Page 85 of Impassioned
Constantine’s entire body slouched as the tension drained from him. Sabrina, however, did not look as if she was even slightly relieved.
“I’ll go check on Lady Fairweather.” She was pale, her eyes glazed with trepidation. This was a horrible situation for her. He struggled to find how to fix it.
Knowing the anxiety this must be causing her, he wanted to tell her to retire, that she needn’t face this. But if she didn’t, her absence would only further mar the event, which was fast becoming somewhat of a disaster. His heart ached. This wasnothow tonight was supposed to happen.
Sabrina slipped into the retiring room and closed the door. Pivoting, Constantine registered that all eyes were on him. This never happened unless he was delivering a speech in the Commons.
Wexford clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Well, that was certainly entertaining. I daresay no one will forget this ball!” He spoke loudly and laughed, then looked about. “I need a drink so I can make a toast.”
A footman rushed over with a tray bearing punch with too little ice. Constantine clenched his jaw.
Snatching a glass from the tray, Wexford held it up as the footman rushed to deliver the remaining glasses and other footmen did the same. “To Lord and Lady Aldington and their wonderfully imperfect ball. It is as we all are—starting with the best intentions and making do with what happens along the way.”
There was a satisfying—and perhaps surprising—chorus of “Hear hear!” Belatedly, Constantine realized he didn’t have a drink. A footman pressed one into his hand. Thankfully, it was a brandy. Constantine sent the man a silent look of gratitude, then swallowed the entire contents. He was immediately glad he had, for the next crisis had already arrived.
His father was bearing down on him, his eyes practically black with anger. He spoke low so that no one would hear him but hard. “A word, Aldington. In your study.” Without waiting for Constantine’s response, he spun about and left the drawing room.
Honestly, Constantine couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to seek him out. The confrontation had to happen. Constantine would ensure it was over quickly. Squaring his shoulders, he thanked Wexford for his words and delivered his empty glass to a footman before starting downstairs.
Just outside the drawing room, he ran into Mrs. Haddock, who looked as if she’d been crying. He paused and motioned for her to move to the side with him. “You mustn’t feel upset about the cat. I refuse to accept your or Haddock’s resignations. We must simply find a way to keep Grayson contained at certain times, and we can discuss that tomorrow. In the meantime, try to make sure he’s locked away for the duration of the ball. Will you check on Lady Aldington in the ladies’ retiring room? She is soothing Lady Fairweather, who seemed to be overly distressed by a small bundle of fur.” He cracked a smile at the housekeeper, who dashed a hand over her eyes.
“You are the kindest of employers, my lord. I am so very sorry.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Haddock. Just please take care of the countess.”
“Right away.” She took off down the corridor, avoiding the drawing room.
Exhaling, Constantine made his way downstairs, glad for the brandy now warming his insides. Lucien stopped him in the gaming room to ask if everything was all right. “I hear the cat has been caught,” he said.
“Yes. The threat has been removed. Your friend Wexford gave a delightful toast upstairs. I thanked him, but please let him know how much I appreciate it.”
“I will.” Lucien flicked a glance toward Constantine’s study. “Father just went in there. What’s going on?”
“He’s about to unleash his rage upon me.” Constantine felt rather numb about the prospect, which normally would have upset him. He hated to disappoint his father. However, in this case, there was no help for it.
“Do you want me to come along?” Lucien asked quite soberly.
“No, but I appreciate the offer. I can withstand his anger.” He continued on to the study and closed the door behind him.
The duke stood near the hearth, his arms crossed over his chest. “You voted against the act today.”
“Yes.” Constantine walked to the liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of brandy. He offered one to his father, who only narrowed his eyes further. Shrugging, Constantine returned the glass to the cabinet and sipped from the second.
“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” the duke demanded.
“What else is there to say? The vote is done, the act has passed, which is what you wanted, so why do you care how I voted?”
“Because you told me you would vote for it. We had anarrangement.”
Yes, they did, and that arrangement was the only thing that had given Constantine pause. Ultimately, he hadn’t been able to vote for the act, even if it meant his father removed Sabrina as Cassandra’s sponsor.
Constantine strode to the window, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes we must vote a certain way to gain political capital.” He cast his father a perturbed glance. “I know you are aware of this from your vast experience. In this matter, it benefitted me to vote against the Importation Act in order to gain support for the Apothecaries Act.”
“You’re a fool because that is dead.”
“No, it is not, and I won’t let it die, as you did my mother.” Constantine hadnotchosen those words. In fact, he couldn’t believe he’d said them.
The duke’s eyes widened to a seemingly impossible degree. “I did not—” He snapped his lips closed, pressing them so hard that they turned white with his fury.
