Page 26 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke (The Athena Society #1)
CHAPTER 26
“M y Lady.”
Emma glanced up from the book she had been attempting to read, her fingers tightening imperceptibly around its leather binding.
The morning room at Cuthbert Hall, typically her sanctuary in these quiet hours while Tristan attended his lessons with Mr. Jenkins, had been invaded by an unwelcome presence.
Sidney Bickford—her brother-in-law and Tristan’s uncle—stood examining himself in the looking glass above the mantelpiece, adjusting his already immaculate cravat with fastidious precision.
“Lord Sidney,” Emma replied, striving for a tone of cool indifference rather than the irritation that threatened to surface.
Sidney turned, his thin lips curling into what he clearly believed to be a charming smile, but it only made Emma’s skin crawl. The resemblance to Harold was disconcerting—the same patrician nose, the same calculating eyes—though while her husband had been all barely restrained brutality, Sidney gave off an air of refined sophistication.
“Pleasure to see you again, my dear.” He settled himself into the chair opposite hers, uninvited. “I come bearing good news. I am leasing Thornfield Manor.”
Emma’s composure faltered momentarily. “Thornfield? But that property lies not two miles away from Cuthbert Hall.”
“A fortunate proximity, is it not?” Sidney’s smile widened. “It will allow me to fulfill my obligations as guardian to my nephew with greater diligence. The boy requires masculine guidance.”
“Tristan has adequate masculine influences,” Emma said carefully.
“Tutors and physicians,” he scoffed with a dismissive wave of his bejeweled hand. “A boy of noble blood requires the guidance of a man who understands the particular obligations of rank. Especially a boy who will one day assume responsibility for an earldom.”
Emma set her book aside, abandoning the pretense of distracted reading. “Your concern for your nephew’s development is touching, My Lord.”
A flash of something dangerous passed across Sidney’s features before his practiced smile reasserted itself. “It is my pleasure, my dear. I wish to spare you the burden of raising a future peer alone. The demands are considerable, especially for a woman.”
The reference to her gender was meant to wound. Emma had learned, however, that allowing her brother-in-law to perceive the effectiveness of his barbs only encouraged his subtle brand of verbal cruelty further.
“How thoughtful,” she said, her voice honey over steel. “Though one continues to wonder how Lady Louisa views your sudden relocation to the countryside. When will she join you?”
His wife had provided him with three daughters and a considerable dowry before retreating into a life of quiet invalidism in their London residence.
“She understands the dictates of duty,” he replied smoothly, not answering and effectively dismissing the topic all at once. “Now, I had thought to invite you and Tristan to dine at Thornfield. Perhaps next Thursday? I have engaged a French chef whose béarnaise sauce is spoken of in reverent tones throughout Mayfair.”
Emma’s mind raced through the calendar of social obligations that lay before her. “I fear Thursday would be impossible. The Athena Society meets that evening, and I have responsibilities as a co-founder.”
His lip curled slightly. “Ah yes, your literary salon for discontented females. How… progressive.”
“We find it enriching,” Emma replied, rising in a whisper of sapphire silk. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must check on Tristan’s progress with his mathematics.”
Sidney stood as propriety demanded, though his gaze lingered inappropriately as Emma moved toward the door. “Perhaps you might reconsider Thursday, Emma. I find that responsibilities may often be… renegotiated when sufficient motivation presents itself.”
Emma paused at the threshold, her spine straightening imperceptibly. “I have found, My Lord, that principles are most valuable precisely when they cannot be renegotiated. Good day.”
She departed with measured dignity, her practiced smile dissolving the moment she was alone in the corridor.
Sidney’s sudden appearance in the neighborhood portended nothing good. Though he had remained in London for years, content to manage the Cuthbert estates from a distance, his attention had never truly strayed far from her.
His letters, when they came, often strayed into unsettling territory—comments on her appearance, her manners, her loneliness . He had made no effort to get to know his nephew, yet his fixation on her had never wavered. This unexpected visit, cloaked in the pretense of familial concern, felt less like duty and more like pursuit.
“Insufferable man,” she murmured, allowing herself the momentary indulgence of honesty.
“I presume you refer to your brother-in-law,” came a voice from the adjoining room.
