Constantine pushed up from the table. “Let us escort you out.”

The three of them departed the dining room. Theodora latched onto Nora’s hand. In the entry hall, Nora squatted to embrace her daughter, inhaling deeply her sweet little girl scent that was now mixed with the aroma of tart blackberries. “Be a good girl today. I will see you at dinner, my love.”

When it did not appear that Theodora would let go of Nora, Constantine stepped in and relieved Nora of their daughter. “Let’s clean up and get ready for the park, poppet.”

Theodora clapped her chubby hands at the prospect of the park. She loved her outings.

With their daughter in his arms, Constantine bent down and pressed a lingering kiss to Nora’s lips. “Enjoy your day. Play nicely. Make friends. Learn.” He pressed another quick kiss to her mouth. “And remember. We will be here for you when you get home.”

Author’s Note

If you’re curious about the Duchess of Birchwood’s mysterious malady, allow me to enlighten you. Not very long ago a member of my family was diagnosed with an inflammatory disorder called polymyalgia. Incidentally, when I mentioned this in conversation to a friend, I learned that her own mother was also plagued by the same ailment. I had never even heard of this condition, but suddenly I was thinking about it a lot and considering what a challenge it must be for those afflicted.

I don’t profess to be an expert, but (as related to me) the muscle pain can be quite excruciating and most commonly afflicts women over the age of sixty.

Unfortunately, this condition was not identified in the Victorian era. As there is no cure for polymyalgia, and treatment is very limited, there would not have been much relief available in the nineteenth century to help our Duchess of Birchwood . . . but fiction is a wonderful thing. Anything can happen in books and I like to think that Nora not only perfected and fine-tuned her tonic to the benefit of the Duchess of Birchwood, but for all her future patients.

After all, I only write happily-ever-afters.

Of course that is what happened.

An Excerpt from THE DUKE GOES DOWN

Chapter One

A garden party, 1838

The day was bright. The weather perfect. The guests attired in brilliant colors that seemed to celebrate the occasion, as though the heavens wished to shine down on the birthday of the privileged and lauded heir to the Duke of Penning.

But it might as well have been a funeral to Imogen Bates.

There was no pleasure to be had for her. She smoothed a trembling hand over her ruffled skirt. It was a new frock. Mama had insisted on the extravagance since it was to be such a special occasion. Mama’s words. Such a special occasion. Papa went as far as to proclaim it an honor.