Page 36 of If Not for the Duke

“Hmm.” Based on Norah’s narrowed eyes, her sister didn’t believe her. “Considering that you looked past me without so much as a blink, despite us planning to meet here, you have someone in particular on your mind.”

“I did wonder if Lady Bernice had arrived.” Lena hoped that placated her sister.

“Do you mean her brother?” Norah smiled. “How are the two of you getting on? Do you still refer to him as His Grumpiness?”

Lena’s entire body heated as the image of Sterling smiling—not only smiling but teasing her—came to mind. He was even more handsome when he relaxed his normally stern expression. “If the occasion warrants the name,” she said at last.

“Heaven forbid he finds out.” Norah shook her head. “That will make him even grumpier.”

“He knows.” Not only knew, but the term had become a private jest, much to her surprise. Lena wasn’t about to share any of that with her sister. “I think Marbury might have told him.”

Norah’s blue eyes went wide. “Oh, dear. Was he angry?”

“Irritated, perhaps. But he couldn’t deny that it’s true.”

“Tread carefully, Lena. He is a duke, after all.”

“I could hardly forget that.” If anything, his title made him less appealing. The scrutiny of being a duke’s granddaughter was bad enough. She couldn’t imagine being a duchess. Besides, Sterling probably had an understanding with a woman with an impeccable pedigree and a fortune.

Lena was certain that since she had no title, she wouldn’t be considered. Not that she wanted to marry Sterling. Not at all. Two kisses and a bit of harmless teasing didn’t mean anything.

To her surprise, she found herself scowling at the thought.

“What is it?” Norah asked.

Lena searched for an excuse to explain her sudden change of mood that didn’t involve telling her sister about kissing Sterling. With mixed feelings, only a small portion of which was relief, her gaze latched on Lady Clara, a woman neither of them particularly liked as she was abrasive. She was marching toward them with determination. “Lady Clara is coming this way.”

Norah groaned but didn’t follow Lena’s gaze. Rather, she turned in the opposite direction. “I have no desire to hear what she has to say this evening. It’s never anything good.”

Lady Clara had moved firmly onto the spinster shelf in the eyes of most of polite society. Most, that was, except the lady herself.

Lady Clara seemed to still have hope and no small amount of determination to attract a potential husband. However, she seemed to have the word “desperate” written across her forehead. She tried too hard to gain eligible men’s attention, laughing loudly at their jests and flirting at every turn, practically forcing them to ask her to dance. With a tiny dowry and a rather plain appearance, most men avoided her at all costs.

Lena was tempted to advise her to act as if she weren’t interested in marrying with the hope it would make her appear more natural. Surely the right man would come along if she stopped trying so hard. But it was clear that Lady Clara wouldn’t welcome her advice.

“I don’t think she has forgiven you for marrying Vanbridge before she could lay claim to him,” Lena whispered, careful to shift her attention away from the lady with the hope she didn’t intend to speak with them.

Norah’s satisfied smile nearly made Lena snort with laughter.

“It’s not my fault that Simon rarely attended balls. Even then, Lady Clara wouldn’t take no for an answer. She insisted he dance with her even after we were betrothed. He wasn’t interested in her anyway, as she has no appreciation for history. I did them both a favor.”

Despite their efforts to pretend they hadn’t seen her, Lady Clara planted herself beside them, seemingly unaware of their reluctance to speak with her. “Good evening, ladies. A lovely ball, is it not?”

“Indeed.” Lena smiled, feeling a tug of sympathy for her. Marrying well was the one and only job women had in Society’s eyes. Failing to achieve that left many feeling useless, relegated to living with relatives, and hoping not to be a burden.

“I must ask your thoughts on the news article about Clarke’s success on Oak Island.” Lady Clara’s brown eyes were wide and glittered with anticipation, much like a cat prepared to pounce on an unwary bird.

At that, Norah turned to face her. “Success? I don’t know what you mean.”

Lena nearly groaned at Norah’s defensive, biting tone.

“It’s not as if he’s truly found anything,” Norah continued.

“He’s found the Money Pit. Isn’t that what your father searched for without success all those years?”

Lena’s sympathy dropped away like a boulder off a cliff, replaced by cold anger. “Just because Clarkeclaimsto have found it doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“But it’s in writing and inThe Times, no less,” Lady Clara protested. “That must mean it’s true.”

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