Page 6 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke (The Athena Society #1)
CHAPTER 6
“A ll right then…” Annabelle started right off the bat as soon as they were a good distance from the Witherspoon residence. “Care to tell us what—or maybe who—has stolen your focus today?” Her blue eyes were bright and narrowed on Emma’s face. “I haven’t seen you this lost in thought since that awful poetry reading, when Lord Pemberton’s wig went askew during his reading of The Lady of Shalott. ”
The afternoon air was filled with the sweet scent of early summer as Emma set off with Annabelle and Joanna.
The three of them climbed into the carriage that Annabelle’s grandmother, the Dowager Viscountess Oakley, had sent.
The rhythmic sound of hooves on the country road created a calming backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in Emma’s mind.
She let out a sigh, realizing it was pointless to hide her feelings from someone as perceptive as Annabelle.
“It’s Tristan,” she confessed, smoothing her skirts absentmindedly. “He’s become quite obsessed with visiting the Duke of Westmere’s estate to play with his English Setter.”
“The Beast of Westmere’s watchdog?” Joanna gasped, her eyebrows shooting up over her spectacles and her warm brown eyes sharp within the spheres of her lenses. In fact, she was so surprised that she scooted out of her seat, leaning toward her niece. “Goodness, my dear Emma! No wonder you’re worried.”
“Exactly,” Emma replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over her as she finally voiced her concerns. It was always so reassuring to know that she had such caring friends around her. “I’ve had to rescue him from the Duke’s garden twice now. You can only imagine how those encounters went.”
“Perhaps we can,” Annabelle chimed in, her interest piqued if the spark that lit up her eyes was any indication. “I’d really love to hear the details! The Duke hardly makes appearances in Society these days. Is he as terrifying as the rumors say?”
Emma felt her cheeks flush, torn between honesty and the urge to avoid delving too deeply into her feelings about the Beast of Westmere. Even she had yet to understand the things she felt whenever she thought of him or was in his presence, so she wasn’t quite sure that exposing anything too quickly would yield anything good.
And yet she couldn’t stop the words from bubbling out of her throat, like frothing soap suds in bathwater.
“He was… quite imposing,” she admitted.
She recalled the broadness of his shoulders, the intensity of his gaze, and… the way his scar slashed across his face so brutally and yet gave his face such character that she couldn’t put it out of her mind.
In fact, ‘imposing’ did not do justice to the way he overwhelmed her whenever she was in his presence—to the way her body seemed to want to melt against his own.
No, Emma. Focus on the important issue here , she told herself, shaking herself off the track before she could even get on it.
“But it’s not just the Duke that worries me.” It truly isn’t. “Tristan… He’s… he’s getting restless. This morning, he spoke passionately about wanting to engage in more… masculine activities. Things I’m not really… equipped to help him with.”
That admission weighed heavily on her heart, reflecting her deepest fears as a mother—that despite her best efforts, she might not be enough to guide her son into manhood.
“He really needs some male companionship,” Joanna remarked thoughtfully, taking off her glasses to give them a gentle polish with a soft handkerchief. “It’s natural for his age. Boys need certain outlets for their energy and role models to help shape their sense of self.”
“Exactly,” Emma replied, a look of gratitude softening her features. “But where am I supposed to find a suitable male influence? Certainly not from Sidney Bickford, who sees Tristan as nothing more than a temporary nuisance until he grows up.”
Just mentioning Sidney cast a brief shadow over the carriage, a shared understanding of the man’s unpleasant nature passing silently between the three women.
“What about Lord Griggs’ pheasant hunt next week?” Joanna suggested after a pause. “The gentlemen will be busy with their sport while the ladies play cards and chat. Maybe Tristan could join them? It would give him a chance to see proper masculine behavior in a fitting environment.”
Emma hesitated, uncertainty clouding her face. “I’m worried about his safety. Hunting can be risky, and Tristan doesn’t have much experience with firearms.”
“Don’t worry, Grandmother will make sure that someone looks after him,” Annabelle reassured her. “She has a special fondness for Tristan, you know. Says he reminds her of her late husband at that age—all mischief and curious questions.”
As the carriage turned a bend in the road, a beautiful view of rolling hills bathed in the golden light of late afternoon unfolded before them.
Emma gazed out at the serene scene, weighing her son’s need for proper masculine guidance against her instinct to protect him.
“Maybe you’re right,” she finally admitted, her decision coming with a small sigh of resignation.
