Page 1 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)

Chapter One

“ O h, Your Grace,” cooed the irritating Miss Henrietta Sedgewick, a young blonde woman with wide eyes and a disappointingly predictable agenda.

“I always tell my friends that an invitation to Branmere House is worth everything. It’s divine!

You must have hired several people to care for the gardens. Do you oversee the work yourself?”

“No,” Gerard Langmirth, the Duke of Talleystone, replied.

“And your dear son! Lord Hector must be a bright boy! I’ve heard from some friends that he’s quite an artist for his age.”

“Hmm.”

Gerard could not understand why women still made an effort to catch his attention. He’d been widowed for six years now, but his energy was mostly focused on his son.

Marriage? He’d already failed at his first one. He didn’t like to dwell on things he did badly at.

It was a beautiful day, the sun beating down on the manicured lawns of Branmere House. The place somehow smelled of lemon cakes and wild roses, instead of grief and stone. Guests were streaming in with grins on their faces. Some were already playing a friendly game of Pall Mall.

For Gerard, the gathering was merely for the sake of meeting with his business partners, some of whom came with their wives and some with their daughters. These men would have thought the whole afternoon a successful enterprise, but Gerard had never been like most men.

He stood near the rose arbor, straight and stiff. He surveyed everyone with a visible disdain that hosts should not be wearing. However, he knew why several giggling debutantes and ladies on their second or third Seasons were walking back and forth in front of him.

Their laughter was too bright. Their fans were colorful and fluttering, as if they were part of some dance. Miss Sedgewick, on his side, didn’t even bother to be subtle. Even the way she leaned in was conspiratorial, as if the two of them were sharing a secret.

But there was none.

It was also a relief that her father stood only a couple of feet away from her, for she would have to maintain decorum.

“It must be quite lonely, though, Your Grace, to live in such a great house. The nights must be so quiet,” she added softly, her voice lowering at the last word.

It was too much. If she were his sister, he would have advised her to cease her attempts. Now, Gerard could not help but raise an eyebrow.

“Your Grace, I dare say,” she continued boldly, lowering her voice further, “some members of the ton had been speculating about certain bachelors in need of companionship. I didn’t know that there were such a number of lonely men, when many young women remain unmarried.

I wonder if you’ve read Lady Silverquill’s column as of late.

There was one letter that caught my eye. ”

“Henrietta,” Lord Ripton, her father, hissed before turning to Gerard. “She means no harm, Talleystone.” He gave him an enthusiastic clap on the back, to which Gerard glared. “We merely believe that men like you should not be alone forever.”

A few more guests crowded Gerard, much to his dismay. They might have been eavesdropping all along, and somehow the mention of Lady Silverquill’s name had prompted a few to join in the conversation.

“The letter was quite charming,” Lady Matilda, the daughter of another business associate, chimed in. “Men are often not expected to express themselves, but that letter proves us all wrong.”

“Such sensitivity from such a young boy,” a third lady whispered, looking like she would swoon anytime.

“Now, perhaps His Grace would believe what I had been saying all along,” Miss Sedgewick said smugly.

“We seem to have focused on this Lady Silverquill,” Gerard commented coldly. “What do you all think are the merits of such a column?”

The young ladies chuckled nervously. They retreated a few steps, glancing at each other as if wondering which one had done something wrong.

At that very moment, Samuel Wenman, the Marquess of Berkhead, sauntered over.

About time. Gerard was getting swarmed by business partners, who were not really concentrating on business, and their daughters, who were looking for good matches.

He would not tolerate such matchmaking schemes.

Samuel grinned like a wolf about to attack the hens, but he was harmless. Very much so.

“Ah, I strut and sparkle like a peacock, while you just glower, and still the ladies flock to you. Come, my darlings, let’s get some air. His Grace is starting to look a touch bilious. Jealousy has never suited his complexion.”

“Samuel,” Gerard warned, glaring at his friend.

“He’s not nearly as fearsome as he pretends,” Samuel told the young ladies. “Quite the opposite. He can be positively charming. Why, see the way his eyebrows are conspiring in the middle of his forehead? That’s his expression of pure delight.”

The ladies giggled at that.

“I thought you were about to help,” Gerard grumbled low, only for Samuel’s ears. “But you are making it worse.”

“Of course. I live to serve you, it seems,” Samuel whispered back dryly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard saw a footman heading his way.

The footman looked pale and nervous.

Gerard frowned. What was going on?