Emma started, then composed herself as her aunt emerged from the small writing room, spectacles perched primly on her nose.
“Joanna, I had thought you still abed after your journey.” She embraced the older woman, drawing comfort from the familiar scent of rosewater and ink. “When did you arrive?”
“Late enough to avoid Sidney’s arrival, early enough to overhear his presumption,” Joanna replied, looping her arm through Emma’s as they walked toward the garden.
“He is leasing Thornfield Manor,” Emma confided as they stepped onto the sun-dappled terrace.
Joanna’s eyebrows rose above her spectacles. “How… inconvenient.”
“Indeed. And he has invited me and Tristan for dinner next Thursday.”
“Which happens to coincide with the Athena Society meeting.” Joanna’s lips quirked in understanding. “A coincidence, I’m sure.”
Emma sighed, watching as Tristan emerged from the stables across the lawn, his small figure animated in conversation with the groom.
In the month since Victor’s departure, her son had gradually regained his natural exuberance, though he still occasionally glanced toward the road as if expecting the Duke’s imposing figure to materialize.
The memory of Victor’s abrupt withdrawal from their lives remained a thorn lodged beneath her ribs—painful in unexpected moments, impossible to extract cleanly.
Well, she could not dwell on that now in front of her aunt. She did not want to burden her so.
“Sidney is aware of the social calendar,” Emma said finally. “I suspect he seeks to supplant an independence he finds threatening with an obligation he can control.”
“Men of Lord Sidney’s ilk invariably do,” Joanna agreed drily. “And what about his sudden interest in country life? Last time I saw him, he could scarcely spend an afternoon without complaining of rural tedium.”
Emma hesitated at first. “I fear he harbors… inappropriate intentions toward me.”
Joanna’s expression hardened. “Has he been explicit in his impropriety?”
“Never sufficiently to justify an outright accusation. But there is… something about his stare that I recognize all too well from my dealings with men of certain appetites.” Emma smoothed her skirts, a gesture that betrayed her discomfort. “It matters little. I have fended him off for years; I shall continue to do so.”
“You shall not fend him off alone,” Joanna declared, her normally placid features set in uncharacteristic determination. “I find my visit to Cuthbert Hall may need to be extended indefinitely. My own accommodation has grown tiresome, and I have always found living with a close niece beneficial to my constitution.”
Emma felt a surge of gratitude for her aunt’s quiet strength.
She nodded once. “Tristan will be delighted. As am I.”
* * *
The drawing room at Oakley House hummed with the particular energy unique to gatherings of women temporarily liberated from the constraints of mixed company.
“I propose we next address Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman ,” Annabelle announced, her blue eyes alight with mischief as she observed the mingled enthusiasm and trepidation her suggestion provoked.
“My dear, you shall render us all unmarriageable,” Mrs. Pennington protested, though her expression suggested this outcome might not entirely displease her.
“I believe that ship has sailed for many of us,” Joanna remarked, accepting a generous measure of claret from a footman with an appreciative nod. “Still, I’m curious as to whether Wollstonecraft’s arguments have aged well.”
Emma, seated beside her aunt, found herself smiling despite the lingering unease that had followed her from Cuthbert Hall.
The familiar ritual of the Society’s gathering—the gentle clash of ideas, the rustle of pages, the shared laughter—was a balm to her troubled spirits.
Here, at least, Lord Sidney’s influence could not prevail.
“An intriguing selection,” she agreed. “Though perhaps we might balance it with something less overtly political? What about Ann Radcliffe?”
“A diplomatic compromise,” Annabelle conceded with a knowing look.
“I do so prefer that Radcliffe rewards patience,” Lady Winterbourne piped up. “Too many recent novels insist on instant gratification.”
“Speaking of instant gratification,” Annabelle began, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “I have acquired a most fascinating volume from my contact in Paris. A novel that explores the… shall we say, unspoken aspects of marital relations with remarkable frankness.”
A wave of scandalized delight rippled through the assembly, immediately curtailed by a sharp knock on the drawing room door. The butler, clearly discomfited, entered and bowed.
“My Ladies, forgive the interruption. Lord Sidney has arrived and requests admission to your gathering.”
A collective intake of breath preceded a moment of stunned silence.
