The Seduction Of Lady Constance (Returning Grooms #1)

Chapter 3

The Earl of Southdale, Vincent Fairfield, Lord Summers, was a man with little patience for pretense. He had seen enough of it in his travels abroad, and now, having returned to England to claim the title that had been thrust upon him with his father’s untimely death, he found he had even less tolerance for the trivialities that filled London society. Yet here he was, ensnared by the very thing he had sought to avoid: the tiresome pursuit of a wife.

Seated in the opulent parlor of Riverston House, Vincent gazed around with an expression that spoke of polite indifference. It was a fine enough room, with elegant furnishings and the faintest hint of lavender in the air, but he had seen finer. He was not here to assess the décor, however, but to evaluate Lady Constance Rivers. He had heard the gossip, of course—everyone had. The tale of a jilted engagement, a broken heart, and the subsequent disgrace that had followed. But he had little interest in the whispers of the ton or the moral superiority of the gossips.

As far as Vincent was concerned, the matter was quite simple. He needed a wife who could give him healthy heirs, and Lady Constance had a reputation for beauty and charm, even if she came with a bit of tarnish. He did not require her dowry, and if there were certain unspoken understandings about her past, well, that was of little concern to him. His demands were modest—a fine face, a fine body, and a healthy constitution.

When Lady Constance entered the room, Vincent felt a spark of curiosity stir within him. She was indeed as lovely as the rumors had said, perhaps even more so, though her beauty was subdued in a way he had not expected. Her gown was a simple shade of green, and her dark hair was swept up without an excess of ribbons or jewels. Her pale skin seemed to glow with a quiet grace, and there was a flicker of intelligence in her green eyes as she approached. She moved with a dignity that spoke of pride, despite her fall from society’s favor.

“Lord Summers,” she said, her voice low and clear as she inclined her head. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Lady Constance,” he replied, bowing over her hand with a courtly grace that came as easily to him as breathing. “The pleasure is mine.” He straightened, studying her with a critical eye. There was a quiet strength in her gaze, as though she were appraising him just as much as he was her. Good, he thought. A woman who still possessed some spirit, despite everything. He could work with that.

They sat, exchanging the usual pleasantries that propriety demanded, while Lord and Lady Riverston looked on with the hopeful expressions of parents who saw salvation in the making. Constance’s own expression remained composed, though Vincent could detect the faintest hint of wariness behind her politeness. He found himself intrigued by her calm reserve, wondering if beneath it lay a woman who might surprise him.

“Lord Summers,” she said after a moment, “I confess I was surprised to learn of your interest. I would have thought there were many other young ladies eager to catch your attention, free from… complication.” There was a slight edge to her tone, a subtle challenge that he found refreshing. She was not going to fall at his feet simply because he had inherited a title and fortune.

“I do not require a lady without complication, my lady,” he answered evenly. “I require a woman who is capable of fulfilling the duties of a wife. The past is of little consequence to me.” He let his gaze travel over her face, noting the brief flash of defiance in her eyes before she masked it. “And I find, Lady Constance, that I am not so easily dissuaded.”

Her lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “You are refreshingly direct, my lord,” she said, though he could hear the skepticism in her voice. “But I must ask—are you truly unconcerned with what society may think of our match?”

Vincent leaned back in his chair, his expression cool. “Society,” he replied with a dismissive shrug, “has always found something to talk about, whether it be trivial or important. The opinions of others do not weigh heavily on me, my lady. I am far more concerned with what I think.”

Her brows arched slightly. “And what do you think, then?”

“I think,” he said, his voice softening, “that you have more mettle than you let on. And I think that if you are as strong as you appear, you and I might make quite an advantageous arrangement.”

Constance regarded him for a long moment, her expression betraying none of her thoughts. She could see that he was a man who valued pragmatism over sentiment, and his offer, while lacking in romance, was at least honest. There was no pretense in him, no promise of a great love story. It was a business deal, in many ways—a union of convenience. And yet… was that not precisely what she needed? A man who did not look at her with pity or derision, who did not see her as broken?

“I will not marry a man who sees me only as a broodmare, Lord Summers,” she said finally, her voice steady. “If I am to be your wife, I will expect a degree of respect and… consideration.”

He inclined his head, acknowledging her terms. “You shall have it. And in return, I expect honesty and the willingness to perform your duties as Countess of Southdale.”

There it was—an agreement struck in the plain light of day, without the gilding of illusion. It was not the sort of proposal a young girl dreamt of, but then, Constance was no longer a young girl. She was a woman who had tasted the bitter dregs of betrayal and disgrace, and now, she was choosing her future with her eyes wide open.

“Very well, my lord,” she said, her voice carrying the faintest note of challenge. “I accept your terms.”

Vincent’s mouth curved into a slow smile, one that did not quite reach his eyes. “I look forward to our future together, my lady.”

As they rose to their feet, Vincent extended his hand, and Constance placed hers within it. It was a formal gesture, yet there was something in the touch of his fingers—a quiet strength, a promise of security. For better or for worse, her path was set. She would marry the Earl of Southdale, not as a romantic heroine swept off her feet, but as a woman determined to reclaim her life, on whatever terms she could secure.

And if there was a small, rebellious part of her that hoped for something more, she kept it buried deep, hidden from the eyes of the world.