The Duke Effect EPB

by Jordan, Sophie

  Nora inhaled, her fingers tightening around her cutlery. “And yet women,” she began with a bit of heat, “are allowed to be nurses . . . to wipe snot and cleanse wounds and change bedpans. To say nothing of the rigors and dangers of childbirth we are expected to endure. There is nothing delicate in that activity, which, of course, is deemed appropriate lest mankind cease to exist.”

  A dead silence met her proclamation. All eyes fixed on her as though she had spouted a second head. Someone dropped their cutlery and it clattered loudly against a plate, shattering the uneasy hush.

  Lady Elise looked vastly entertained as she glanced up and down the table at every face, ostensibly to gauge their reaction to Nora’s tirade.

  And it was a tirade. Nora could hear either one of her sisters’ voices in her ear, telling her she had overstepped. Too late now though.

  Sinclair cleared his throat and announced, “I was not finished.”

  She settled her glare back on him, braced and ready for more doubtlessly disappointing words.

  “Delicate constitutions are not reserved to one gender.”

  “That’s true. My sweet Malcolm could never stand the sight of blood. Poor lad. He would swoon at the sight of it.” The duchess cut a delicate piece of lamb and placed it in her mouth, chewing neatly.

  “Precisely. As to the matter of who is best suited to work in medicine, I say it depends on the individual and gender has nothing to do with it.”

  The table, again, fell to silence.

  He’d surprised her. She did not know how to respond. She felt her mouth open and close several times.

  Lady Elise smiled at her and then turned her full attention on to Sinclair, as though he were suddenly worth noticing. “Well said, Mr. Sinclair.”

  Lady Elise fiddled with her spoon, turning it over in her chilled soup as she gazed at Sinclair, her expression almost . . . besotted. There were no other words for her suddenly starry-eyed expression. She angled her head, arching her long, elegant neck. Her slim fingers stroked the tender line of her throat, almost as though calling attention there.

  Again, Nora was confronted with the fact that there was much of her to admire. Her luminescent skin only highlighted the lush beauty of her chestnut hair and hazel eyes.

  Lady Elise had not looked at him once during the entire evening, but now she appeared quite enraptured of him.

  It was almost as though in coming to Nora’s defense, he had esteemed himself in her eyes.

  Splendid.

  Nora lifted her glass and took a deep drink, trying to fight the strange swell of emotions in her chest. She filtered through them, singling them out one at a time and setting them aside for examination.

  Annoyance. Resentment. Oh, and one emotion that felt dangerously close to . . . inadequacy, and she hated that. It wasn’t like her. Nora Langley was not one to ever suffer feelings of inadequacy. In order to do that, she’d have to care what others thought and the opinions of others had never ranked as a very high priority in her life.

  Even though Bea had done wonders to make her look her best, she felt like a dull bird sitting a few seats down from Lady Elise, who seemed to know how to tilt her head and place her hand on her neck just so, in a way that made Nora feel flushed and faintly naughty . . . like she was spying on a couple sneaking a kiss.

  Lady Elise spoke again, still brushing a hand along her neck, over her pulse point in that flirty way.

  “That’s a very fair point, Mr. Sinclair. Why shouldn’t a woman be permitted a medical license? Goodness knows whenever I’ve fallen ill, it’s always been a woman to take care of me.”

  “Elise,” the dowager marchioness intervened in a reprimanding tone, and Nora suspected she used that tone often on her niece. “Don’t encourage such nonsense. Miss Langley doubtlessly wants to start a household of her own soon. She will not continue her work as an . . . herbalist into the future.” Lady Elise’s aunt uttered herbalist as though it were a dirty word.

  “Not everyone’s vocation is marriage, Aunt,” Lady Elise said sharply. Perhaps too sharply? A quick glance revealed that the Duke and Duchess of Birchwood both looked perturbed at that announcement from the woman they clearly hoped to be their future daughter-in-law.