“Your Grace, may I have a word with you?” the footman asked.

“Certainly,” Gerard replied, then faced his guests. “If you’ll excuse me. Do enjoy the games and refreshments. I will be back soon.”

Swiftly, he followed the restless footman into the house.

“Your Grace, there’s been, uh, an incident,” the footman said when they stood on the edge of the garden, out of earshot.

“An incident?” Gerard’s eyebrows shot up.

“Er, with Lord Hector.”

Gerard exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath. “What is it this time?”

The footman opened his mouth to respond when a shriek rang out from the garden.

“Papa! Papa, look!”

Hector came charging across the lawn like a mini barbarian, his arms flailing, his face streaked with mud, paint, and what looked suspiciously like charcoal. Someone had apparently tried to contain the chaos, as a child-sized apron hung around his neck, untied and utterly useless.

Guests gasped. A few giggled.

Gerard marched towards him, his guests much closer than he’d like now.

“You told me not to interrupt, but I have to tell you!” Hector shouted at the top of his lungs, oblivious to his audience. “I was drawing the sundial in the maze. Then, I thought I should help Mr. Liddel with the sunflowers and rhododendrons?—”

Gerard groaned. He didn’t need to hear the rest to imagine the carnage.

“But then I found some beetles!” Hector continued breathlessly. “So I had to do some digging!”

“Good heavens!” Miss Sedgewick cried, pressing a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide as she stepped back to avoid the oncoming storm.

Gerard could understand now that his guests were standing right behind.

“What on earth is that?” one of the ladies gasped, recoiling as though she might faint—or be sick.

“No, no, look ,” Hector insisted, holding out his palm with great care. A beetle sat proudly in the center of it. “It’s a beetle. Aren’t they marvelous? So many legs! So much purpose!”

The lady staggered backward with a muffled squeak.

“Lord Hector,” another lady called nervously, “where is your governess? Shouldn’t you be inside? Or at least at the refreshments table?”

“You are quite right,” Miss Sedgewick scoffed, fanning herself briskly. “His governess ought to keep him in check.”

Gerard turned toward them with sharp precision, his voice cold and clipped. “Miss Sedgewick. Miss Eden. My son’s behavior and his education are entirely my concern, not yours.”

Miss Sedgewick blanched. “O-Of course, Your Grace,” she stammered. “I meant no offense. Lord Hector is a lovely boy. I only thought of his well-being?—”

“As I said,” Gerard interrupted, his voice hard like stone, “My son is my business.”

Taking his son firmly by the shoulder, Gerard led him toward the house.

He knew discipline was necessary. Hector, bright as he was, had a troublesome inclination for mischief.

And yet Gerard couldn’t bring himself to be too harsh on him.

His own boyhood had been one of rules without affection, silence mistaken for obedience.

He had vowed that Hector’s childhood would be different.

Still, some things could not be allowed to slide.

“Inside. Now, Hector,” he ordered as they reached the open door.

“But Papa, it’s hardly even tea time,” Hector protested, his voice as sweet and persuasive as ever. “Mr. Liddel still needs my help in the gardens.”

Gerard fought the urge to smile and ruffle the boy’s hair. Hector did not need a firm hand, but he needed boundaries.

“Now,” Gerard said quietly.

The door shut behind them with a muted click. It was a soft sound, but Hector flinched all the same. His lower lip jutted out. He knew he had crossed a line, and likely suspected he’d not suffer too terribly for it. He knew his father well.

But Gerard was determined. This time, the boy would feel the consequences.

He guided Hector into the study and shut the door behind them. The space was quiet and cool, lined with bookshelves, maps, and filled with the faint scent of pipe smoke and ink.

Crossing his arms, Gerard looked down at his son. “Well? What possessed you?”

Hector mirrored him, folding his arms in exaggerated imitation. “I was bored. Your guests are dull. The ladies talk like parrots and laugh like hyenas. I think they’d laugh even if you sneezed, just to make you look at them.”

Gerard stifled a sigh. Hector had been reading a great deal about animals lately. Gerard knew it wasn’t Miss Elliot’s doing; the boy chose his own books and smuggled them into lessons when he thought no one would notice.

“I was trying to help you, Papa!” Hector continued earnestly. “You looked miserable. I thought you needed rescuing.”

“While that may be partly true,” Gerard said carefully, “disgracing your father in front of his guests is not the way to go about it. Especially not when his business partners are present.”