“You know, Mr. Sinclair, the world shall not cease to exist if you and I fail to make a match.” She released his arm and moved to a nearby garden bench. Sinking down upon it, she lifted her face to look up at him expectantly. “Sometimes things simply aren’t meant to be. Unions . . . are not meant to be. There are many unhappy ton marriages because people fail to recognize that.”

He considered her. “I would agree with that assessment.”

Although the world might cease to exist for the Duke and Duchess of Birchwood if he and Lady Elise failed to make a match.

Except Constantine found that he no longer cared. It appeared, based on the nature of this conversation, that Lady Elise did not care either. Apparently she was not overly attached to the notion of marrying him and he felt a great weight lift from his shoulders.

He could feel no sense of obligation toward her. He could go where his heart willed.

“Very good.” Lady Elise nodded once. “I am so glad we have that settled between us. Now.” She clapped her hands and pushed back to her feet. “Shall we return inside? I fear staying out here much longer only feeds their hopes.”

“Indeed. Dally much longer and they shall have the wedding banns composed and ready for posting.”

She giggled at his half-jest and took his proffered arm. “I suspect there could be wedding banns soon though. Only not for you and me.”

He sent her a sharp look.

“Oh, come now.” She arched an eyebrow. “Do not look so very guarded, Mr. Sinclair. Give yourself time to sit with the notion and let it seep into you. You and Miss Langley would make quite the fine pair. As I said . . . some unions are not meant to be. Inversely, some are.”

As he escorted Lady Elise back into the drawing room, her words echoed in his mind and he realized he did not need very much time to sit with the notion at all.

It had already seeped into him.

He already knew.

Chapter 25

Nora had just sent Bea off to bed for the night when a knock sounded on her door.

She’d permitted Bea to assist in the removal of her gown and brushing of her hair. Bea actually gave her little choice. She simply set to work on Nora, and Nora submitted. By now she had learned it would do little good to protest her maid’s attentions. Bea would have her way. Nora might as well submit.

She moved to the door, breathing easier free of her corset and out of the gown the duchess had forced on her today.

It wasn’t Bea. She never knocked.

It was likely the duchess or her maid, checking in on Nora.

Opening the door, she discovered how wrong she was. Neither the duchess nor one of her maids stood there.

It was Constantine, still wearing that darkly elusive expression.