Page 2 of Never Beguile a Duke

A strangled cry erupted from Mrs. Webb as Nora twisted away. Without another word, she half-dragged Winifred toward Miss Braddock’s rented home.

“Shouldn’t we help her?” Winifred asked, lowering her voice as Nora dug a metal key from her reticule.

“She hasn’t earned our forgiveness,” Nora said, turning right and striding into the snow-covered gardens of the neighboring house. “Don’t forget, Amelia’s greatest skill is deceit. Do you truly believe she is as impoverished as she claims?”

Winifred didn’t reply, her mind whirling around Nora’s question.

Have I been duped by Mother again?

“Where,”—Nora unlocked and pushed open the front door—“do you believe we’ll find your father’s portrait miniature?”

Her voice echoed in the deserted foyer as a gust of freezing wind whipped around them, disturbing long white linens blanketing hidden pieces of furniture.

Winifred wrestled the door closed, cutting off the icy blast. “I suspect I dropped the painting in my chamber when I was packing my trunk last week. I should have verified that I had the miniature before Miss Braddock left with her brother for the Duke of Beaufort’s residence, but I didn’t think to look for the portrait until this morning.”

“We’re fortunate that she remembered to retrieve the key from her housekeeper before releasing the woman from service; otherwise, the key wouldn’t have been in Miss Braddock’s trunk.” Nora pulled her pelisse tighter around her shoulders and shivered. “And since Miss Braddock’s brother refuses to leave her side until she is wed, our presence won’t disturb anyone.”

“You could ease her brother’s overbearing tendencies,” Winifred said, setting her hand on the banister as she climbed the staircase.

“Me?” Nora gestured to herself. “How would I influence his decision?”

“You could give Miss Braddock your wedding date.”

Nora snorted. “Even if I were that generous, the Duke of Roxburghe wouldn’t allow the change. He refused the Duke of Lennox’s query thrice and swore a trouncing would follow the next request.”

Chewing her lower lip, Winifred paused on the second-floor landing, her gaze sliding to her sister.

“You should invite Mother to the wedding.” The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.

Nora’s mouth popped open. “Have you so quickly forgotten Amelia’s abhorrent behavior?”

“N—”

“She paid to have you whipped!” Nora’s hands balled into trembling fists.

“And she’s suffering for that decision.” Winifred strode toward the chamber she had previously occupied and opened the door.

Nora didn’t follow.

Winifred twisted around, crossed the corridor, and took Nora’s hands, unclenching them. “I’m not suggesting that we forgive her or forget the horrible manner in which she raised us. But if we react in kind, we are no better.”

“If her destiny is poverty, I wouldn’t prevent it.” Nora pulled free. “I might even encourage it.”

“Even if it meant losing my father’s house to a debt collector?” Winifred asked, her voice cracking.

The hard mask fell from Nora’s face, and she yanked Winifred into a crushing embrace. “We won’t allow that to occur.”

Winifred pulled away. “You cannot commit the Duke of Roxburghe to such a sizable purchase, and I forbid you from asking him.”

“You forbid me?” Nora’s eyebrows hovered near her hairline.

“Please, for once, don’t take my request as a challenge.”

“He was my father, too...” Sighing, Nora inclined her head. “For the moment, I will say nothing, but if the situation becomes dire, you must allow me to speak with the Duke of Roxburghe.”

“Agreed.”

Winifred opened the bedchamber door and strode into the room. She turned in a full circle, inspecting the linen-covered armoire, dressing table, cold fireplace, and the bed, which seemed the portrait miniature’s most likely hiding place. Kneeling, she set her reticule on the rug, lifted up the comforter, and peered beneath the bed frame.