Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Nora woke the following morning with her body still tingling from the previous night's encounter and her mind in absolute chaos.
As sunlight filtered through her curtains, she became acutely aware of the dull ache between her thighs, a lingering reminder of Godric's skilled fingers and the pleasure he had teased and coaxed from her body.
Heat flooded her cheeks at the memory, and she pressed her face into her pillow with a groan.
What had she been thinking?
It was clear, of course, that her actions had been void of any form of thought. She had simply felt so much, inevitably surrendering to the sensations she had never experienced before, letting Godric guide her into uncharted territory with shocking ease.
And oh, what he had made her feel.
Her body craved more. Even now, with the morning light dawning over the foolishness of her actions, she found herself remembering the warmth of his hands, the press of his lips against her skin, the delicious friction of his fingers working her until she was in ruins.
But alongside the yearning, a deeper ache had settled in her chest. The cold dismissal that had followed their intimacy had stung more than she cared to admit.
It stung that he had simply turned away, as though what they had shared meant nothing, as though she meant nothing beyond being an obligation he was forced to endure.
And as though she were not plagued by enough problems, she had come to a realization that had robbed her of proper rest for the remaining night. It seemed that her hopes of securing a husband by the end of the season were slipping further and further from her reach.
How could she focus on finding a suitable match when her every thought circled back to the infuriating duke? How could she consider a future with another man when Godric's touch had awakened something within her that she suspected no one else could satisfy?
With a frustrated sigh, Nora threw back her covers and called out for Annabelle. She would not spend the entire day dwelling on her problems. She needed distraction, perspective, and perhaps some sisterly advice.
“Good morning, Miss,” Annabelle said cheerfully as she entered the room. “You are up early today.”
“I have decided to visit my sister,” Nora announced, already moving toward her wardrobe. “Isobel. I will need to pack a bag, as I shall be staying the night.”
Annabelle's eyes widened with delight. “Oh, how lovely! The Duchess does live quite far, does she not? It will be good for you to get away from the city for a bit.”
Yes, Nora thought with a small, vindictive smile. And it will be even better to defy Godric's order that I remain by his side at all times.
If he wanted to play guardian, she would show him just how difficult she could make that task.
Within the hour, Nora was dressed, packed, and seated in the carriage as it began the journey to Isobel's estate. The farther they traveled from London, the lighter her heart felt. Perhaps some distance from both the city and a certain impossible duke was exactly what she needed.
The Dellamere estate was a sprawling property that spoke of old wealth and deliberate upkeep. As the carriage rolled up the long drive, Nora felt a wave of affection wash over her. This place had always felt like a true home, warm and welcoming in a way her father's house had never managed to be.
She had hardly stepped out of the carriage when she was ambushed.
“Aunt Nora! Aunt Nora!”
A swarm of small bodies launched themselves at her, nearly bowling her over with their enthusiasm.
Nora laughed, spreading her arms wide to embrace as many of her nephews as she could reach.
Her niece stood a few feet away, watching her brothers crowd around Nora with a frown, and Nora sent the sweet girl an apologetic smile before she returned her attention to the boys.
“Goodness! You are all going to knock me over!”
“Children!” Isobel's voice rang out from the entrance, equal parts exasperated and amused. “Give your aunt room to breathe! She has only just arrived!”
But the children paid their mother no mind, too excited by their aunt's unexpected visit to practice any sort of decorum. There were seven of them in total, ranging in age from two to twelve, and only one girl among the lot.
“Mother says that people who do not send word ahead of their arrival are rude!” Edmund, the eldest at twelve, stated with a mildly judgmental expression. “But she says that it’s fine if it’s family who comes to visit!”
“Did Mama tell you we are getting a new pony?” added little William, bouncing on his toes.
“Is it true you are getting married this season, Aunt Nora?” This was from nine-year-old Fergus, named after Isobel's adoptive father. “Papa says you have lots of suitors.”