  “Rubbish. Every young woman is after marriage.” The baroness tittered. “Trust me.” She waved her spoon in a small circle. “We had three daughters and they could scarcely wait to leave our house to start households of their own.”

  Nora lifted her napkin to her lips to stifle a laugh as it occurred to her that these daughters may have been in a rush to marry simply to escape their parents.

  Lowering her napkin, she declared very soberly, “I can assure you I am not in a hurry to start my own household. But then I suppose I’m an anomaly in that regard.”

  “Anomaly indeed.” Somehow the dowager marchioness managed to take a sip from her glass through pinched lips. Impressive.

  “Nonsense,” the baron intervened. “Only the ineligible females profess no desire to wed.”

  Nora stiffened, but fixed a smile to her face, pretending not to be offended at being characterized as ineligible.

  “Your sister is married to the Duke of Warrington, is she not, Miss Langley?” the dowager marchioness asked.

  “Yes.” Nora nodded, glad for the change of subject. She was quite done discussing the validity of women practicing medicine.

  “Was there not some notoriety surrounding him?” She looked contemplative as she posed the question. “He never comes to Town.”

  “Town life is not for everyone,” the Duchess of Birchwood chimed in.

  “Yes, but does he not neglect his duties in the House?” The lady shook her head in disapproval. “Some people have no sense of duty.”

  “My brother-in-law happens to prefer country life,” Nora explained, trying to keep the defensiveness from her voice. “And he’s quite besotted with my sister, his wife, and she, too, happens to prefer life in Brambledon.” Nora shrugged as if the matter were as simple as that.

  “How singular.” The dowager marchioness shook her head, visibly scoffing, clearly not thinking it romantic or acceptable in any way.

  “This Brambledon sounds as though it begs a visit,” the duchess put forth with a kind smile for Nora. “It sounds positively charming.”

  “Well, I am so glad you don’t eschew Town or we would never have the pleasure of your company,” Lady Elise said, ever so gracious as she stared directly at Nora.

  It really was unfortunate. For some reason, Nora wanted to dislike her.

  Yes, it was poorly done of her, but there it was. Lady Elise was lovely and would make a lovely duchess, a lovely wife to Sinclair. As far as Nora could tell, she was far better than he deserved and he should waste no time legitimizing the match.

  “Yes. How long will you stay?” The question was polite and innocent enough, but there was something in the dowager marchioness’s eyes that felt . . . unkind. Unlike her niece, the lady did not like her and seemed to want Nora gone from here.

  “Well. I . . . er, I have no set departure date yet.” She was not about to disclose the reason she was here was to help the duchess, and as she had not accomplished anything on that score she was not leaving anytime soon.

  “With your particular talents, I’m certain they are missing you, m’dear. I’m assuming you treat Warrington’s tenants? And the villagers?”

  Nora nodded.

  The dowager marchioness continued, “Well. Don’t tarry here too long when you’re needed at home.”

  “Thank you for your concern.” She lifted her glass in salute to the lady and then took a long sip, perfectly aware the woman cared nothing for the health and well-being of tenant farmers.

  Over the rim of her glass, she saw Sinclair watching her. He’d been far from gregarious this evening other than that brief unexpected rise to her defense.

  They all adjourned to the drawing room after dinner.

  Sinclair and Lady Elise paired off for a game of cards. It w
as clear the game was to be exclusive between them. They sat at a small marble-topped table that seated only two.

  The dowager marchioness drifted toward her in her black bombazine, her starched skirts cracking like brittle twigs as she hovered over Nora like a great bird of prey. “They’re a handsome pair, are they not?”

  Nora smiled tightly. “Indeed, they are.”

  “We were crushed, of course, at the passing of Winston. It was so sudden, and so tragic after losing Malcolm and Albert. Too bad you were not here then.” The dowager marchioness clucked her tongue. While the sound clearly intended to be sympathetic it only came across as scathing and mocking. “Perhaps your vast skills could have done something to save him.”

  Nora might not be the most adept at navigating social circles and people, but she felt certain the woman was patronizing her.

