A Transgender Regency Romance - Constantine has been raised as a boy but her fortunes are about to change.

The news didn't make Constantine DesChambeaux happy, but one might not have been able to tell from his smile. "You have got to be joking," he said. His mood was not the best at any rate, not since two days ago, when the cramping in his lower intestine began--again.

The vicar squirmed with discomfort. The Reverend Doctor F. Miles Pillbody did not like to be accused of levity, which for a truth, was not in his nature. "I assure you, ...uh..." Panic bloomed in Dr. Pillbody's features before he settled on calling the person in front of him, "...my l-lord, that making a jest is the furthest thing from my mind." The breeches and cravat had decided him on what honorific to choose.

"No," said Lord Constantine. "My brothers put you up to this. The little shits." He tried to keep his voice from going shrill with anger, frustration, and fear. At fourteen, his voice had not yet deepened, and now this quack was telling him it never would. It could not be borne. 

"Now, Connie," his stepmother chided him, "your brothers had nothing to do with this. Don't blame them. Your father and I asked the doctor to investigate your recent--medical situation." His father merely nodded his agreement, but without looking at his eldest son.

"Don't call me Connie, Genevieve," Constantine complained. "It's a child's nickname, and I am the son and heir of a marquess, two-thirds of the way to my majority. It 's--belittling." And more, he felt it to be regrettable in light of the current discussion.

"You once were," said his father, still not looking at him.

At that moment, Dr. Pillbody chose to try to make his escape, sidling toward the door to the gardens. "If you will excuse me, my lord and --uh- ladies...."

Constantine glared at the unfortunate cleric, but turned his attention to his father. "You were saying, sir?" he inquired, trying to be respectful.

His father was still not looking at him, but spoke diffidently. "You were my son and heir--until you revealed your true nature by turning into a woman."

Constantine choked when he tried to speak, and another cramp struck his belly. "Father!" he managed. "You don't believe this...this quack, do you?"

The aforementioned Pillbody quietly closed the garden door behind him, having made good on his decampment.

Now the Marquess of Malvoir stared directly at Constantine, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "I've seen what's inside your coat, and the doctor has confirmed that you have begun your courses. You're bleeding from your...," the peer's face contorted with distaste, and he used a piece of mild slang from London men's clubs, "..bower."

The accusation overthrew Constantine's composure instantly. He broke from the confrontation, fleeing the smaller drawing-room, through the inner hall, and up the stairs, holding an arm in front of his face to conceal his tears.
*

"Nicely done, dear," the Lady Malvoir observed with blunt sarcasm.

The Marquess shrugged. "She's your problem, now, Genevieve. See that she doesn't come back downstairs until she is properly dressed as befits a young woman of her age and social standing." He sighed. "She's been in denial of her new status for a month. It can no longer be tolerated."

His wife inclined her head in dutiful acquiescence. "As you wish, Malvoir."

He frowned, trying not to wince. When she called him by his title while they were alone, he knew he was going to be sleeping in his own rooms that night. "And have one of the footmen find Thomas and August and send them to my office. If they've been mistreating their sister, I'll have them disciplined."

"You're already sending them off to school next month. Does your cruelty not have a limit, sir?"

Malvoir refused to engage his wife in verbal fisticuffs further, knowing himself out of her weight class. He trudged to his office on the other side of Debenham Manor, resigned to sleeping alone for that night, and perhaps for many following nights. The worst of the situation, he mused, was that Constantine--or Constance as they had determined to call her now--had always been the best of his children.

Inquisitive and studious, but proven to be a fine horsem--rider!--and a good shot, as well as excelling as a beginner in fencing. Dutiful and obedient, but also showing initiative and responsibility. Honest and honorable--damn it, the boy had been a paragon--until six months ago when he began growing breasts. And then last month, when his--her!--courses had begun.

He sighed. Allowances had to be made for the child. He would not punish her for denial or even refusal--yet. But he began to wonder if the solution would be to send her to her relatives in France. And perhaps, as his sister had suggested, place her in a nunnery until she learned how to be a young woman.

