me they wished to slight. Stoke despises me. He has for years.”
Lord Harlan summered in a property several miles from Apthorp Manor and had proved himself to be the very worst kind of neighbor. They hadn’t spoken in two years, but when they had, it had nearly erupted into violence.
Constance looked up at him with haunted eyes. “I doubt he could despise you more than he despises me.”
He wanted to ask her what he meant by that, for he had always wondered what had ended their brief friendship, but she shook her head in agitation. “I always expect the worst of Lord Harlan. But Gillian is my friend.”
He reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.”
He wanted to say he would be her friend.
That they would make other friends together. Better friends.
But of course, that would be a lie.
Because she was planning to leave in one month’s time. Because of him.
Had he known she was so vulnerable, he would never have agreed to this. But now that he had, it was too late. They’d already written out their futures. There was no comfort he could offer her.
“I just don’t understand,” she whispered to the wall.
He took her hand. “It’s very simple. Lord Harlan’s a rakehell. With a brief engagement, Gillian no doubt feels her own reputation is not strong enough to survive proximity to a scandal.”
“I suppose I thought I was above such treatment.” She laughed, a bitter sound that chilled him, for he knew what it felt like to be brought down to size.
“Foolish of me, I’m sure you’d say. Or well deserved.”
“No,” he said instantly. “I would never wish to see you hurt.”
He cleared his throat, looking away from her. “And it will pass. We have a plan.”
“Right,” she said shakily, taking his hand in both of hers. She jutted out her chin, yet squeezed him like she needed him for strength.
It made him want to gather her up and take her out of this place and withdraw somewhere safe and private where he could explain that she’d become entangled in something more complex than she fully understood.
But he couldn’t explain, and so he must be careful.
He couldn’t change what he’d already agreed to. But he would not let her suffer more on his behalf.
It was a marvel. Apthorp was quietly keeping her from falling apart.
Who knew he had such talents?
She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed hers back.
She needed to pull herself together. For his sake.
“Constance, Lord Apthorp,” her brother said, striding back into the box. “Look who I found.”
She looked over her shoulder and directly into the penetrating gaze of Lady Spence.
Collect yourself. This will be your only chance.