  Of course, Nora could not react. She had to shove down her ire and be polite and make idle chitchat. “Were Lady Elise and Lord Birchwood betrothed for very long?”

  “Oh, they knew each other all of their lives. It was always expected they would marry, but they only officially became engaged a few months prior to Winston’s death.”

  “How very sad.”

  “Indeed, indeed. Elise has trained all her life for this. We always thought she would be the next Duchess of Birchwood. It is only right that Mr. Sinclair upholds the honor of his family and does right by offering for my niece.”

  “Oh.” Nora was not certain what she was expected to say to that. For that matter, she was not even certain why Lady Elise’s aunt was singling her out for this conversation. And Nora did feel singled out. “Mr. Sinclair is an honorable man.”

  “Yes,” she commented mildly, tipping her head and studying Nora thoughtfully. “He is. Interesting how you know him so well already.”

  “It only takes a short time in Mr. Sinclair’s company to discern his character.”

  “Speaking of durations of time . . . should your visit here not be coming to an end, m’dear? I know you said you did not know yet when you would depart, but I hope it is sooner rather than later.” She lowered her voice to a hush. “Perhaps I’m bold saying this, but the duke and duchess may be entertaining again and this house no longer shrouded in mourning, but it is very much a place of grief. Their loss is great. As you’re from the country and rather provincial, I fear you may lack direction in such matters. You should not overstay your welcome, m’dear. Besides, I am quite certain your little country hamlet misses you. Won’t you be more comfortable there? Where you belong? Certainly you must feel a little out of sorts here.”

  Leave. Go. Be gone. Take yourself back to the den from whence you came.

  Those were the words she heard. Her first London dinner party and one of the guests wanted to make sure she understood that she didn’t belong here.

  “Thank you for the advice. I will keep that in mind.” She smoothed a hand over her skirts and noted that it trembled ever so slightly. “You know, I suddenly feel weary. If you will pardon me, I’m going to retire for the night.”

  “Of course.” The dowager marchioness smiled smugly, looking supremely pleased with herself.

  Nora quickly rose to her feet and bid good eve to everyone, primarily focusing on her hosts, her attention straying only briefly to the others. Especially to Sinclair. For some reason, she found it difficult to look at him with the dowager’s words ringing in her ears. Certainly you must feel a little out of sorts here.

  The woman was right. She was out of sorts and everyone knew it. Even Sinclair. Perhaps that was the true reason he had not wanted her here. Nora did not belong here, and he knew it.

  Chapter 13

  Constantine looked up from the ledger he was perusing with a sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck where tension seemed to be gathering.

  Since that miserable dinner a few days ago, he continued to bury himself in the task of familiarizing himself with the Birchwood estate. The duke and duchess might spend all their time in Town, but they were in possession of several properties throughout the country that required managing.

  He knew his self-imposed solitude couldn’t last. He was courting Lady Elise and he knew what was expected of him. Courting. He needed to call on her lest she think his interest had waned.

  He had promised as much to old Birchwood. He knew they expected him to propose soon. Despite that, he had kept to himself for three days.

  He dined out at his club or took a tray in his room. No one had remarked on his absence yet, but he knew it was coming. They would think he was avoiding people and they would be right.

  He had to face that this was the reality of his life. The duke had made that reality perfectly clear, after all. This kind of delay would not be tolerated, and truthfully it was cowardly. Even by Constantine’s standards. He could not hide from the people in his life forever. Of course, of all the people he was avoiding, he could think only of her. Nora.

  He had to face her—for however long she was here.

  Seated at the office’s great mahogany desk, he stared out the window that looked out over the back garden.

  As though his thoughts had conjured her, she suddenly appeared.

  Nora strolled arm in arm with the duchess amid the wild profusion of flowers. The sunlight turned her hair to spun gold. He could stare at it all day long.

  Immediately, he felt the tug of a smile on his mouth. She had discomfited everyone at dinner the other night with her bold speech and ideas. Except for Lady Elise, who found her to be a delightful bluestocking. Elise was forward thinking that way—a definite point in her favor.

