The Duke Effect EPB

by Jordan, Sophie

  “I did spot her through the window looking rather hopeful as he invited me.”

  “There you have it.” She nodded. It was all Marian’s doing.

  “Well, I don’t know how to feel about that.”

  “What do you mean? Because Warrington was nudged into inviting you for the night?” She shrugged. “Do not most wives control the guest lists?”

  “I suppose. I don’t have a wife.”

  “Allow me to enlighten you then. The lady of the house controls all. At least socially.”

  “If it was important to your sister that I spend the evening here, why has she abandoned me to your tender clutches?”

  Obviously Nora couldn’t reveal her suspicions—that her sister was playing matchmaker. She shot a furtive look at the silent footman, bothered that he was a silent witness to their conversation.

  “Danny?” she inquired.

  His gaze snapped to her face. “Miss?”

  “Leave us please.”

  His gaze shifted uncertainly to Sinclair before looking back at her. “Begging your pardon?”

  “Please leave us.”

  “Are you certain—”

  “Quite.” She nodded, and then watched in silence as he turned and exited the room.

  “I don’t think that was necessary,” Sinclair murmured once they were alone.

  “And risk you airing the matter of my . . . charade?”

  “Charade?” He released a rough bite of laughter. “That’s a delicate phrasing of your dishonesty, but you needn’t have worried.” He motioned around the fine drawing room. “I am rather new to all of this, but I know to watch what I say in front of the servants. I won’t expose your fraud. Yet.”

  Yet. The word fell heavily on the air, the threat as alarming as ever.

  She resisted the urge to defend her actions. She had already attempted that and it had not dissuaded him.

  “Ah. Yes.” She fixed her smile in place once again. “You find yourself in the enviable position of being heir to a duke.”

  “I don’t know if I would call it enviable. It took the premature deaths of my three cousins for me to become heir.”

  Had she mentioned she lacked charm? She closed her eyes in a long miserable blink.

  “Well, now I feel perfectly wretched.”

  He grunted in a way that sounded very . . . self-satisfied.

  She narrowed her eyes. “But that was your intention, was it not? To keep me in the box where you have allocated me.”

  “I don’t understand your meaning. What box do you speak of?”

  “The box where you relegate things you dislike. I am sure I exist in this box for you.”

  He blinked and shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t . . .”

  “Let’s see.” She angled her head and started counting on her fingers. “My box contains mottled sheep liver. And jellied quail eggs. Warrington’s cook has introduced me to both and I wish I had never tasted the like.”

  He stared at her without expression.

  “Do you care for jellied quail eggs?” she asked.

  “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “But you’ve had the pleasure of me.” And he did not like her. Not anymore. Not since realizing she was not her father.

  He was staring at her rather oddly now, his dark eyes gleaming. She angled her head, wondering at the sudden intensity of his stare. Then she heard her own words. You’ve had the pleasure of me. They hung in the air between them. Heat crept up her face.

  “I have not,” he began slowly, “had the pleasure of you.”

  She nodded briskly, regretting that she had said something that could be interpreted so luridly. She decided not to acknowledge it and changed the subject.

  “We’ve not rubbed on well today.” Was it only today that they first came face-to-face? This day felt like it would never end.

  He gave a grunt of agreement.

  She continued, “You would think we would. We’ve been corresponding for years.”

  His reply came quickly. “That wasn’t you.”

  “It was me.” She patted her chest. “Those letters were me. They were you and me and we were friends. I might have signed Papa’s name, but that is the truth.”

  He didn’t reply. The moments ticked by and his silence was answer enough. He set his glass down with a sharp click. “It grows late.”

  It was not. Not really. But it was clear he didn’t want to be alone with her anymore. She nodded stiffly. “It has been a long day.”

  “Indeed, it has.” He stood and performed a brief bow.

  She looked up at him, wondering if she would see him in the morning again, but somehow sensing she would not.

  He left her alone in the room.

  Danny soon returned and she rose to her feet, knowing he was likely waiting for her to quit the drawing room so that he could make for his bed.

  “Good night,” she murmured, passing the footman as he moved to kill the lamps.

  Bea was waiting for her in her chamber. Nora did not even protest as the maid assisted her in readying for bed. She was too weary to argue the point.

  Settled in her comfortable bed, she endured a restless night, plagued by dreams in which she was shunned by the entire village. At one point Nora was walking down the main thoroughfare and several of the villagers were tossing rocks at her. It was a montage of faces. Even Papa was there, frowning in disapproval as he cast stones at her, pelting her in the face and chest. She whimpered, willing him away. Then Sinclair was there, a stone ready to fly in his hand.

  She lurched upright in bed in the murky air, gasping, her hand brushing over her face as though she could still feel the sting of sharp rocks.

  She swung her legs around and dropped down on the floor, her toes sinking into the plush rug. She sat at the edge of her bed for several moments, breathing heavily, in and out, in and out, before she stood and strode across the chamber to her window. She pushed aside the damask drapes and peered out at the breaking dawn.

  There, etched against the softening gray of the impending morning, was a horse and rider, cantering away, leaving Haverston Hall behind.