She knew that she couldn’t keep him in a glass case, no matter how much she wished to shield him from every possible danger. And since everyone agreed that Lord Griggs was a responsible sportsman, herself included, she couldn’t deny him this opportunity to meet peers his age and maybe find a male mentor amongst the gentlemen who would attend.
“Fantastic!” Annabelle exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight before turning to give Emma a reassuring look. “Grandmother will be thrilled to see Tristan there. And don’t fret—the younger boys usually just carry the game bags instead of handling the weapons.”
Sucking in a deep, calming breath, Emma nodded, feeling the tension in her shoulders start to ease. And she actually found herself looking forward to that day.
She’d let her worries get ahead of her, but all she had to do was share them with her friends, and now everything just looked so… small. As though she’d worried for nothing.
He might be there, too. The Beast.
The thought sent a strange flutter through her chest—an odd mix of excitement and nervousness, curiosity tinged with caution.
How strange that a man she had only met twice, and under such unfortunate circumstances, could occupy her mind so persistently. It was quite unusual, unsettling even, and definitely inconvenient.
And yet… inconvenient or not, against her better judgment, Emma found that she was looking forward to seeing him there.
* * *
“What a lucky morning it is for hunting. Wouldn’t you agree? The air has that refreshing crispness that makes the game lively yet not so jumpy that tracking them becomes a challenge.”
Lord Griggs’ enthusiasm for the day’s sport radiated through the gathered crowd with the kind of ease that comes from a man who knew how to host these events.
His sun-kissed complexion, a testament to years spent outdoors, glowed with excitement as he took in the gentlemen gathered on the east lawn of Griggs Manor, where the morning sun cast long shadows over the dew-kissed grass.
Emma watched the scene unfold from her seat on the terrace, where the ladies had gathered to prepare for their own activities.
The difference between the men and women was striking on mornings like this. The gentlemen, clad in their tweed hunting gear, meticulously checked their firearms, while the ladies settled into their silks and muslins, parasols angled against the sun as they awaited the start of Pall-Mall.
It would have been so very dull if not for Tristan running down there. The anticipation of watching him set her nerve endings afire.
Her eyes were fixed on him even now. Her son was standing a bit away from the main hunting group, his lean frame practically vibrating with excitement.
He had been a whirlwind that morning, devouring his breakfast and throwing on his riding clothes in such a rush that his cravat was now slightly askew, despite Emma’s best efforts to fix it before they left. The boy’s eagerness filled her with warmth but also a twinge of worry—his adventurous spirit clashed with her instinct to keep him safe.
“Your boy seems quite eager for the chase,” remarked the Dowager Viscountess Oakley, her voice a mix of authority and amusement that had defined her presence in the local ton for nearly forty years.
Even in her advanced age, she held herself with a regal air, her sharp gaze peeking out from beneath the elegant brim of her morning cap.
They watched Tristan giggle as he joined the other children. True enough, he was the youngest of them all, but the other boys didn’t leave him behind or despise him because of it. Emma felt as though she would cry, truly.
Had she worried for naught all this time?
“You need not worry, dear Emma. I’ll make sure Lord Griggs keeps a close eye on him.” The Dowager Viscountess smiled at her.
Emma had no choice but to respond in kind, her lips curling into a genuinely delighted smile.
The formidable Dowager Viscountess gave her a warm pat on the shoulder and strolled over to their host, moving with the kind of confidence that suggested she had never needed to rush to capture anyone’s attention.
Emma watched as the woman struck up what seemed to be a pleasant conversation with Lord Griggs, and the occasional glance toward Tristan made it clear what they were discussing.
“How fortunate that my nephew has such generous supporters,” a smooth voice chimed in from behind her, sending a cold shiver down her spine.
She turned to see Sidney approaching, dressed in hunting attire that, while stylish, gave off the vibe of a man pretending to enjoy country life rather than someone who truly did. Emma couldn’t help but notice his gloves—spotless and untouched by any real interaction with horses or dogs.
As usual, he was just playing the part of a caring uncle, even though everyone in high society was well aware of his less-than-stellar reputation.
Emma often wondered why he bothered with this charade. But then again, for someone as self-absorbed as he was, perhaps the attention was all that mattered. He strutted around as if he were the head of the family, when in reality, he was merely holding the fort for her son—the rightful heir.
“My Lord,” she greeted with a curtsey that met the bare minimum of propriety. Already, her mood had soured by just having to look upon him. How wretchedly unlucky. “I hope the morning is to your liking?”
