Page 28 of Ruined by the Wrong Earl

‘Yes, but Papa.’

Her mother’s voice was soft, but crisp and clear. ‘Was a man, just as the Earl is.’

She looked at her mother, really looked at her. They hadn’t had an earnest conversation in a long time. Not since her mother had wanted Nora to marry after her first coming out three seasons ago and they’d butted heads at the suitors Nora had rejected. When her mother had decided upon Baron Umbridge they’d nearly stopped speaking.

She imagined her mother as a young woman, near to her age. Had she been nervous when she’d tried on her wedding dress? During her vows? Or when she’d left her home to move into a new one with her husband? Nora had never thought of her that way. She’d always been…well…just her mother.

Now that she was to get married, Nora looked at her parent in a different light. She supposed many young women on the cusp of marriage, the birth of a child or any other life-changing event did the same.

Conscious of the pins in her dress, Nora carefully stepped down from the platform. Satin whispered around her ankles, ‘Did you love Father when you wed?’

Her mother let out a long sigh. ‘I did. I know it’s different for you, Nora. I had other difficulties. My parents did not approve of Armen Magarian. He was not English, not titled and not rich. Even worse, he worked in trade. I met your father when he delivered a rare Turkey carpet to my friend’s home. We talked and I found his travels fascinating. He was different than the stuffy, boring Englishmen at dances and balls. He was darkly handsome, educated—not from Oxford—but from an overseas monastery, and he had potential. When he proposed, my parents refused his suit.’

‘Then how…’

Nora’s eyes widened when she realized a fact that she’d never considered before. Perhaps it was because she’d never wanted to consider it. Nora was twenty-six years old, and her parents married twenty-seven years ago. Which meant…

‘You were pregnant with me,’ Nora said matter-of-factly.

Her mother’s normally stoic façade altered a bit. Her cheeks reddened. ‘Yes, it’s true. We shall not talk of it further.’

Well, if her mother was embarrassed by it after all these years, who was she to bring it up? Her sisters were wise enough to do the math, but they had never thought to do so. Nora would respect her mother and would not speak of it.

Then, even more unexpectedly, her mother stood and placed her hands on her shoulders. Looking into her eyes, she said, ‘Like I said, you will be fine, Nora. I have no doubt you are stronger than I was when I wed.’

After leaving the dressmakers after her final fitting with her maid in tow, Nora stepped onto Bond Street.

‘Are you thirsty, Jane?’ Nora asked her maid.

The woman eyed her. Jane was a few years older than Nora and a widow with brown hair and eyes. She was quiet and took her duties as a lady’s maid seriously. Rosey happened to be a maid for all sisters and had attended the house party, but Jane had been with just Nora for two years now.

‘Thirsty, miss? Perhaps we can visit Gunther’s. Or hurry home.’

‘I was thinking of another establishment. One across the street.’ Nora pointed to where a wooden sign for the White Bear tavern hung.

Jane let out a visible gasp. ‘A tavern? But that establishment is not…wouldn’t be at all appropriate for a young lady like—’

‘It will satisfy our thirsts.’ She grabbed her maid’s hand. ‘Come along then. I won’t tell Mother if you don’t.’

The drink Nora had in mind was whisky. Or a good gin. After spending days in Madame Fleur’s dress shop being poked and prodded for her wedding gown and trousseau, she believed she was entitled to one drink.

They entered the tavern. Men in corduroy jackets as well as finely tailored coats eyed the pair. The women in the establishment were limited to barmaids and two others in brightly coloured gowns with low bodices. Nora ignored them all and moved towards an empty table in the corner. It was perfect. The lighting in the place was dim and the corner even dimmer and isolated. She’d wait for the barmaid to approach to serve them.

Perched on the edge of her chair, Jane scanned the room with the frightened look of a rabbit being hunted by a dog.

‘Relax,’ Nora said. ‘It’s the middle of the afternoon. There are no brigands here.’

‘Brigands?’ Jane’s brown eyes widened in her pale face, and she looked around even more frantically. This time she reminded Nora of a bird in a cage with a hovering house cat.

A buxom red-haired barmaid approached. ‘What would you two lovelies be having?’

‘A whisky, please,’ Nora said.

The barmaid propped a hip on the table. ‘Oh, a bad day or a good one?’

‘A long one,’ Nora admitted. ‘And I’d like a drink to commemorate the end of my freedom.’

The barmaid gave Nora a sympathetic look, as if she understood her predicament. ‘I’ll be sure to bring the best the house offers.’ She turned her attention to the maid. ‘And you, miss? What will you be having?’