  He’d roused himself and left before the inhabitants of the house were even stirring. It made sense. He’d wanted to leave yesterday. He didn’t want to have to see her again.

  She watched as he grew smaller and smaller, soon just a speck in the distance, and wondered at the strange tightness in her chest. She let the drapes fall back with a whisper, her hand stroking down the fabric.

  Nora would see him again. She vowed it.

  Chapter 8

  It did not take Nora long to formulate a plan. That was what she did, after all. Her life consisted of plans. She created strategies and carried out experiments to meet hopefully satisfactory end results. That was what she did. Every day.

  She intended to propose her plan at dinner that evening to her sister and brother-in-law. She knew that would be the first hurdle—gaining her sister’s agreement. Once she had Marian on her side, Warrington would approve. He was besotted with Marian, after all. He’d do anything she asked.

  They were on to the second course by the time Nora found her voice. “I’ve decided to accept Mr. Sinclair’s invitation,” she proclaimed as she reached for her glass of claret and took a fortifying sip.

  The clatter of cutlery around the table stopped abruptly.

  Marian and Nathaniel exchanged a long look. They did that often. Nora supposed married couples did that sort of thing. She could not recall if her parents ever did. She held so few memories of her mother, unfortunately. She’d died when Nora was young. She always envied that Marian and Charlotte had had more time with her, more memories to reflect upon.

  And now Marian had Nathaniel. And Charlotte had Kingston.

  They were forming their own families, building their own lives without her. She tried not to feel jealous, and she truly wasn’t. Not precisely. She simply felt left behind. They’d moved on with the next stage of t
heir lives and left her behind. Not forgotten. Some days she felt that it would be easier if they did forget her. Then they would not attempt all their subtle and not-so-subtle efforts to see her married off to whatever gentleman of the hour struck them as eligible. Really. It was like they didn’t know her at all if they thought she could be tempted by the banality of domesticity.

  “What invitation?” Marian inquired after some moments, lowering her forkful of buttered parsnips back down to her plate. “I don’t recall that he invited you anywhere.”

  “Indeed,” Warrington seconded, looking equally bewildered. “I don’t recall an invitation being extended either.” Naturally, he would support his wife.

  “Oh, he did during our walk through the gardens.” She fluttered a hand vaguely, hoping she did not appear dishonest—even if she was. Especially because she was. “He came here for my help, after all—”

  “Your help?” Warrington looked at her dubiously.

  “He did not come here for you. He came here for help from Papa,” Marian reminded pointedly, waving her fork in a small circle. “He did not extend that invitation to you, Nora. He did not even leave without saying farewell. Merely spoke to Mrs. Conally and asked her to pass along his compliments and appreciation to us.” She made a face, pursing her lips as though she had bitten into something particularly sour. “I had hoped when I left you with him you might have softened him.”

  “Yes, that did not work.”

  Marian sighed with a rueful shake of her head, her hand lowering to rub her generous belly. “I suppose I should have known better. You’re not known for your charm.”

  That bit of truth stung. For once she wished she had Marian’s gifts so she could have enchanted Sinclair to the point that he forgot his displeasure with her. She frowned at the wishful thought. It felt a betrayal to herself. She was not like Marian and Charlotte and she had never longed to be.

  With indignation stewing inside her, she grumbled, “I would have softened him if he only believed me when I told him that I learned all my skills from Papa and I am perfectly capable of helping him.”

  “Well, I think we can put that hope aside. According to Mrs. Conally he seemed quite cross and eager to depart.” Marian calmly returned her attention to her food.

  “I think the most important thing to remember here,” Nora said with heavy emphasis as she moved her fork aimlessly in her buttered parsnips, “is that the Duchess of Birchwood needs help and I am equipped to give her that assistance.”

  “You know nothing of this woman’s condition so you cannot know if you can help her or not,” Marian pointed out very reasonably. Always so very reasonable. That was frustrating. Even now that they were older, Marian still treated Nora as though she were frozen in childhood. Her sisters had grown into women who married and entered motherhood, but Nora was stuck as a child.

  “Certainly the duchess has the finest physicians in London at her disposal,” Warrington added unhelpfully. There was also a roundabout insult buried in there. Of course if the duchess had the best doctors available to her, there was nothing that Nora could offer her.

  “And yet he came here looking for me,” Nora stated.

  “For Papa,” Marian inserted. “He does not need or want you.”

  Nora’s temper sparked. She would always be that bothersome little sister in Marian’s eyes. Emphasis on the world little. “But should I not see her and make that assessment for myself? You know I am good at what I do. I’m not making that up,” she challenged.

  Marian nodded grudgingly. “Indeed, you are.”

  “I owe Sinclair that after our many years of correspondence. We were friends of a sort—”

  “You mean Colonel Sinclair believed himself to be friends with your father,” Warrington pointed out as he cut into his pheasant. “Not you.”

  “London is not a mere rock’s skip from here,” Marian reminded before Nora had a chance to respond to her exasperating brother-in-law. “The duchess is not a short walk across the shire as with your usual patients.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “Good then. Because obviously I cannot travel in my condition.” Shaking her head, she resumed eating as though the matter were closed. “It’s much too close to my time.” She added a bit of the fig compote to her pheasant-laden fork. “Mmm. Is that cherries with the figs? Delicious.”

