“Oh, it was noted. Trust me. I’ve spent enough time in the last day downstairs with the rest of the staff, and I can assure you that your state of dress was a point of discussion among those vultures.”

Nora fought back a flinch. She did not care what strangers thought of her. If the opinions of strangers mattered to her, she would have fallen in line like a proper soldier and already married. Heavens, she’d likely have a child or two clinging to her skirts.

Bea continued, “Never have I met such a group of hoity-toity servants.” She started digging around through the wardrobe, muttering to herself as she examined the slippers she had packed with a frown. “I should have packed more choices. If I had known we were coming to a place like this . . .” Her mutter faded away and she swept her gaze around the bedchamber with an air of accusation.

This chamber had no cherubs, but there were peacocks everywhere. On the vases and paintings. Even the brass table lamps: peacocks, peacocks, peacocks.

“My apologies,” Nora said, although she was not certain what she was apologizing for. She could not have known the Duke of Birchwood would live quite so differently from the Duke of Warrington.

Sinclair appeared in her mind. This was all his. This place. This life. For however mismatched Sinclair and this world seemed in her mind, they went together.

She had never seen Sinclair in uniform, but she better imagined him mud splattered in his colors, striding rigidly across an army field. That seemed more fitting an occupation for him than dukeing it about London.

Bea gave a small grunt and lifted a pair of slippers out from the floor of the armoire, attempting to straighten the tiny bows secured at each of the toes. “This will have to do. Don’t know what the staff has to be so priggish about. Told them I came from a duke’s household, too. Apparently Warrington is not as grand and venerable as Birchwood.” She gestured widely around them with an exaggerated air of disgust. “Apparently there is an order even among dukes and our duke is at the bottom of the stack.”

That was quite possibly true, but she did not think Warrington cared. In fact, she was certain that he preferred it that way.

“I don’t think the Duke or Duchess of Birchwood minded my wardrobe,” Nora offered.

The Duchess of Birchwood had joined them at luncheon yesterday, refreshed from her nap. She was perfectly pleasant and delighted that Nora would be staying with them. She had not blinked an eye over Nora’s vocation. She even seemed quite eager to try a few of Nora’s remedies. Women were always more accepting and open-minded of Nora’s efforts.