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.