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.