“Absolutely, especially now that I have the pleasure of your company,” he replied, his practiced smile betraying no real warmth. His gaze drifted back to where the Dowager Viscountess and Lord Griggs were still deep in conversation. “Though I must say, it’s curious that the Dowager Viscountess feels the need to arrange for Tristan’s supervision when I, his uncle and guardian, am right here.”
Emma resisted the strong urge to arch an eyebrow at him. She really ought to give him a piece of her mind one of these days.
As if she could sense they were talking about her, the Dowager Viscountess turned, her face morphing into an exaggerated look of surprise.
“Ah, Lord Sidney! How delightful to see you here today. I must admit, your presence had slipped my mind for a moment. Age really does play tricks on our memories, doesn’t it?” She lightly tapped her temple with a gloved finger. “Sometimes, it’s a struggle to remember even the simplest things—like how to properly care for one’s ward, for example.”
The jab, delivered with graceful precision, hit home.
Sidney’s smile tightened at the edges, though he managed to keep his cool.
“Your concern for my nephew’s well-being is truly touching, Lady Oakley. Almost as touching as your impressive memory when it comes to ancient scandals and long-forgotten grievances.”
“Indeed,” Lady Oakley replied with a calm amusement. “How fortunate that the skills necessary for navigating Society remain sharp, even as others begin to fade.”
With a final nod that conveyed both dismissal and a sense of victory, the Dowager Viscountess turned back to her conversation with Lord Griggs, who seemed to be struggling to keep a serious face during this exchange.
Feeling outmaneuvered in this brief social duel, Sidney shifted his focus back to Emma.
“Your son appears quite eager for the hunt,” he noted, his tone suggesting he found this enthusiasm a bit beneath the dignity of an earl. “Does he have any experience with firearms?”
“Very little,” Emma confessed, trying to mask her anxiety about this. “That’s why I’m thankful for Lord Griggs’ supervision.”
“As his uncle, I should have been consulted on this matter,” he said, a hint of irritation creeping into his otherwise charming demeanor. “After all, I am responsible for his education in the ways of a gentleman.”
Emma felt that familiar tension building behind her temples—the kind that only this man’s presence always seemed to provoke.
“You have made your interest in Tristan’s upbringing quite clear, My Lord. However, as his mother, the day-to-day decisions about his activities are mine to make.”
Sidney stepped a little closer, just enough for her to catch a whiff of his cologne—way too strong for the fresh country air, more like something one would expect in a fancy London parlor.
“Will Louisa be joining us at the house soon?” she asked, intentionally bringing up his wife to create some distance.
For a moment, annoyance flickered across her brother-in-law’s face at the mention of his wife, before it melted into a mask of indifference.
“Unfortunately, no. She is off visiting relatives in France. You know how her health benefits from the warmer climate over there.” He waved his hand dismissively, as if his wife’s absence was hardly worth mentioning.
“How unfortunate,” Emma said, her voice carefully balancing sympathy with a hint of disinterest. “I imagine you must miss her company quite a bit.”
Sidney’s laugh was devoid of any real joy. “You know, marriages like ours often thrive on a little distance. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.” His gaze lingered on her, making her acutely aware of the simple cut of her riding habit. “Though I must admit, some absences are harder to bear than others.”
Just as Emma was about to respond to the impropriety of his thinly veiled suggestion, Lord Griggs’ booming voice called for the hunting party to gather.
The gentlemen started to assemble, with servants bringing forward horses while excited dogs darted between their legs, barking and whining in anticipation.
Sidney gave a nod that was a mix of politeness and arrogance. “We’ll continue our chat when I return, Lady Cuthbert.” His tone was confident, as if he was used to getting his way, no matter how the other person felt.
As he walked away to join the hunting party, Emma allowed herself to imagine blasting off part of his skull with a pistol. Just a little bit.
And it was at that moment, as she allowed herself to fantasize about murder, that she caught sight of him for the first time that morning.
The Duke of Westmere.
He stood a bit apart from the other gentlemen, his strong build visible even from afar. While the other men flaunted their meticulously chosen outfits that balanced style with the realities of the hunt, the Duke wore his tweed with relaxed confidence, as if the sturdy fabric was made just for his broad shoulders.
His collar was casually open at the throat, showcasing a robust neck that had been tanned by the sun—quite a contrast to the neatly tied cravats of his peers.
Emma realized that her pulse had started to pound at the base of her throat.
Oh, dear God, stop it. Stop it right now!
Yet, as if sensing her gaze on him, the aloof Duke turned his head at that moment, and their eyes met.