  Everyone else had looked at Nora as though she were a two-headed creature in their midst. She knew she was a bit of a bluestocking. Very well. A very significant bluestocking.

  He chuckled and fell back in his chair. She had been the single delight of an otherwise miserable evening, which was troubling. Everyone else at the table happened to be his peers, the manner of people with whom he would spend the rest of his life. She would not be in his life. Not permanently. He should not enjoy her so much.

  Nora Langley did not possess an inauthentic bone in her body, which was strange considering he knew her to be a proven deceiver.

  The duchess pointed at a flower and Nora crouched down to collect it for her.

  He watched, riveted as she tucked the flower behind the older lady’s ear. The duchess had not suffered a spell since Nora arrived.

  He hated to think it, but he almost wished she was hurting so that Nora could attend to her, fix her and then be on her way, every tempting inch of her on her way back to her precious Brambledon.

  Tempting.

  God, no. He could not think about her in such terms. Just as he should not think of her in that dress from the other night.

  Certainly she had looked as no country miss should look in that gown. She was young. He had thought that when he first met her. A young girl with no life experiences beyond that of her small village—someone who played at writing letters and signing her dead papa’s name to them.

  He had at least a decade on her and he had not expected to feel a sharp stab of desire for her when he stumbled on her in the hall outside her bedchamber, looking like a luscious peach. Certainly, she was much too young for him. Except in that dress, she had looked ripe and ready. His teeth had ached looking at her. He’d longed for a taste.

  The ladies turned and headed back to the house. Presumably, their stroll was over. His attempt to get any work accomplished was over, too.

  “Blast it,” he muttered, pushing from the desk.

  Nora had been stuck here since her arrival, playing companion to the duchess. She was probably feeling a bit hemmed in, too.

  He found her and the duchess in the drawing room, a tea service between them. One of the maids was arranging a small plate of cakes and biscuits for the duchess.

  “Ah, Constantine, come and join us,” the duchess greeted as her gaze alighted on him. She waved him over with an imperious hand. “We
’ve not seen much of you. You’ve been working much too hard. It’s not healthy, you know.”

  He sank down on a wingback chair across from them. “There is much I need to learn.”

  “Well, you’ve always been a clever lad. I’m sure it won’t pose any difficulty for you. Don’t you agree, Nora?”

  Nora blinked. “I did not know Mr. Sinclair as a lad, but I agree. He appears intelligent.”

  Appears. She was comical.

  The duchess nodded happily as she bit into a cake, oblivious to Nora’s mocking of him. “What plans have you, Mr. Sinclair?”

  “I was thinking of a visit to Middlesex Hospital—”

  “Oh. Indeed?” Nora’s entire body leaned forward in her seat, an eager light filling her eyes.

  “Oh, dear.” The duchess frowned over the teacup she was lifting to her lips. “Is something amiss with you, too?”

  “Me? Oh, no. I am quite hale. The hospital has dissecting rooms and surgical theaters.” Nora’s eyes were now as round as saucers, watching him as though he were announcing words that signified life and death for her. It was deliberate, of course. He knew what he was doing.

  She really was the most peculiar female. Other girls cared about shopping and gossip. Especially girls with means, and as the sister-in-law of the Duke of Warrington, she had the means to be as spoiled and vain as any debutante.

  Except she wasn’t. She chose not to be. Instead, she was someone who became glassy-eyed with excitement at the mention of visiting a hospital.

  “Surgical theaters? My, that sounds impressive,” the duchess said as she selected another biscuit.

  “I thought Miss Langley might like to visit and observe them with me.”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes.” Nora nodded wildly, rising from the sofa, mindless of the small plate on her lap. It slid to the floor, the biscuits and cakes tumbling onto the rug.

  “Oh!” Nora dropped to the floor and hastily picked up the food.

  He could not help feeling a happy swelling in his chest. He had suspected this would interest her, but to see her this overjoyed and over such a small thing . . . well, he felt so gratified.