“And has he introduced you to any particular gentleman as yet?”
Constance shook her head, watching as her father made his way directly across the room away from her.
“No, not as yet.” Her stomach twisted into a tight knot as she kept her eyes on him, seeing him stop to talk to three gentlemen in particular. “Although, I am sure that he intends to, very soon. My mother has warned me that he has been in deep discussions with some acquaintances.”
Wincing, she smiled briefly as Lady Brookmire let out a sigh.
“That must be difficult to hear. If you perhaps make some suggestions, would he then-”
“No, he would not.” Understanding what her friend meant, Constance shook her head again. “My father does not desire to hear anyone else’s opinions, save for his own. He will, on occasion, listen to my mother, but that is very rare indeed. I am afraid that, even if I were to complain and cry over the fact that my sisters were given ample opportunity to find their own husbands – who, of course, were required to garner my father’s approval before even courtship was offered, he would do nothing but shrug. I am to accept my fate regardless of how I might feel about such a thing.”
Lady Brookmire’s expression grew a little dark.
“How painful for you.”
Trying to ignore the stab of upset which sent tears to her eyes, Constance took in a long, shallow breath.
“I should be more grateful, mayhap. I am all too aware that my father has done a great deal in offering to secure me an excellent match. There must be many a young lady who would be delighted to have such an opportunity, whereas I find myself practically weeping over it!”
“But that is because you do not desire a practical match.” Lady Brookmire smiled reassuringly. “There is no shame in that. You are not to think badly of yourself because you seek a little more.” Again, she sighed. “There must besomethingwhich can be done.”
Again, Constance sighed, pushing away her thoughts.
“There is not. I am conscious of Lady Winterbrook’s suggestion, but while I have considered it, I do not think that there is any real hope for me there.”
Lady Brookmire kept her own counsel, her lips tightening, her eyes moving around the room as if she were searching for an answer.
“Oh goodness.” Constance reached out, clutching Lady Brookmire’s arm. “My father is coming towards us. Look, he brings a gentleman with him.”
“And I shall remain here with you.” Lady Brookmire linked her arm through Constance’s as if they were chained together in solidarity. “Recall that you are not standing up in church with this particular gentleman. All you are doing is greeting him.”
“But I have no doubt that is my father’s intention.”
“Then let it be so.” Lady Brookmire responded, unequivocally. “Do not let your mind go to that particular place as yet. Calm yourself. Speak firmly but respectfully. Show this gentleman, whoever he is, exactly the sort of person you are. He may decide thathedoes not wish to have you for a bride if you do so.”
Constance looked to her friend in surprise, seeing Lady Brookmire’s sparkling smile and finally understanding precisely what she meant. With a giggle, she nodded and then set herself to the task.
“Constance.” Lord Hayman shot a glance at Lady Brookmire and, recognizing her, smiled. “And Lady Brookmire, good evening.”
“Good evening, Lord Hayman.” She turned a little. “And good evening, Lord Timpson.”
Lady Brookmire spoke first, and Constance watched with interest as the gentleman’s eyebrows lifted a little. Evidently Lady Brookmire was already acquainted with this gentleman, which was something of a relief. Perhaps she would be able to tell her more about him once her father had departed.
“Might I present my daughter, Miss Constance Millington.” Lord Hayman spread out one hand towards Constance, then looked directly at her. “Constance, this is Viscount Timpson.”
As was expected, Constance curtsied and greeted the gentleman as warmly as she could while, at the same time, taking him in. He was a good deal shorter than her father, which meant she considered herself almost of a height with him. Broad-shouldered and with a strong jaw, sharp eyes, and dark brown hair, she had to admit that he was not particularly unpleasant to look at. When he spoke, however, she was a little taken aback at the gruffness of his manner. Every word seemed to be rasped from his throat.
“Miss Millington, good afternoon.”
His eyes dropped downwards as they ran the length of her frame, then returned to her gaze. Constance went red hot at the shame of his actions. What was he doing? Considering whether or not she would be beautiful enough for him?
“A very pretty thing.” Lord Timpson spoke as if she were not present, and Constance ran hot all over again. “And hoping to wed?”
“Yes, that is so.” Her father waved one hand. “She is the youngest of my daughters, but still has an excellent dowry, you understand.”
Constance did not know what to say, words piling up in her throat – and when she tried, the only thing that came out was a squeak.
“I believe that this would be your third marriage, would it not?”
