Constantine sneered, but pulled her winnings from his pocket and handed them back to Mr. Preacher.
“You are quite the gentleman, Your Grace,” Mr. Preacher mocked as he placed the fat envelope back into his pocket. “And seeing as you are so, I shall give you another tidbit of information. The messenger who placed the bet on your brother’s behalf was a young man. Barely older than eighteen or nineteen, I suspect. Blonde, shaggy hair, pretty-faced. Lean. Blue eyes. Dressed not in a full suit, so I doubt he was a lord, but he wore a beige cap, matching trousers, and a white shirt.”
“How generous of you,” Constantine said bitterly. Still, he tucked the information away. He doubted the young man was still in town. After such a loss, even if it was not his own, heprobably left to avoid harm.
Mr. Preacher’s smirk widened as he shifted his gaze from Constantine to over his shoulder to Elara, who had stepped behind him.
“It was a great pleasure taking your wager today, Your Grace,” he said smugly. “Do come find me if you wish to gamble again. You seem to be a lady of luck.”
Constantine clenched his fist as he took a step toward Mr. Preacher, but again, he felt Elara’s hand on his arm, urging him to stop.
“Take me home,” Elara said, her tone so soft it broke his heart. “I want to go back to London.”
Constantine drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, using it to push down his rage. Without another word, he turned his back on Mr. Preacher. His gaze and expression softened the moment he took in Elara’s forlorn look, and he could not help but gently tuck her arm through his.
“Come along,” he softly commanded. “You are right. It is time to go. We shall collect William and our things, and I will have you back home in a few hours.”
“Not your home,” Elara clarified as she allowed him to lead her away from the track. “I want to speak to my cousin Caroline.”
The impulse to tell her no and insist she come home with him surged within Constantine. But as he saw the heartbreak in her eyes, he lost the desire to override her wishes.
“Very well,” he acquiesced, feeling more defeated than he had in a long time. “As you wish.”
Chapter 17
“What time is it now, James?” Constantine demanded.
He looked up just in time to see his valet give him another worried look, then dip his gaze toward the pocket watch in his hand.
“It is a quarter to seven, Your Grace,” James replied.
Constantine stopped his pacing and glared at his valet.
“That is impossible,” he snapped. “You said it was twenty to seven just moments ago!”
James winced a little as his ears turned red.
“I... it was only five minutes ago that you asked me for the time, Your Grace,” the valet responded.
“That is impossible. Your watch must be broken, James.”
“I... I am afraid it is working perfectly, Your Grace.”
Constantine continued to glare at the man and cursed under his breath as he bowed his head and kept pacing. It had been several hours since his carriage dropped Elara off at her cousinCaroline’s house. She had missed both afternoon tea and dinner—not that they usually shared those two respites. In fact, they had not shared a formal dinner since Elara moved in, which Constantine was only now realizing.
“Where is she?” he asked aloud.
“Your Grace?” James asked.
“My wife!” he snapped. “How long do women usually visit one another for? This seems far too long.”
“Oh, well, when I was a lad, my mother could be gone for hours in the evening visiting her friends,” James replied.
Constantine’s gaze snapped back to his valet, and once again, the valet’s ears were crimson.
“Of course, that was a rhetorical question,” James muttered, letting his eyes drop to the floor. “My apologies, Your Grace.”
Constantine let out a snarl of annoyance, but did not chastise James. It was not his fault that he was in a bad mood, and the young man had a good heart. He was only trying to help.
