He closed the distance between them. “We must also count up the results of my little sojourn in Dr. Soames’s care. I cannot dance, my French is provincial, I am uncomfortable in open spaces, I refuse to submit to the hovering intrusion of a valet. I never went to public school or to university and thus have no aristocratic associates. If Weatherby hadn’t brought suit, somebody else eventually would have, for I fail spectacularly as a duke.”

Constance leaned against him. “You succeed splendidly as a man.”

He embraced her, the sheer comfort of his arms bringing her near tears again. “We’ve met Reverend Shaw, Constance. He sets very great store by his own standing. He might allow you a place in Ivy’s life if you are Lady Constance, wealthy and penitent younger sister of a duke. If Shaw knows you willingly married a man at risk to be declared a lunatic, he will keep the girl from you. I cannot be Ivy’s guardian if I myself am subject to a guardianship.”

“I hate you for your common sense. I love you for your honor.”

“I love everything about you, especially your stubbornness, but I refuse to be the reason you lose the daughter you’ve searched for all these years.”

Rothhaven would have held Constance for the rest of the night, and she was sorely tempted to let him.

“I’m returning to Lynley Vale with you,” she said, stepping back. “We should finish our supper first.”

“Madam, the less you’re associated with me from this point forward, the better.”

She took her seat and poured Stephen’s serving of wine into her glass. “A bit late for that, Your Grace. Eat before the food gets cold. Stephen will fret if we tarry too long at our meal, and his fretting is not to be borne.”

Rothhaven sat at the head of the table. “At least write Ivy a letter. Tell her you’ve returned to York the better to consider options, tell her where to write to you.”

“Now that is a sensible suggestion. Would you care for bread?”

“No, thank you.” He put a bite of beef in his mouth, chewed, then set down his fork. “Constance, are you sure you shouldn’t remain here? Lord Stephen would bide with you, and his charm might be able to do with Shaw what my consequence could not.”

“Stephen has guile, a very different article from charm. I am coming back with you to Lynley Vale, and there’s an end to it. I will write to Ivy, you will have the horses put to, and by the time we’re ready to go, it will be dark enough to travel.”

Rothhaven pushed his potatoes around. “I hate this. I hate that I am a burden to you.”