“I want to hear all about the balls!” Mary, the only girl and Nora's goddaughter, named after Isobel's adoptive mother, declared from where she stood.
Even at just eight years old, she was already showing signs of becoming a beauty like her mother.
Nora tried to answer all of them at once, but it was impossible with everyone talking over each other. Finally, Isobel managed to wade through the chaos and pull Nora into a proper embrace.
“I am so happy to see you,” Isobel said warmly, pulling back to examine her younger sister with a critical eye. “Though you look tired. Have you been sleeping well?”
“Well enough,” Nora lied, not ready to delve into the reasons for her restless nights.
“Come inside,” Isobel urged, linking her arm through Nora's. “You must be exhausted from the journey. I shall have tea brought to the drawing room, and you can tell me all about how the season is progressing.”
As they made their way inside, with the children trailing behind like a noisy flock of geese, Isobel continued her gentle fussing.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you need to rest? I’ll have your usual room prepared soon, and – ”
“Isobel,” Nora interrupted gently. “Dear sister, I am perfectly fine. Truly.”
But Isobel's face had fallen, her formerly cheerful expression tainted by sadness.
“I am so sorry I have not been able to attend any of the season's events with you. With seven children to look after, I barely have time to breathe, let alone travel to London for balls and parties. I feel as though I have failed you as a sister.”
“You have not failed me at all,” Nora assured her firmly.
“You said yourself – the children are hectic. With your own family to care for, I would not expect that you would make the journey all that way to watch me twirl around in a dress for hours. I know I have your support and well-wishes, regardless of your visible presence. And honestly, even if you had been there, I am not certain you could have helped. My season has been... complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Isobel's interest was immediately piqued, but before Nora could answer, Isobel’s husband entered the room.
“Nora!” Richard Harte, duke of Dellamere, greeted warmly, his handsome face breaking into a genuine smile. “What a wonderful surprise. We did not know you were coming.”
“It was a rather spontaneous decision,” Nora admitted as Richard bent to kiss her cheek affectionately.
“Well, you are always welcome here. You know that.” Richard settled into the chair beside Isobel, instinctively reaching for her hand. The casual intimacy of the gesture made Nora's heart twist with an emotion she could not quite name.
Richard spared a smile for his wife before he faced Nora again, his eyes sparkling with interest.
“So, tell us. How goes the great husband hunt?”
Isobel shot him a reproachful look, but there was fondness in it.
Richard had always been blunt, favouring directness over the idea of beating around the bush for some needless reason, but never cruelly so.
Still, Nora had hoped for some sort of warning or more time before she had to delve into the mess of things.
Nora sighed, accepting the cup of tea a servant had just poured for her. “That is the complicated part. My efforts are being thoroughly undermined.”
“Undermined?” Isobel leaned forward with a frown. “By whom?”
“By Cecil's friend,” Nora said, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. “Before he left on his trip, Cecil asked the Duke of Ironwell to look after me. To be my escort to social functions and ensure my safety.”
“The Duke of Ironwell?” Richard's eyebrows rose. “Godric Millington? I did not realize he had returned to society.”
“He has,” Nora confirmed bitterly. “And he has made it his personal mission to ruin my life.”
“Surely it cannot be that bad,” Isobel said soothingly.
“Oh, I assure you, sister. It can, and it is,” Nora set down her teacup with more force than necessary.
“He is overbearing and aloof and cold, and he follows me everywhere like some sort of particularly judgmental shadow. He frightens away potential suitors with his mere presence, and when they are brave enough to approach anyway, he finds ways to humiliate them or send them running. I cannot stand him!”
Even as the words left her mouth, Nora felt the lie of them. She could stand him sometimes – a little too well, perhaps. But admitting that, even to herself, felt like a betrayal of her own goals.
Isobel, however, was watching her with far too much perception in her eyes. A small smile played at the corners of her lips.
“Is that all he is? Overbearing and cold?”
