Page 8 of Never a Proper Lady

He was also highly intelligent—one of the few traits he shared with his lordship.

“My lord, you never did explain how the third son of a duke came to be captivated by science.”

Faith had never put the question to him directly before. She’d wondered, of course, but didn’t feel it was her place to inquire.

Why she did so now baffled.

His mouth skewed to the side in what could only be called a droll smile, Lord Constantine rubbed his nose.

“What you are really asking, Miss Roth, is why didn’t I go into the clergy like third sons are expected to do?”

A silly business that, in her opinion. Birth order didn’t dictate where one’s preferred interests should lay. Although, if she were perfectly candid, one’s birth often determined the options available to a person.

Take Faith, for instance.

Raised at Haven House and Academy for the Enrichment of Young Women, she had few choices of employment, the most common being companion, governess, or school instructor.

In truth, she’d never actually expected to be hired as a scrivener.

She wasn’t going to muck it up either, and if that meant biting her tongue to keep from telling the too handsome but somewhat absent-minded Lord Constantine Kellinggrave to go bugger himself, well, she’d sport a sore tongue.

“I did toddle down the respectable path of becoming a man of God for just over a year.” His lordship rolled a shoulder. “I realized it was not my calling.”

“I’ll say it wasn’t.” Mr. Camberg-Trainer grinned unabashedly.

Well. Well.

There was a fascinating story there. Faith was positive.

His lordship silenced him with a darkling scowl that held no real censure. “I saw no point in pursuing something I could not commit to with all my heart. Fortunately, my parents agreed and allowed me to pursue other avenues.”

The Duke and Duchess of Landrith sounded genuinely caring. They’d tolerated their eldest daughter waiting to marry for love when arranged marriages and marriages of convenience were de rigueur. They’d allowed their youngest son to pursue an unusual career when the aristocracy disdained any association with gainful employment.

“But why this particular branch of science? Lepidopterology?” A visit to Hatchard’s on Piccadilly provided Faith with that useful tidbit. She’d assured herself that any amanuensis worth her salt would know her employer’s profession, and that was the only reason she’d purchased a dusty tome on the subject.

When Lord Constantine didn’t answer but instead observed her with those penetrating green eyes, as if he sought to see inside her head, Faith persisted. “The study of butterflies and moths?”

Anything to keep her mind off the nausea plaguing her.

Lord Constantine lifted a broad shoulder. “They fascinate me, and I believe I can use my research to benefit mankind. Why did you choose to become an amanuensis?”

Faith glanced out the window at the passing landscape. Black-faced sheep dotted the verdant fields, interrupted now and again by small groves of trees, mostly oak. A pair of red deer does warily watched the coach’s progress from beneath the shelter of a pine tree.

“I suppose,” she said, directing her regard back to his lordship, “because God put the desire there. Even when most people said it was impossible, I believed I could become a scrivener.”

Most people?

Everyone. Even kind-hearted Hester Shepherd who’d raised Faith

“’Tis simply not done, Faith. You would do better to accept that truth and turn your attention to a viable career path, my dear.”

“Brava for you, Miss Roth,” Mr. Camberg-Trainer chimed in. “Con’s lucky to have you.”

Faith was positive Lord Constantine didn’t agree. Yet. However, she was determined to become indispensable to him.

A few minutes later, the coach finally jerked to a stop in the circular brick drive in front of a magnificent manor house. Meticulously trimmed shrubberies paralleled the drive, and two gargantuan stone urns on either side of the well-scrubbed stairs contained double spiral topiaries.

They also revealed the gardener’s zealousness for perfection.