Emma felt her cheeks flush with indignation. “Lord Sidney is here? Now?”
How dare he come here? Was it not enough that he kept accosting her at public gatherings and places? Would he now seek to pester her at her friend’s house as well?
Before the butler could respond, the man himself appeared in the doorway, attired in an expanse of emerald-green silk and cream brocade that would have seemed excessive even in a London drawing room. He surveyed the assembly with the indulgent smile of a superior being confronted with an amusing curiosity.
“Ladies, please forgive my intrusion on your literary discussions.” Sidney bowed with practiced yet slimy elegance. “I was passing by the estate and remembered that the Athena Society was in session. Forgive me, for I could not resist the opportunity to observe this much-discussed intellectual circle.”
Annabelle rose, her posture impeccable, her expression coolly polite. “How unexpected, Lord Sidney. I was unaware that you harbored an interest in feminine literary pursuits.”
“I find all aspects of the female experience inherently fascinating, Miss Lytton,” he replied, his gaze sliding from Annabelle to Emma with practiced subtlety. “Particularly when curated by women of such discernment.”
Joanna set her wine glass down with deliberate precision. “How extraordinary that your interest should manifest just as we were about to discuss a text of particular delicacy, accessible only to our members.”
“Indeed,” Annabelle agreed, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “And as our constitution explicitly limits attendance to female members, we find ourselves in the awkward position of being unable to accommodate your curiosity, however flattering.”
Sidney’s expression hardened momentarily before reassuming its practiced charm. “Naturally, I would not dream of disrupting established protocols. Though perhaps the constitution might be amended, given the valuable perspective a masculine intellect might contribute to your discussions.”
“A masculine intellect would certainly be welcome,” Joanna remarked, adjusting her spectacles. “Should you encounter one in your travels, Lord Sidney, please direct him to us.”
A muffled sound of amusement escaped several members before propriety reasserted itself.
Sidney’s smile thinned perceptibly.
“Your unmarried aunt’s wit remains as sharp as ever, Emma,” he observed, his tone suggesting this was not entirely a compliment. “I shall leave you ladies to your scholarly pursuits. Though I hope, Emma, that you would reconsider my invitation for dinner next Thursday. Tristan would benefit immensely from connecting with his family.”
Emma inclined her head with precise formality. “As I explained this morning, our Thursday engagements are quite fixed. Perhaps another time.”
Sidney’s gaze lingered on her face, the calculation evident behind his cordial expression. “Another time, then. Ladies, good evening.”
As the door closed behind his departing figure, a collective exhale echoed through the room.
Annabelle returned to her seat beside Emma, her hand seeking her friend’s in a gesture of silent solidarity.
“Well,” she said quietly, “it appears Thornfield Manor’s new occupant intends to make his presence felt beyond its boundaries.”
“He has always possessed an inflated ego,” Emma muttered, grateful for the pressure of Annabelle’s fingers around her own.
Joanna retrieved her wine glass, her expression contemplative. “He’s the furthest thing I’ve seen from a wholesome family man.”
“He’s always watched you too closely,” Annabelle added with a scowl. “Even when you were newly married, his gaze lingered far longer than was proper. And now he turns up, all eagerness and false concern? It reeks of something worse than mere interference.”
Emma felt a chill of apprehension. Sidney as a distant figure—disquieting but far away—had always been manageable. But Sidney as a man emboldened by proximity and obsession was another matter entirely.
“He shall find me an implacable opponent if he thinks that Tristan’s future—or mine—is subject to his whims,” she declared, her quiet voice edged with steel.
“Not merely you,” Joanna assured her, raising her glass in a subtle salute. “He shall find us all far less yielding than the Society darlings he’s used to manipulating.”
Emma shook her head. “Stay your hands for a while,” she said, smiling at the looks of affront that formed on their faces at once. “We do not yet know what he might do, and I do not want to put you in danger.”
Annabelle scoffed. “Oh please.” She rolled her eyes. “What can that dandy of a man do? I doubt his member even works correctly anymore at that age?—”
“Annabelle!” Joanna exclaimed, even as Emma hid her laugh behind her hand.
“What?” Annabelle shrugged, a mischievous smile curving her lips. “It’s true!”
“You are incorrigible, I tell you!”