“Yes,” Nora said firmly. “Absolutely. He is insufferable, and I hate him, and I wish Cecil had never asked him to look after me.”
“Mmm,” Isobel hummed noncommittally. “And yet, your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are bright, and you cannot seem to stop talking about him.”
“That is because he is ruining my season!”
“Or perhaps,” Isobel suggested gently, “He is simply doing what he believes is best for you. Men often express their care through protection, even when it feels overbearing to us.”
“Care?” Nora scoffed. “He does not care about me. He is only fulfilling an obligation to Cecil. In fact, I am certain his true plan is to ensure I remain unmarried forever, doomed to live out my days alone with nothing but a hoard of cats for company.”
Richard, who had been listening to this exchange with growing amusement, suddenly frowned. “Why would you want to live with cats? Do they not make you ill? You have always been sensitive to them.”
Before Nora could respond, the sound of children calling for their father echoed from somewhere deeper in the house.
“Duty calls,” Richard said with a fond sigh. He rose, pressing a kiss to Isobel's lips that lingered just long enough to make Nora look away, and then leaned down to press another kiss on Nora's cheek. “We are glad you are here, Nora. Stay as long as you like.”
After Richard departed to attend to their children, Isobel turned her full attention back to Nora, her expression growing more serious.
“Speaking of your season,” she said carefully, “how is Father? Is he interfering at all with your search for a husband?”
Nora shrugged. “He has barely been home lately. He spends most of his time at his gentlemen's club, gambling and drinking away what little fortune we have left. But at least he is not bothering me about my debut.”
Something flickered across Isobel's face, a mixture of concern and hesitation.
“What is it?” Nora asked, recognizing the look of reluctance right away.
She could not imagine why – could not think of anything that needed to be withheld, but it seemed as though Isobel was keeping something from her.
“Oh, Nora,” Isobel sighed. “You do not know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Father did try to interfere,” Isobel revealed gently. “He came to both Valerie and me several months ago, claiming he had identified several prospective suitors for you. Men who would be 'ideal' matches due to their wealth.”
Nora's stomach dropped. “What?”
“He wanted to arrange your marriage himself,” Isobel continued. “To sell you off to the highest bidder, essentially. But Valerie, Cecil, and I stopped him. We made it very clear that you would choose your own husband, and that he was to stay out of it entirely.”
For a moment, Nora could not breathe. The casual cruelty of it, the reduction of her entire future to a financial transaction, was so typical of Gregory Wightman that she should not have been surprised. And yet, she was.
“I see,” she said quietly.
Isobel reached over to squeeze her hand. “He cannot hurt you now. We have made certain of it. Your season is your own, Nora. You will marry whom you choose, when you choose, or not at all if that is what you prefer.”
Nora nodded, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. “Thank you. All of you. I do not know what I would do without my siblings.”
“You will never have to find out,” Isobel promised. “We will always protect you.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon in pleasant conversation, with Isobel filling Nora in on all the small dramas and joys of managing such a large household.
Then came dinner, a raucous affair with all seven children present, the table filled with laughter and the occasional food-related catastrophe.
By the time Nora retired to her room for the evening, she felt more settled than she had in weeks. The love and warmth of Isobel's family had soothed some of the raw edges of her heart.
But as she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness, her thoughts inevitably turned back to Godric.
She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, could still hear the dark velvet of his voice in her ear as he commanded her to beg. Her body responded to the memories with a flush of heat, an ache of need that she had no idea how to satisfy on her own.
This was madness. She needed to focus on finding a husband, on securing her future, on fulfilling the goals she had set for herself at the beginning of the season.
But how could she do any of that when every fiber of her being seemed to crave the one man who was determined to remain emotionally unavailable?
With a frustrated sigh, Nora rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, willing sleep to claim her.
Tomorrow, she would return to London and face whatever consequences awaited her for defying Godric's orders.
But tonight, she would allow herself this small escape.