Page 59 of How Not to Marry a Duke

“You’d never compare.”

“I would never want to, although Warwick could have his pick. What does he see in her?”

“I don’t know. She probably learned tricks from her mother like a harem girl who entices men.”

Adeline’s heart pounded in her chest, and bile rose in her throat. She swallowed. Her temper flared hot and heavy. How dare they speak of her mother in such a derogatory fashion! Her mother was more educated in ways they couldn’t equal. She’d healed a lady ill with fever from childbirth. Helped a man who’d suffered a stroke. A child who had weak lungs. All three patients had been left to die or waste away by English doctors. There had been many others as well.

So why did the prejudice of these two women bother her? Her mother had also taught her not to care.

Do not let harsh words upset you, Adeline. Some will never accept us. Most will. Be proud! You come from a long line of healers. Find a man who loves you for who you are.

Despite her mother’s words, Edwin’s taunting was never far from her mind. The cruelties suffered as a child were hard to forget.

Warwick had never mentioned her family history. He didn’t seem to care. But then again, he had no intention of proposing. Would a man of his station seriously consider marrying her? And why was she even thinking about it? She had no intention of becoming his duchess. She would settle for nothing less than love.

Adeline raised her chin and swept the curtain aside to face the two women, one blond and the other brunette. She didn’t recognize either of them. “These curtains are not very private, are they?”

The blonde looked as pale as a glass of sour milk. She opened her mouth, then closed it like a fish caught on a line.

Adeline’s gaze dropped to the yellow gown clutched in the woman’s hand. “I would avoid that bold color. It would look good only on a woman with darker skin and hair.”

The blonde gasped and pressed a hand to her chest.

Adeline turned to the brunette. “You are right about the Duke of Warwick. What woman wouldn’t sneak into his house at night?”

Head held high, she swept by them.

…

“Mr. Elder will want your novel, just as he has published your short stories,” Adeline said.

Mary squeezed her hand. “You are the best sister I could ask for. Thank you for coming with me today.”

“You can thank me after you are a success.”

Adeline and her sister sat in a small room waiting to meet Mary’s publisher. Mary held her bound manuscript on her lap. A young assistant sat behind a desk, his gaze darting to the sisters every so often. Adeline suspected he was surprised when Mary had appeared for her three o’clock appointment. Clearly, the assistant had expected a man. Adeline wondered how Mr. Elder would react.

Mary clutched the manuscript to her chest as a young assistant escorted them to the publisher’s office. He eyed them with a critical squint, then closed the door behind them.

Mr. Elder sat behind a large oak desk littered with stacks of paper. A tall cabinet to the left of the desk, and a settee across from a small fireplace were covered with more papers. The coal brazier had burned out long ago and there was a slight chill in the room. He lowered a page he’d been reading when they entered and removed a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Well, I expected M.J. Price to look a little different.” A middle-aged man with fleshy jowls and a bulbous nose, Mr. Elder had dark eyes and thinning dark hair. A walrus-style mustache hid his upper lip.

Not waiting for him to stand, Mary hurried forward and took a chair across from his desk. Adeline occupied a chair to her right.

“Good day, Mr. Elder. As I wrote in my letter, my manuscript is complete,” Mary said.

“Is that it?”

His gaze lowered to the manuscript she held. “Yes.” She set her novel on his desk. The top sheet was written in neat handwriting.

The springs of Mr. Elder’s chair squeaked as he leaned back and rested his hands on his ample stomach. “Things have changed.”

“How?”

“Your short stories have not sold as well of late.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “But…but you advised otherwise in your last letter. Your precise words were, ‘We cannot print them fast enough.’”