Page 11 of Never Beguile a Duke

As Nora secured the front door, Winifred swore.

The portrait miniature had vanished!

“That language seems a bit strong for the short stroll to our coach,” Nora said, returning the key to her reticule. “There are plenty of furs to keep us warm during the journey to the Duke of Beaufort’s residence.”

“It’s not the temperature.” Digging her teeth into her lower lip, Winifred glanced at her sister. “I’ve misplaced my father’s picture.”

There were no words to describe the pained expression that torqued Nora’s face into a half-grimace. She lifted her eyes to the gray sky, exhaled a heavy sigh—which crystalized instantly—then lowered her gaze, pinning Winifred.

“Somewhere between the garden and the entrance to Miss Braddock’s residence, you lost the portrait… again?”

In truth, it’s probably in Mother’s house, but I’m not going to admit that.

Winifred nodded.

“We’ll retrace your path,” Nora said through chattering teeth.

She took Winifred’s arm, and, eyes sweeping back and forth, slogged toward the stone bench.

A flash, half-buried in the snow, caught Winifred’s attention. She pulled free of Nora and crouched. Shoving her gloved fingers into the fluffy ice, she uncovered the item.

“Is that the portrait?” Nora asked, bending over Winifred’s shoulder.

“No.” She jerked away, closing her fingers around the saturated piece.

“Winifred.” Nora swiped at Winifred’s hand, catching the pelisse’s sleeve instead. “What are you hiding?”

“It’s nothing of import.”

“Then you can show me.”

“It belongs to Miss Braddock,” Winifred said, hoping the clarification would dissuade her sister’s curiosity.

“And I currently possess the key to Miss Braddock’s residence; I doubt the revelation of this particular item will offend her.” Nora grabbed Winifred’s wrist with one hand.

Before she could react, Nora slipped under Winifred’s arm and pried Winifred’s fingers open.

“What is this?” Nora frowned as she plucked a piece of torn cloth from Winifred’s palm. “I don’t understand why you would hide a scrap of fabric from me.”

Winifred sighed and gestured to the material. “Do you recognize the color?”

“You said it belonged to Miss Braddock.” Nora rubbed the lace-trimmed section between her gloved fingers. “I assume the piece came from a gown.”

“It did.” Winifred’s eyes widened as she willed her sister to comprehend the significance of the damaged material.

Shrugging, Nora held out the cloth. “Miss Braddock accidentally ripped her dress.”

“She didn’t tear this particular dress... someone else did.”

“Oh!” Nora paled. “It occurred the night her previous fiancé attacked her.”

Winifred nodded and shoved the torn section of cloth into her reticule.

“You’re not going to return that to her?” Nora’s gaze followed the delicate fabric.

“I’m going to burn it,” Winifred replied, leaning down and sifting through the snow. “Along with any other piece I find. With her recent engagement to the Duke of Lennox, the past shouldn’t continue to torment her.”

Nora squatted and cleared a section of fluffy white from beneath a bare rose bush.