Page 19 of The Duke's Improper Bride
Isaac hadn’t returned. Nor had there been word about Maeve and Stuart.
Nora frowned, rubbing the small patch of skin on her finger where her engagement ring had been.
She brushed off the fine veil of mist that covered her hair, curls springing up in response. It had been a cold, gloomy day. One where the fog was tired and hung heavy in the gray sky. It mirrored how she felt. With a shiver, she shook off her cloak and proceeded to the music room, thankful someone had seen to the fire.
Her mother had been roaming the halls the past few days, in between bouts of apathy and tears. She had turned on Nora, growing more agitated about Maeve’s situation, as if Nora was to blame.
And perhaps she was. If she had only paid attention to her sister, or doted on Stuart, maybe she would still be getting married in two months. Maybe, if she hadn’t insisted on riding that day ten years ago, she would have been the debutante of the season and not bargained away like chipped wedding china.
Nora drew a shawl over her shoulders and fetched the stitching she had worked on yesterday and made camp by the fire. If only she could shake this chill that had settled in her bones.
Keeping her hands busy or walking until her legs ached hadn’t helped. How easily her mind drifted to Isaac.
Isaac and that beautiful mouth of his and how he kissed her. He kissed her as if she deserved to be kissed.
His voice was like crushed velvet, smooth and lyrical in its cadence. It was a low rumble, an erotic purr almost. And it made her feelthings. Like that time she had snuck several glasses of brandy after dinner. Isaac’s voice was a libation Nora was growing fond of, and though she didn’t wish to be caught, she never wanted him to stop talking.
Unless he was kissing her.
She would enjoy that very much.
And she remembered his embrace, and how for the first time in years, it had as if she had been welcomed home. A blush suddenly burned her cheeks. To be touched and wanted, such basic human cravings. And he had given them to her freely, with desire.
“You’re bleeding all over your stitching,” her mother snapped at her, rushing into the room.
Nora raised her finger, examining the prick of blood that had indeed stained the fine linen. She cursed under her breath, bringing her finger to her lips to stop the blood.
“If you’re going to use such language, then don’t speak at all. Heaven knows it would be easier if you couldn’t. Perhaps Maeve wouldn’t be in the position she is in.”
Taut from the anger thrumming inside her, Nora gritted her teeth, then rose. “Is there s-something you want, Mother?”
“I want my daughter back.”
For a moment, one fleeting moment, Nora wondered if she were the daughter her mother was talking about. Before the accident, Mother hadn’t been so cold. Before the accident, there had been kisses and hugs and smiles for Nora. She had been loved and well-dressed and cared for by her mother. And after…
Well, she hoped marrying Stuart would be a little better than the cold woman her mother had become. She had been wrong.
Nora strolled to the window overlooking the gardens and folded her hands in front of her. “What about m-me, Mother?”
Her mother sat, blowing out a heartless laugh. “You’re the reason this has happened to our family. Your father’s downfall in society will be because you couldn’t warm up to Stuart. If you had acted as though he were special, as if he were interesting…”
“He’s not and never was.”
“Nora Jane MacAllen.” Her mother tossed her hands into the air. “You’re the reason I’ll be gone into the grave early.” Then her mother fished out the flask she kept hidden in her dress and drank.
There was never any talk about mother’s flask. Or how, some days, her mother was asleep before dinner. Or how, when Mrs. White or others paid a visit, excuses were made because their mother could no longer speak properly or walk without assistance.
No, that was a family secret, not suitable for polite company.
“I don’t believe that’s true, Mother. I believe the reason you’re s-searching for is whiskey.”
Her mother sat up, her brown eyes wide and on fire. “I have done everything for you. Your tone isn’t appreciated.”
“You’ve allowed me to live in this house since the a-accident, and you’ve allowed father to trade me for s-social currency.”
“Exactly. You’re a smart girl. You know what becomes of a woman who waits too long to secure a husband. Your father has been kind, given your condition.”
Kind? Her family didn’t understand the meaning of that word. She was nothing but charity, best left alone and tended to only for the benefit of bringing around a brighter future for Maeve.
