She’d already enjoyed a bath and was wrapped cozily in a dressing gown. She’d spent most of the day in the company of the duchess. They’d had breakfast and luncheon together, just the two of them. They’d played cards and strolled the gardens. Fortunately for the duchess she was pain-free and quite looking forward to the small dinner party she was hosting that evening.

Nora could do without dinner parties. She would rather get to the matter of healing the duchess, but as the lady exhibited no outward symptoms, she could do nothing more than wait for the next spell.

She had not seen the duke or Sinclair since yesterday. She had resisted prying into the whereabouts of either gentleman when she was with the duchess—a definite test of her will as she was one to usually speak whatever came to her mind. She definitely had to channel her sisters’ calm temperaments to hold her tongue. She had no idea what kept the gentlemen away. Doubtlessly, the duke had much to teach Sinclair about his legacy.

Most heirs spent a lifetime training for the role. With three sons, clearly no one had expected Sinclair to inherit. Who had ever been afflicted with such a run of bad luck?

He had been living his own life as a colonel a world away from England. Now he was here, thrust into this new position. She wondered what his feelings were on the matter. He hardly appeared gleeful over his new fate. She suspected he was not enamored with the change of his circumstance, however, he was not one to reveal his emotions.

She sank down on the bench before the dressing table and allowed Bea to work on her hair, telling herself she did not care one way or another with the end result. She was not here to win people over with her appearance, and she was certainly not here to charm Mr. Sinclair. This paragon Lady Elise was welcome to him. He could court and marry whomever he chose. It had naught to do with Nora.

The day had been interminable.

Constantine had spent most of it with Birchwood and his man of affairs, Somerton, poring over ledgers and listening to the two older gentlemen reminisce about the days of their youth when both their lives had been bright and shiny, full of possibility. Days when all three of the duke’s sons had been alive, spirited boys frolicking through the halls, cheeks flushed and full of life. The specter of death had been nowhere in sight.

Constantine tried not to reveal how awkward he felt in those moments, knowing his very presence was a reminder to the Birchwoods of all they had lost. He would forever represent that to them—loss.