She had beamed at Nora as she said, “I’m feeling quite improved today, but a week rarely passes without one of my spells. Unfortunately, it won’t be long until I take another turn.” Her smile diminished a bit at that. “Then we will see what happens and you shall have your hands full with me.”

“I am at your disposal,” Nora pledged.

“I’m almost looking forward to that.” The duchess turned her attention to Sinclair to praise him. “So good of you to send for her, Constantine. At the very least she will be a pleasant diversion.”

Nora did not know how she felt about being described as a diversion. It conjured an image of herself sitting in a chair reading beside the ailing lady as she reclined in bed. It felt somehow minimizing. Nora was more than that. She was a healer.

“I only seek your comfort, Your Grace,” Sinclair had replied in that subdued manner of his that somehow grated upon Nora’s nerves. Could he not display a little emotion? It was . . . unnatural. And did he want to be that? A purveyor of diversions?

He was more than this, too.

At his response, the duchess lowered her spoon back into her bowl with a dissatisfied clink. “Now, now, Constantine. What have I said? We are beyond such formality. You are the Birchwood heir.” She said the words with a smile, but there was something in her voice, a certain quaver, a drop in the tone of her voice that betrayed her, that revealed she was not completely unaffected at the significance of Sinclair being the Birchwood heir. The significance being that her offspring were all gone—dead, wiped from the earth by the cruel vagaries of life. “You must call me Maude.”

He nodded once, as stiff and austere as ever (he already had this duke thing down), but he did not respond with the vocalization of her Christian name, and Nora somehow doubted he ever would. She rather thought he was incapable of doing that. Such familiarity was beyond the man.

“And what of Mr. Sinclair?” Bea asked, pulling Nora from her reverie.

Nora blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Mr. Sinclair?” she prompted, as though she knew of Nora’s preoccupation with the man. “The heir? Is he not the reason we came here?”

“No!” she cried in outrage. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“We hared half across the country. I assumed it was for a man. And as far as men go, he is a fine specimen. What other reason could there be?”

Nora sniffed. “My actions are not motivated by the male species—fine specimen, or no.”

Bea stared at her with a decidedly unimpressed expression. “It’s my experience that all actions of people are motivated by desire.”

“That’s a little rudimentary. You make us all sound like we live in caves and only care about procreating and our next meal.”