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Would he?

Did she want to work for a man that would?

The answer came swift and sure.

No. Not even to fulfill a lifelong dream.

Lord Constantine shot to his feet, a vein throbbing in his left temple.

“Now, see here. I appreciate what you are trying to do, Mother, but using extortion demeans you. Miss Roth is my employee, and only I determine her continued status.”

Coercion was perfectly acceptable when he was the instigator.

A series of three rapid knocks echoed at the door, but before the duchess could bid enter, a distraught Lady Edyth flew into the room. Face flushed and eyes overly bright, she stopped dead in her tracks, a hand pressed to her collarbone when she saw her brother and Faith.

“Oh. I didn’t know you were in here.” She lowered her hand and fisted her skirt.

“Come, Edyth.” Her features softening in concern, the duchess indicated the other chair. This was a woman who truly cared for her children. An oddity amongst le beau monde. “Tell me what has you in a dither, my dear.”

“I shall excuse myself.” Where Faith would go, she had no idea. It didn’t seem right to return to Lady Edyth’s bedchamber, and she had no desire to mingle with the elite guests. Guests who might very well be talking about her even now.

She headed toward the door, nonetheless.

The wisest thing to do would be to return to London, post haste.

Her stomach wobbled at the idea of another three days of coach travel and staying at inns unaccompanied. Faith would do it though. She wasn’t a wilting flower. No, by heavens, she wasn’t.

She was Faith Stephanie Hannah Shephard Roth. Orphaned and raised in a foundling home, she had worked hard, studied even harder, and managed to gain a position in a male-dominated field. A trifling coach ride was nothing.

“As shall I.” Lord Constantine bowed.

“No. You should stay. It concerns both of you,” Lady Edyth said softly.

Faith pivoted back toward her.

Pity shone in Lady Edyth’s eyes.

“I am sorry, Miss Roth.” She swept her gaze to her brother. “Adelle Breadalbane is telling all and sundry that you’ve again demonstrated your lack of decorum and refusal to abide by society’s strictures, Constantine, by bringing your mistress to your sister’s wedding.”

“Adelle Breadalbane shall henceforth find herself shunned by all the most prestigious names.” Though the Duchess of Landrith’s tone was perfectly modulated, each word held an uncompromising promise.

The door flew open again, and a pretty woman with light brown eyes and hair barged in. Her virginal white gown, trimmed in cornflower blue ribbon, complimented her coloring.

This must be Lady Charlotte, and she appeared on the cusp of tears.

Her agitated gaze alit accusingly on her brother, shifted to Faith, then veered back to Lord Constantine.

“Is it true, Con? Did you bring your mistress to my wedding?” A crystalline droplet trickled down her ivory cheek. “How could you, Con? Everyone is talking about it.”

“Of course not, Lottie. You offend me by suggesting such a vulgar thing.” Lord Constantine strode to his sister and drew her into his arms. “Miss Roth is my scrivener. Nothing more.”

He needn’t keep hammering that point home.

Lady Charlotte dabbed at her eyes.

“It matters naught. They”—she shot a half distraught, half contemptuous glance toward the door—“believe it is true.”

“’Tis precisely as I feared,” Her Grace said, patting Lady Edyth’s hand. “If this isn’t nipped in the bud…” The duchess turned that compelling gaze upon Faith. “It would only be for a few days, Miss Roth.”