Popularity was not anything for which she had ever aspired. Balls, teas, parties were all fine and well, but she would rather be working in her laboratory or toiling in her herb garden or attending to a patient.

Her sisters were married. That, she had learned, raised women in the world’s estimation—specifically in the estimation of the villagers of Brambledon. Unfair as that may be, it was the reality of things.

Charlotte, historically the most reticent of the Langley sisters, was by far the most popular. A strange turn of events, indeed. Of course the reason for her sudden popularity was easy to understand. The cause happened to be the cute-as-a-bunny ten-month-old baby in her arms. Motherhood, apparently, was another cause for popularity.

In fact, motherhood, perhaps, topped wifehood. While her sisters’ marriages had lifted them in the world’s estimation . . . motherhood had lifted them to exalted status.

A glance over her shoulder revealed Mrs. Harken-Dale cooing over Charlotte’s baby. A line was fast gathering behind her.

“Gah.” Nora expelled a heavy breath. “We’re going to be here forever.”

She admired her niece as much as the next person. More so. They were kin, after all. But she did not relish having to wait whilst everyone gushed over little Cordelia.

Nora’s gaze skittered to her eldest sister. Marian was increasing now, and everyone gushed over her nearly as much as Charlotte and little Cordelia.

As her sisters were rushed by the matrons of the village, Nora walked briskly toward the Warrington carriage. She would wait inside. Perhaps that would encourage them to say their farewells and break away.

No one attempted to intercept her. Unless someone had a boil that required lancing, Nora was not in demand.

A liveried groom lowered the step and moved to open the door for her. She reached for his extended hand, ready to ascend and wait inside.

“Thank you, Thomas,” she murmured, nestling her fingers in his palm.

Once she was settled on the squabs, she sat and waited, willing herself to patience.

Of course, patience was not her strong suit. It never had been. In her restlessness, she slipped off her gloves and idly ran her fingers over the calluses marring her palms.

“Oh, bother.” Without hailing the groom for assistance, she took flight out the door not facing the church. She cast a glance back. Thomas stared after her from his perch, looking quite puzzled.

She waved a hand in the air. “The day is so lovely. Tell my sisters I will walk home.”

She marched forward, unaware if he called a reply and uncaring if he did. She was accustomed to going about her own pursuits in the manner she chose. Her sisters were accustomed as well, and would feel no surprise to find her gone.