Page 16 of How Not to Marry a Duke

Heavens. She suddenly found herself hoping Warwick didn’t care about her mixed blood.

“My mother was the daughter of a traveling Arabic rug merchant. She was a skilled midwife and learned healing techniques from her own mother and her mother’s mother in Lebanon. Oftentimes, her father—my grandfather—would trade rugs for healing herbs and bring them back to England for her use.”

“You have an interesting background. I’d like to travel to the Mediterranean and Middle East in the future. If one is able, they should experience different cultures.”

No hint of concern, or worse, prejudice, tainted his handsome features, and a tenseness eased from Adeline’s shoulders.

“It makes sense that Foster is only your half brother. You two look nothing alike,” Warwick said.

“The old earl married my mother weeks after his first wife died.”

His eyes sharpened. “Foster didn’t like that, did he?”

“I’d rather not speak of him.” She forced an even tone, despite her pounding pulse. Her family discord was not something she wanted to share. Having overheard her argument with Edwin, the duke had already witnessed more than any outsider. “Now, sit and rest your arm on the table so I may properly examine your wound.”

She was conscious of the duke’s gaze. He wanted to object. She shouldn’t care and shouldn’t be upset if he chose to leave. He could continue listening to the English physician and apply the flour. It was not her concern.

But the healer in her could never ignore someone in pain or in need.

And the duke was hurting. She’d sensed it after Henry had charged him and he’d protected her—a stranger—by pushing her behind him and then breaking her fall to the ground. She also grudgingly admitted that she owed him gratitude for sending Edwin away.

Still, he was a stranger, and she was uneasy with their agreement.

Warwick must have decided to take her up on her offer. He pulled out a chair, sat, and rested his forearm on the kitchen table. He frowned when the table wobbled a bit. One leg was an inch shorter than the others.

He shook his head. “Your entire cottage needs repair, including the furnishings.”

It was rude to point out the obvious. “You’re very critical.”

“Only when I’m right.”

“You’re a duke. Raised with privilege. It is easy for you to point out these things.”

His square jaw tensed. “I meant no insult.”

“Yes, you did.” At his silence, she felt compelled to explain. Pulling out a chair, she sat across from him. “I hadn’t expected the cottage to be in such disrepair.”

He snorted. “You purchased it sight unseen?”

Did he believe her to be a complete idiot? “No. It was bequeathed to me upon my father’s death.”

“Lord Foster, the old earl, gave you this place?”

“I don’t believe he knew of its condition. He hadn’t traveled here in many years. All the times I’d visited in the past with my father, it had been well-kept and cozy.”

“Most likely his steward stole whatever money he’d been allotted to maintain the cottage and should be fired.”

She shrugged a shoulder. She didn’t know much about her father’s stewards. “Perhaps.”

“Why move here? Why not stay in London?”

“My half brother is the new earl.”

“From what I’ve overheard, I take it you two do not have a pleasant relationship.”

“You are observant.” She refused to elaborate.

“You are missing a London Season and the marriage mart,” he said. “I thought all young women from the aristocracy wanted a match.”