  Warrington nodded. “I was just about to remark the same.”

  Marian smiled besottedly at her husband.

  Nora struggled not to retch.

  “It was not my meaning to suggest you have to accompany me,” Nora defended. It was actually the last thing she wanted. She could do with some time away from Marian . . . from her entire family for that matter. Considering she had never had a respite from her family ever, it was long overdue.

  Marian looked up, blinking innocuously. “Then who did you mean to accompany you? Charlotte has her hands much too full with Cordelia.”

  “I uh . . . I can bring Bea. She should be glad to be of use. She is oft complaining that I don’t utilize her nearly enough.”

  “It does vex her that you forgo her services.” Marian shook her head ruefully. “Poor lass.”

  “Then she should be most glad to accompany me to London and be of use.” Nora reached for her glass and drank deeply, counting herself the winner of this skirmish.

  Until her sister spoke.

  “I’m sorry, Nora. I cannot approve. You’ve never been to London, and we cannot send you there without one of us to escort you . . . especially to call on a gentleman I am convinced never wants to see you again. He parted here quite ill-tempered. I can hardly release you to his clutches.”

  “Clutches?” She snorted. “He’s not a great clawed harpy, Marian.”

  “Your sister is quite correct,” Warrington agreed, his deep voice carrying across the table. Of course he agreed. “You cannot go down on your own. Even with Bea as a companion, it’s not advisable.”

  Her brother-in-law doted on her sister. He would not naysay Marian on a matter such as this. Doubtlessly, he thought Nora’s wishes to go down to London were trivial and therefore easy to dismiss. He couldn’t know, couldn’t understand, what it meant to her.

  Her fingers tightened around her cutlery until her knuckles went white. Their denial felt like a slap—a reminder that she would never be an autonomous person to them . . . to anyone. To the world she was merely Nora Langley, kinswoman to people who mattered but not a person who mattered in her own right.

  She might operate under the illusion of independence, but it was just that. An illusion. In moments like this, when reality slapped her in the face, she felt as powerless as a newborn babe.

  “Is it merely a trip to London you crave?” Marian asked as she served herself from the platter the footman proffered. “Perhaps we can all go? In a half year?”

  We can all go. In a half year.

  Again, as though she were a little girl being placated with the promise of a sweet treat. The words only added to her bad temper. In a half year. Those words felt as heavy and burdensome as a yoke about her neck. It would be too late by then. Sinclair would have written to Durham and the others. Her good name could very well be ruined even as far as their small shire.

  Marian smiled at her in a cajoling manner, perfectly oblivious to Nora’s churning emotions.

  The footman arrived at Nora’s side and she distractedly lifted the serving spoons to serve herself.

  Her sister thought her offer perfectly generous. She had no notion of Sinclair’s threat to expose Nora’s machinations to the world. For some reason Nora did not want to reveal that piece of information, however much it guided her impulse to go after Sinclair. She was certain Marian would be appalled and Warrington would feel compelled to act on her behalf. He would likely leave Marian in her delicate condition and hie off after Sinclair. He’d think it was his duty as her eldest male relation. Her brother was still a lad in school, after all. The last time he’d visited during holiday his voic
e still cracked when he talked.

  It was rather nice, she supposed, to have an older brother to care for her and look after her. She couldn’t drag him into her mess.

  No, Nora could not have that. It would be just her luck that Marian would give birth whilst Warrington was gone. That was unacceptable. She could not risk that happening. She could not reveal Sinclair’s threat and potentially be the reason he missed the birth of his first child.

  Her sister was perfectly kind and she had done so much for Nora, for all of them. She had made so very many sacrifices upon Papa’s death. Nora would handle this situation herself.

  Nora forced a smile. “Perhaps to mark the New Year?” she suggested. “We can all go to Town.”

  “Splendid,” Marian exclaimed. “Charlotte, Kingston and both babies can join us. We shall make an occasion of it. It will be a wonderful family affair. We shall shop and visit the museums and the theaters. You can meet this Duchess of Birchwood and assure yourself of her well-being.”

  Nora nodded in seeming agreement.

  The matter was settled then. At least in Marian’s mind it was.

  They would travel to London in a half year and Nora would be a good and proper girl in the meantime, sitting on her backside, waiting for the moment her family snapped their fingers and allowed her out into the world.

  The matter was settled for Nora, too.

  She would be going to London on the first train out tomorrow.

  Chapter 9

  Nora debated long and hard whether to bring Bea with her despite what she had told Marian and Warrington when she first announced her intention to travel to London. There were advantages and disadvantages to doing such a thing.

  Of course, it was advisable to bring a companion with her on the journey. More than advisable. It was propriety and customary at that. Even she, who gave so little regard to what was customary or proper, recognized that.

  Nora was not a seasoned traveler either. She had never left the shadow of Brambledon. Naturally she should have a companion with her, but there was still the very real matter of whether or not she could trust Bea.