A twinge of empathy shivered him to his bones. Lord God, he couldn't do that to poor Constantine, could he? "Yes, Genevieve," he said aloud, drawing a curious glance from a footman carrying a bundle of faggots into his office, "my cruelty does have limits."

*

Constantine pushed into the room he'd been living in since the family came home from Town after Parliament adjourned in early July. A week later, he'd had his fourteenth birthday--old enough to be reckoned almost a man, if not for his troubles. He'd had his own room in their townhome, too, after his father had picked him up from Harrow. 

He hadn't been expelled from the prestigious school, exactly, but he had been suspended once the school officials had found out about his--anomalies. He'd been sent home under orders to find a way to satisfy the masters at Harrow that he was indeed male. The Headmaster, in particular, who was also Constantine's Master of House, had taken it hard to send the boy away. But he'd done it.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't just. None of the other boys had to prove they were male. And he wasn't the only boy at Harrow to have developed small breasts. "Argh," Constantine groaned. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that they were not so small as that. In fact, in the last two months, they had doubled in size, becoming like two small teacups glued to his chest. Keeping them wrapped tightly had lately become painful.

He ran his hand through his short honey-blond curls. At least he'd managed to get a haircut while in Town, before everything went to shit. And he'd saved his wardrobe from being destroyed. Well, not all of it. During the last month, nothing he put into the laundry came back, and the clothes he was now forced to wear on his slim body were increasingly rank and distasteful.

But he would not give in. He had an older sister, Alexandra. He would not go from being eldest son and heir to being youngest--daughter! His stepmother and her two brats were not going to cast him aside. He'd fight them. He'd....

Apparently, he would lie face up on his bed and moan while his belly cramped like he'd been kicked by a horse, and hot tears ran into his ears. "Damn," he said, trying the word out. It certainly was enough to make a man curse. Especially when he felt another hot flow, this one in his groin. He was going to have to change the cloth pad he wore in his drawers to keep his clothing from being ruined--again.

It just wasn't fair!

He stopped sobbing when he heard voices at his door: his stepmother, his sister, and Miss Vivian, his sister's governess. He had a sudden intimation of what was planned. Leaping off his bed, he seized a heavy wooden chair and pushed it toward the door, intending to lodge it under the handle and prevent the entry of his nemeses.

But he was too late, Genevieve, Alexandra, and Miss Vivian swept into the room along with another ally, gentle old Nurse Betty, who now had care of his brothers. "Get out! Get out!" he screamed at them. He hated that increased volume turned his voice shrill, and he hated them, all of them.

"Now, Connie," said Genevieve, "we're only here to help you."

He shook his head. "No, you're not! You're all part of the plot to make Thomas father's heir, instead of me!"

Startled by the accusation, Alexandra looked sideways at her stepmother. "Really, Genevieve?" she asked.

"Alex," he pleaded with his sister, "you should be on my side!"

Genevieve sighed. "It's a truth that Thomas will supplant you as heir, Constance. But it's also true that if you became Marquess, you would be unable to provide an heir for yourself and your family, in the way a man is supposed to. So Thomas, and his children, would be your heirs, if you take the long view."

"It's a lie! I am a man!" Constantine raged.

Genevieve motioned to her troops to surround him. "If you are a man, then you are a gentleman," she said. "And no gentleman would strike a woman, not even a stepmother, hmm? If you're a girl, of course, you are allowed to fight back. But there are four of us, and sad to say, we are all larger than you."

That was true. Even his sister was several inches taller and probably weighed a stone more than he did. "Don't twist logic with me! I order you all to leave my rooms! I'm the heir! You have to obey me!" But he failed to keep his voice from going shrill, again, and he knew he sounded like a petulant child. Or a girl.

"We have orders from your father to the contrary," said Genevieve. She stepped back for a moment and called into the hallway. "Bring in the bath, girls, and start fetching the hot water." She turned back to Constantine. "You'll feel better after you have a hot soak. Then you're going to dress appropriately and come to dinner."

