“No, as those things go. I was young, strong, in good health, and had good care. I had a month with my baby. Only a month, and then, the day after she was christened, the couple who’d agreed to raise her came to take her from me. I kept her baptismal lines, and they are my most prized possession. Nothing, nothing you can conceive of on this earth, will ever be as hard for me as that day.”

Though telling the tale from start to finish, no delicate evasions, no glossing over the details, came close.

“I wanted to do what was best for my baby and for my family. I had no idea how hard that would be or how quickly I’d come to doubt my decision.”

Rothhaven drew in a breath, and Constance realized she was breathing with him. The same slow, calm, in-and-out rhythm.

“Walden insisted you share this truth with me. I’m not sure how I feel about that, for even the memories hurt you. I honor you for your honesty, though, and for the trust you place in me.”

An enormous weight of self-doubt lifted from Constance’s heart. Quinn had been right to insist on this confession, not that Constance would tell him so.

“I respect you, Rothhaven. I care for you. I want a real marriage with you rather than a superficial arrangement. I am no paragon, and you should know that in time to withdraw your proposal.”

“Withdraw my proposal?”

“I am not chaste, far from it. I have engaged in scandalous behavior. I have a bastard child, and I want very much to know where she is and that she’s well and happy. I am willful and hardheaded, stubborn and—”

Rothhaven kissed her. “You are ridiculous. Will you marry me, Constance?” He hugged her one-armed against his side, the gesture both gently chiding and endlessly affectionate.

Rothhaven had no reason to dissemble. He likely had no ability to dissemble, and thus his scold-cum-proposal did what reason, debate, and hope could not accomplish.

He gained Constance’s trust.

“Yes, Robert, Duke of Rothhaven, I will marry you.”

“Good. We’ll get that part dealt with, see Althea and Nathaniel marched up the church aisle, wave your meddling brothers on their way, and then we will find your daughter. Tell me her name.”

If Constance hadn’t fallen in love with Rothhaven before—and she had—she fell in love with him then. Such happiness coursed through her, a deluge of warmth and joy as torrential as the sorrow and anger that had come before.

She recounted for him every detail she recalled about her daughter—perfect fingers and toes, a mop of bright red hair, and prodigious health, God be thanked—and every emotion and dream she’d carried for that small person, wherever she might be.