“Indeed. Virtuous womanhood must be protected,” the baron parroted as he stuffed his mouth full of meat, his crooked yellow teeth chomping down on the mint-dressed lamb. Juice dribbled down his chin as he chewed. He lifted his napkin to half-heartedly mop up the mess. He didn’t catch it all and brown spots soon appeared on his dress shirt and brocade waistcoat.

Nora cringed at the unattractive sight, wondering who would protect the world from the sight of the baron eating his dinner.

For some reason she felt compelled to look at Sinclair, to see if he appeared to share their opinions on the role of women in medicine.

She assumed he was like-minded given his reaction at discovering she was the true author of her father’s letters. He claimed his outrage was due to her deceit, but she wondered if it was truly over discovering she was a female dispensing medical advice. She suspected he was not broad-minded when it came to women occupying nontraditional roles, and for some reason she felt a keen sense of disappointment in him, which she had no right to feel. He was not family nor friend nor anyone for whom she should feel disappointment.

He stared back at her, his face void of expression. And yet he offered no defense on her behalf and expressed no indignation.

“Poppycock,” Lady Elise offered.

“What say you, Sinclair?” the duke called across the table.

Nora stared at him, waiting, expecting a decided lack of support.

“In the army I observed grisly injuries that I shall not recount here.” He paused, a muscle flickering along his jaw as though caught up in a particular unfortunate memory. She tried not to let that sight of vulnerability within him affect her. She did not want to soften toward him when he so obviously was about to disparage the role of women in medicine. He then resumed speaking. “Innumerable injuries. Some fatal. I stood witness during many a surgery that would unquestionably offend those of delicate constitutions.”

“See there now.” The dowager marchioness bobbed her head in satisfaction. “Delicate constitutions must be shielded.”

Nora inhaled, her fingers tightening around her cutlery. “And yet women,” she began with a bit of heat, “are allowed to be nurses . . . to wipe snot and cleanse wounds and change bedpans. To say nothing of the rigors and dangers of childbirth we are expected to endure. There is nothing delicate in that activity, which, of course, is deemed appropriate lest mankind cease to exist.”

A dead silence met her proclamation. All eyes fixed on her as though she had spouted a second head. Someone dropped their cutlery and it clattered loudly against a plate, shattering the uneasy hush.

Lady Elise looked vastly entertained as she glanced up and down the table at every face, ostensibly to gauge their reaction to Nora’s tirade.