“I . . . ah. I do not know. Her husband is very protective. I do not think he will allow you near her. She’s under the care of a most prominent and capable physician. I believe he and the duke attended Eton together.”

“Has she improved yet under this most prominent and capable physician?”

“As I said. She has spells.”

“So not yet then. It seems to me her physician must not be so very capable if she is still ill.”

“You are full of self-confidence, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “Competence begets confidence. Now. Can you be more specific? What are these spells like?”

He looked at her long and hard and for a moment she thought his resolve was cracking and he was truly considering her offer. Then, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. You’ve come all this way for naught. The duke will not allow you to see his—”

“Sinclair? Is that you in there? It’s my understanding that we have a guest.” An older gentleman entered the room. He was past middling age but in possession of a full head of glorious white hair. His gaze landed on her. “Ah, you must be the visitor mentioned. Sinclair? Aren’t you going to introduce me to the young lady?”

Sinclair looked pained. “Indeed, Your Grace. Allow me to introduce you to Miss Nora Langley. Miss Langley, may I present the Duke of Birchwood.”

She executed a curtsey. She’d had some practice since becoming Warrington’s sister-in-law. She had seen the courtesy performed countless times.

“A pleasure, Miss Langley. Will you be staying for luncheon? We are to sit down to eat soon. The duchess is having one of her better days. She has roused from her nap and will soon join us.”

“That won’t be necessary. Miss Langley was just—”

“I should enjoy that. Thank you, Your Grace. I am quite famished from my journey here.”

“Journey? And where have you come from, Miss Langley?”

“Brambledon, Your Grace.”

“And do you reside there with your . . . family, Miss Langley?” He looked rather pointedly between Sinclair and Nora, and she realized he was inviting an explanation to be given for her appearance in his drawing room and, more specifically, her connection to Sinclair. He wanted her credentials, in short, and to know if her pedigree warranted her a place in his drawing room.

“Yes.” She might as well give him what he was seeking, and hoped it achieved the desired result, which was to secure an invitation to stay. “I live in Brambledon with my sister and her husband . . . the Duke of Warrington, Your Grace.”

His eyes lit up. “Ah. Warrington? I’ve heard of the man, I believe.” He nodded slowly. “Never met him though. Bit of a recluse, is he not?”

“Yes. Warrington does prefer country living,” she allowed.