Constantine retreated, but there really wasn't anywhere to go. He had said 'rooms' when he ordered them out, but in truth, it was only a single chamber with a wide cubby holding a mirror for dressing. A connecting door to another larger suite was locked. He was trapped, and what was more, the vicious cramping surged, sapping his energy and his will to resist.

Two girls ported a large brass tub through the door to place it in the corner. A third girl carried towels and a robe decorated with tiny pink roses. Roses.

Genevieve spoke. "Before you leave, girls, seize any pieces of masculine apparel or accessories you see and carry them out with you. Look in drawers and cupboards, too." The servants left, their arms loaded with the remainder of Constantine's clothing--his boots, his cravats, his beaver hat, his shaving kit (never used).

Tears ran down Constantine's face freely now, as he watched his male life disappear out the door. Alex gazed at him with sisterly affection and sympathy. Miss Vivian appeared apprehensive--taking sides with one family member against another might not be well for her own future. Nurse, who had tended Connie and Alex before she became Tom's and Gus's nurse, cried even more than he.

Genevieve's expression was all about resolve. She was a lovely woman-- dark where his own mother, Caroline, was bright and fair--but otherwise physically similar. Again, other than coloring, Alexandra and her stepmother could have passed for mother-daughter. Both were curvy and above average height, while he was slender. Would he develop to look more like his sister in only a year or two?

Until this crisis, he had always liked and respected his stepmother. After his mother had abandoned her family, Genevieve had stepped in within two years and taken the motherly role without effort or apparent regret. Then she had had babies of her own, and the form of the family seemed set. Until that fateful weekend in February, when circumstances had revealed the growths on his chest to the other boys at Harrow.

His face was still leaking, and his stomach cramping as he regarded his stepmother.

"Sit," she suddenly ordered him, patting the bed. He did so, startled into obeying. She pulled up a chair and sat facing him, motioning the others to find seats, too. 

Alex perched on the other side of the bed and reached across to touch him. She smiled, and his own smile wavered into existence before being snuffed out by his misery again. Nurse settled into the room's other chair, and Miss Vivian remained standing, helping the servant girls bringing in buckets of hot water by minding the door for them.

"No one is happy about the situation," Genevieve told him. "But if you struggle and physically resist us doing what needs to be done, one of us is likely to get hurt." He blinked owlishly at her (if owls had eyes full of tears). 

She continued. "You don't want to hurt any of us, do you, Connie?" she asked.

"Maybe you," he said. He looked at the others. "I surely don't want Alex or Nurse to be hurt. And Miss Vivian seems blameless." He turned back to her. "You're the only one who has something to gain here." 

"Well, you're wrong on that, too," his stepmother said, smiling again. "I do gain something, but are you aware that Nurse, along with your own mother, argued against your father's decision to raise you as a boy?" Nurse nodded, looking very sad. "And that is the fight that caused your mother to leave? If things had gone differently, I might not be here, and Caroline might have had sons of her own, given time.

"And you and Alexandra would always have been sisters." At that, Alex reached across to try to take his hand. He let her, and she gave it a small squeeze.

"Here," Genevieve leaned forward, turning her face slightly. "Go ahead and sock me in the jaw if you think it will make you feel better. Isn't that what boys do--get in fights and hit people?"

Constantine felt his lips tremble. He'd been in fights at Harrow--gotten and given his lumps and been whipped for fighting too. The school rules were strict. But he couldn't hit his stepmother. He just couldn't. Soon he was bawling, and she was holding him in her arms. "It's fine, Connie. We understand. Sometimes it is a terrible thing to be a woman, but it has its rewards, too. We'll teach you." She kissed his eyelids.

"Now," she cooed, after he seemed to have cried himself out. "Get undressed and into that tub. I guarantee you, the hot water will make you feel better. And after your bath, we can find you something to wear, so you can go downstairs to dinner with the rest of us."

He started to say something, but she stopped him. "Not just yet. Now is not the time for arguing. Now is the time to enjoy being rich enough to afford a hot bath, hmm?" She petted him on his cheeks and hair. "And remember, Connie, we do love you. All of us. Your sister, your father, Nurse, Miss Vivian, me, even your bratty little brothers." She grinned. "You'll see."