The Duke Effect (The Rogue Files #7) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,2

together for over a decade. Con knew he would honorably serve whoever arrived as his successor.

“And yet there we have it,” he said. “All are dead,” he finished. “And I am now the duke’s heir.” He took a deep breath. One that felt necessary for lungs that felt suddenly too tight and starving for air. “I’m leaving for England tomorrow,” he announced grimly.

He had been summoned. Responsibility demanded he go.

Morris nodded grimly. “Never have I imagined you would leave all this”—he motioned around them—“to become a bloody nob.”

Nor would he have envisioned such a fate either. He had thought the military would be the totality of his life. He’d wanted nothing else for himself. “I haven’t any choice.”

Constantine would do what every soldier did in battle. He’d carry the flag. Pick it up where it had dropped from the hands of the fallen and carry on.

He’d become the duke and take on all the duties that had been meant for the true heir, for the three before him, and continue on.

Because that was what a proper soldier did.

His life would never be his own again.

Chapter 2

There were females in this life who were born to be wives and mothers.

They knew that was their destiny from the moment they could string syllables together to form words. It was etched into their souls. A part of their very composite, scored into their genetic structure. They embraced it.

As girls they played with dolls and toy houses and tiny prams, simulating the scenes of domesticity they witnessed their own mothers and aunts and neighbors playing out. Eleanora Langley knew those girls well. Her sisters had been those girls playing at being mothers and wives. Now they were in reality mothers and wives.

Nora supposed it was the natural order of things. Except she had never been one to fall into the natural order of things.

As a child, Nora had mimicked Papa and pretended to be a physician, caring for her sick dolls and stuffed animals’ broken bones. That definitely set her apart from her sisters and other girls.

And now such playacting had turned into reality. Her sisters were, in fact, wives and mothers (or soon to be mothers) whilst she was not. She cared for the sick and set broken bones on actual people rather than dolls and stuffed animals now.

Such a vocation definitely separated Nora from the masses.

Unlike the other females in the village, she was the first one free of the family pew and out of the church doors. She was not keen on lingering to socialize with myriad neighbors and friends. There’d been enough forced socialization and threat of fire and brimstone from the vicar for the day. Enough until next Sunday when she would once again be stuck in the family pew.

She strode quickly ahead. Stepping out into the churchyard, she lifted her face to the morning sun and inhaled a contented breath. Immediately, she began searching for her family’s liveried carriage, eager to depart for home. She’d done her duty for the day. She was ready to take her leave and return home. She had many tasks waiting her attention and she was eager to get back to them.

She tugged on her gloves and squinted up at the sun fighting to break through the ever-clinging clouds. At least it was not raining. This spring had been a torrential downpour and she was ready for the days of summer where she might explore the countryside once again for herbs.

She glanced behind her, hoping that her sisters were quick on her heels. A vain wish, indeed. They just cleared the doors and emerged outside when they were intercepted by the Harken-Dales. She sighed. Of course.

Her brothers-in-law were equally popular. Gentlemen converged on them, too. Such pandering could take all afternoon.

Nora shifted on her feet. She was not quite so popular, which was not anything particularly new or particularly wounding to her ego.

Popularity was not anything for which she had ever aspired. Balls, teas, parties were all fine and well, but she would rather be working in her laboratory or toiling in her herb garden or attending to a patient.

Her sisters were married. That, she had learned, raised women in the world’s estimation—specifically in the estimation of the villagers of Brambledon. Unfair as that may be, it was the reality of things.

Charlotte, historically the most reticent of the Langley sisters, was by far the most popular. A strange turn of events, indeed. Of course the reason for her sudden popularity was easy to