Despite all intentions, Nora could not stop thinking about that tiny bronze vial. All her things were packed, ready for departure on the morrow, but sleep was elusive.

She finally gave up. Flinging back the counterpane, she hopped from bed and snatched her night rail where it rested at the foot of the bed. Wrapping herself in it and tightening the belt at her waist, she crept out into the corridor.

Nora stopped before Sinclair’s door and shifted uneasily on her feet. She lifted her hand to knock and then hesitated, pulling back. She bit her lip in contemplation.

She knew it was unseemly to visit him in his bedchamber, but considering it had to do with the well-being of the duchess, she thought decorum could be set aside for a much-needed discussion with Sinclair.

She came here for one reason, after all. She might very well have a way to help the duchess. The lady was in acute pain. Even with possible side effects, it was only fair that she present the treatment option to Sinclair. A conversation was justified. More than justified. It was necessary.

Her original purpose in coming here had been forgotten or at least pushed aside since her arrival. Not through any manner of neglect. The duchess had simply been in good health, seemingly so, and Nora had allowed herself to become complacent. She’d allowed her head to be turned by an afternoon jaunt with a handsome man.

Her holiday was over.

Now it was time to work. She wasn’t running for home with her tail tucked in her skirts until she had exhausted all options on the duchess’s behalf.

Forget about propriety and the rules that applied to the proper ladies of Society. Nora had no such aspirations. She never had.

In another life, perhaps if Nora had been a son, she would have gone on to be a doctor like Papa. There would have been no barriers to stop her, no dour-faced men at the helm of medical institutions to say she was not allowed.

Ironically, Phillip, her brother who was soon to finish at Eton, was not in the least interested in such a pursuit. It was maddening. He would have been allowed to train to be a doctor whilst she could not.

“Enough of this,” she murmured under her breath and brought her knuckles against the door, rapping on the wood.

The dinner hour was over. Not that anyone had eaten downstairs in the lavish dining room. Not tonight. As the duchess was ill, the servants had delivered trays to everyone at their various locations.

Bea had eaten in her room with her. They paused amid packing. The servants had delivered their trays with clear disapproval writ all over their faces.

She was careful not to knock too loudly. The dinner hour was over, but she knew the staff was still up and about.