Page 71 of How Not to Marry a Duke

Adeline experienced an unexpected stab of jealousy. She cared for others, but she longed to marry for love and have children of her own, just like Lady Drake had. Would it ever happen for her?

A dangerous vision sprang to mind of tawny-haired, devilish boys with green eyes. Little Warwicks running around the ducal mansion, tugging on Lady Heywood’s skirts, chasing each other across the manicured gardens, and making her heart swell.

…

On their way back to Lady Heywood’s home, Adeline stopped to see her sister. Mary was sitting at an escritoire in the corner of the parlor, a paper before her and quill in hand. She rose to hug Adeline.

“What’s wrong?” Adeline asked as soon as she joined Mary on the couch. Her sister’s fingers were twisted in her lap, and her face was pale as a wax candle.

“I cannot bring myself to write. No matter how hard I try, the words will not come. Worse, I almost tossed my completed manuscript into the fireplace last night.”

“You will do no such thing. And you will not stop writing. I will not hear of it.”

Mary’s face crumpled, and she choked back a sob. “Oh Adeline. You have always been stronger than me.”

Adeline’s stomach dropped at her sister’s distress. “That isn’t true.”

“Yes it is, and you know it. You have stood up to Edwin for years, and you have managed to pursue your own aspirations.”

Those dreams were in jeopardy. She couldn’t confess the truth to her sister—that Edwin wanted her to marry a moneylender. Or that Adeline had entered into a false courtship with a duke of the realm to avoid it.

Adeline sat next to Mary on the sofa. “Writing the novel is the hard part. A smart publisher should jump at the chance to publish your work.”

Mary squeezed Adeline’s hand. “You inspire me! One day I shall even gather the gumption to tell Edwin.”

As if he heard his name, boots clicked on the tile floor and Edwin entered the parlor. As soon as he spotted Adeline, a cold, congested expression crossed his face. “What a surprise.”

Mary jumped to her feet and stood between her brother and half sister. “Do not say anything insulting. I invited Adeline.”

“And you are also aware that I now own this house.”

His arrogance had increased tenfold since their father’s death. Adeline stood. She could not give a fig about Edwin, but she didn’t want to cause Mary discomfort. She’d already experienced enough distress from the publisher.

“Don’t fret, my lord. It’s unbecoming to you. I shall leave at once.” Adeline kissed Mary on the cheek and reached for her reticule, then hurried out the parlor door.

Edwin was hot on her heels and stopped her in the vestibule. “A word, Adeline.”

She gave him a backward glance. “I’m a busy woman, my lord.”

“So busy you have yet to be betrothed?”

Adeline turned, her blood simmering in her veins. “What is it you want to ask?”

Edwin took two steps forward, a smirk marring his handsome features. “The duke has not come to me.”

She lifted her chin, knowing that cowering before him only fed his sense of superiority. “Why would he?”

“Why else? To ask for your hand in marriage.”

She faced him squarely, an anxious shiver racing down her spine. What would it take to get Edwin to leave her be?

“Perhaps you should talk to His Grace.”

A crude laugh crossed his lips. “Why would I do that?” He came close and his hot breath scalded her cheek. “Don’t fret, Adeline. When your duke fails to act, Mr. Slade will be waiting.”

…

Over the course of the week, Adeline kept herself busy. During the mornings, she took Hasmik’s advice and began treating people from the diverse section of the city. Society events didn’t occur until late afternoon or evening, and Adeline used her earlier free hours to meet with patients. Her supply of herbs was depleted, and Hasmik had made trips to the apothecary and around Town scouring for calendula, chamomile, elecampane, peppermint, lavender, and whatever else she could find in the London markets.