“Why didn’t you tell us any of this before?” Guinevere demanded.
Frederica grinned unapologetically. “I rather like having a secret life, Guinnie. I’m not meant for the pampered life of theton. I feel it in my bones.”
“Mother and Father will not agree,” Guinevere said, her tone rather dire.
“Precisely why I have kept my activities close to the breast. Now, back to Constantine,” Frederica said. “I would wager my pin money that Kilgore fought at the Orcus Society last night.”
“Can you discover that for certain?” Constantine asked.
“I believe so,” Frederica answered. “Blythe tends to know a multitude of things I suspect her brother does not intend for her to know. She’s quite the cleverest woman I’ve ever met.”
“I’m certain present company is not included,” Guinevere growled.
“Oh no.” Frederica chuckled. “You three are not included. Anyway, I will ask Blythe tonight if Kilgore fought in the cellar last night. Would you care for me to ask her anything else?”
Constantine plucked at a loose string on the worn green cushion of the chair she was sitting in, and it occurred to her then that she had never updated the furnishings in Callum’s study or his painting studio. She had updated much of the rest of the house over the past year, but the study, where she had been told Callum had spent most of this time when not in his painting studio—he had apparently long ago relinquished the painting studio away from his home—was precisely as he had left it. She had not wanted to change a thing, but she had also avoided the room until today. The thought of being in it, of being so reminded of him and what they had never had, never would have, had made her too sad. But she had not hesitated to have the meeting here today. But why? Their situation still made her sad. But then the truth hit her. She was looking for answers about who her husband truly was.
Constantine glanced around the room, truly taking in the details. The study was paneled in mahogany with four floor-to-ceiling bookcases that were double-lined with books. There had to be at least two thousand volumes. There was a table littered with what looked to be maps and documents. She rose, her heartbeat increasing as she moved toward the maps, feeling the eyes of her friends on her, but no one spoke. It was as if they knew something important was occurring. She made her way to the table, lifted the first map, and read the questions scrawled there. There was a title—Things I should have asked Father—and then a list of forty questions Callum had jotted down about the running of his estates. Some points on the list had a line through them, and Mr. Pepperdine’s name beside them, as if Callum had sought the answer from the solicitor and received it. Each map she picked up had more handwritten notes about things he should have done, should have asked, and she could feel his regret in the parchment in her hands. Her heart squeezed.
She made her way to the bookshelf and found volumes on great artists and poets, on estate planning, and heavens! Her heart stuttered as she reached for one of Dionysius Lardner’s volumes ofThe Cabinet Cyclopaedia. She opened it, the smell of dust filling her nose and making her sneeze. After thumbing a couple of pages, she got the confirmation she sought. This volume was the one that contained John Hershel’sOutline of Astronomy, which she had long ago recommended to Callum. This was the volume she had read to impress her father, but he’d not been impressed, and yet, it had started her fascination with astronomy. There on the pages was more writing, and this time it made her suck in a breath:Things to discuss with Constantine.
Only a man who loved a woman would have read this book and made a list of things to discuss with her. The question was, did he love her still as she believed, or had the asylum really destroyed that part of him as he claimed? Could she help him find it again?
She closed the book and pressed it to her chest, then turned to face her friends, who were all staring at her. To Lilias and Guinevere, she asked, “Did you manage to procure any information about Callum from your husbands?”
Guinevere was the first to answer. “No. If Carrington is helping him in any way, he’s not going to tell me.”
“It’s the same for Nash, I’m afraid,” Lilias said.
Constantine nodded. “They are good friends to him, then. I’m glad, but that leaves me little choice but to ask you, Freddy, to see what you can learn from Beckford’s sister. I’m sorry to inconvenience you.”
“Shush. I asked you what I could do. It’s not an inconvenience at all. I’ll see what Blythe can tell me, or if she knows anything about what her brother is up to or can discover any information for me. There are always ways to barter.”
“Such as?” Constantine asked.
Frederica smirked. “If Blythe will spy on her brother, then I’ll give her my pin money for the month to aid in her cause of helping the ladies of the night in the rookery. I do believe she does it because her mother was forced to live such a life, though Blythe has not said specifically so.”
“How sad!” Guinevere exclaimed.
“Yes,” Frederica agreed.
Constantine made her way back to her seat with the book still pressed to her chest. “Even if it is as I believe, and Callum is trying to protect me by keeping distance between us, unless I can get him to let me in, it won’t matter whether he loves me or not. Something horrible happened to him at the asylum,” she said, gripping the book as she relayed what had occurred early that morning, from the choking to their intimacy. Finally, she told them how Callum had said he had fulfilled his obligation for the next month, and that until she knew whether she was with child or not, he would not be servicing her. The last admission made her face burn, but she managed to make herself meet her friends’ sympathetic gazes.
“Fools,” Frederica repeated hotly. “Men are fools.”
“Indeed,” Guinevere said. “He quite obviously loves you or he would not try to avoid bedding you. I suspect the act of intimacy is hard on his resolve to stay away from you.”
Constantine nodded. “Yes, I suspect the same. Whatever he’s hiding from me has to do with the asylum and his nightmares, I’m certain of it, and my gut tells me, as well as Callum’s talk of revenge and justice, that he might be waiting to get his justice over Ross before letting me close. But if he cannot procure justice, that does not bode well for our future. My only way forward, to my mind, is as I said before: I must help Callum prove what Ross did so that the ghosts that are quite obviously haunting him can be put into the grave for good. Thank you for helping me figure this out,” she announced, feeling hopeful.
All three women burst into laughter. “I do believe you did that on your own,” Frederica said, “but we were happy to sit here as you talked yourself through it.”
Constantine chuckled at that truth. “Do you all agree with what I have concluded?” she asked, sweeping her gaze over her friends. They all nodded.
She nibbled on her lip, thinking further, but now about her fear. “What if we cannot prove what Ross did? What if I cannot get Callum to lower his guard? What if he refuses to ever admit he loves me or let me close?”
“Eventually, you’ll have to decide if you need to walk away to save yourself,” Guinevere said, “but until that time has come, there are many ways to entice a man outside of the bedchamber.”
“Oh yes!” Lilias exclaimed. “Men are ever in need of reassurance. They need more stroking than a petulant feline. They love to know the women they love think them exceptional, which of course, we do. We women just don’t need to be told of our exceptionalism nearly as much as men.”
