Page 10 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)
Chapter Six
“ M ust we strut about like peacocks?” Gerard muttered, his jaw tight. “Half the ladies look as though they cannot breathe in their gowns.”
He had come to Lord Edgecomb’s musicale, but rather than join the sparkling chatter, he lingered in the shadows at the back, feigning interest in the performances.
In truth, his thoughts were elsewhere.
Hector.
His boy was a dear child, though prone to mischief. Gerard trusted Mrs. Everly and Miss Elliot to keep him in check, but even so, he wondered what devilry Hector might be attempting that evening.
Dragging his gaze back to the gilt-edged room, Gerard surveyed the throng. The gaudy decorations and simpering conversations tested his patience.
Did none of them tire of such artifice? To smile and flatter in public, only to scheme and quarrel in private?
“Smile, Gerard.” Samuel clapped him on the back. “If you scowl any harder, the chandeliers will drop out of sheer terror. Let the ladies have their feathers and lace; life’s dreary enough without a bit of sparkle.”
Gerard shot him a look. “I do not begrudge pleasure. What I cannot abide are those who preen only to belittle others. There is no honor in it.”
“I understand. Yes, some people are like that,” Samuel said smoothly. “But we are here for you, and you must enjoy yourself. Some of these people genuinely admire you, and they’ll be overjoyed to see you among them.”
“They don’t truly admire me, Sam. We both know it,” Gerard scoffed. “They admire my title, my fortune, and the supposed prospect of marriage.”
“Supposed prospect? You are very much eligible,” Samuel reminded him cheerfully, nodding toward the crowd.
“We didn’t even arrive in time to hear the music,” Gerard muttered. “And this is a musicale.”
Their delay was justified. First, he could not leave Hector unattended after the boy’s earlier escapade. Second, he had lingered deliberately, hoping to shorten the evening’s ordeal. He still remembered the last gathering he had hosted, and the exhausting parade of pleasantries it had required.
“Ah, see there! Interest is stirring. There is hope for you yet! The host has arranged a private performance for a select few,” Samuel said with a grin.
Gerard grumbled but moved in step with his friend, scanning the room with a practiced, half-hearted glance. His eyes settled on a familiar figure.
Lady Slyham.
The woman who had single-handedly put him at the center of several women’s attention was right here. He had thought that he would not see her until the Hawthorne ball. In fact, he didn’t know how to behave around her.
They were not even supposed to know each other.
She stood with a cluster of men, one of whom was a young gentleman not much older than her. He turned, and Gerard caught his profile.
Daniel Brighton, the Marquess of Grisham .
Gerard had met the young Marquess once at White’s.
Grisham laughed, a rich, easy sound that carried across the room, his eyes bright and twinkling. He stood too close to Lady Slyham.
Gerard’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the subtle contact—Grisham’s hand resting lightly on her elbow.
A pang of something unfamiliar stirred within him. He did not like it.
“Come along, Sam,” he urged, his eyes fixed on the group.
“Mhm,” Samuel murmured, arching an eyebrow with a sly grin. “Did you finally spot someone worth the trouble in this feathered assembly?”
“That gentleman over there,” Gerard replied, nodding subtly toward Grisham. “We met him at White’s, did we not?”
“I do recall him. The new Marquess of Grisham, yes?”
Gerard merely inclined his head.
The two men crossed the room, closing the distance.
As they approached, Grisham turned and spotted them.
“Ah, Your Grace!” he greeted, bowing respectfully. “A pleasure to see you again. I did not notice you earlier.”
“Likewise, Lord Grisham,” Gerard said, offering a polite nod. “It is good to see you here. I trust you have enjoyed yourself?”
“Yes. The quartet performed quite well. I am considering engaging them for my own entertainment, should the occasion demand it,” Grisham replied smoothly.
Gerard tilted his head, studying the younger man. He did not carry the arrogance often found in a young lord, but a quiet confidence that was almost refreshing.
“Well, Lord Grisham,” Gerard continued, “you remember the Earl of Berkhead, I presume?”
“I do. A pleasure, Lord Berkhead,” Grisham offered.
“Likewise, Lord Grisham,” Samuel returned with a sly grin. “It is always a pleasure to rekindle acquaintances one has not had the pleasure of properly addressing before. Which is precisely why I insisted my companion here make an appearance sooner. Though, as you can see, we are fashionably late.”
“You know the reasons for my delay,” Gerard said, his voice sharpening slightly, aware of the eyes already judging his mood.
Perhaps people saw him as stern—or worse, morose—and he cared little to reinforce that.
Grisham turned to his little circle, introducing them as business associates, though Gerard paid them little mind. His attention was drawn elsewhere: to Lady Slyham and the way Lord Alcott, one of Grisham’s associates, seemed intent on winning her favor.
“May I also present my stepmother, Lady Grisham, and my sisters, the Dowager Countess of Slyham, Lady Victoria, and Lady Daphne. Ladies, it is my honor to introduce the Duke of Talleystone and the Earl of Berkhead,” Grisham announced.
So Grisham is her brother .
A bewildering wave of relief washed over Gerard.
He studied Lady Grisham, the eldest of the women standing beside the young Marquess. She was likely in her mid-forties. Her dark blonde hair was threaded with gray, and her eyes were a piercing, icy blue.
He noted that all three younger women—Lady Slyham, Daphne, and Victoria—bore a resemblance, though their features were softer, more inviting.
The twins, Daphne and Victoria, were unmistakably Lady Grisham’s daughters in both look and manner, while Lady Slyham’s darker hair marked her apart, lending her a subtly different, more mysterious air.
If Lady Grisham is the Marquess’s stepmother, and these young ladies look like her, then they’re his half-sisters .
“Pleasure meeting you, ladies,” he greeted, giving them a small bow, his eyes returning to Lady Slyham.
They all curtsied in turn, and Samuel offered a polite bow of his own, though Gerard scarcely noticed. His attention was solely focused on the elusive widow who had so unexpectedly earned his son’s admiration.
Lady Grisham stepped forward with a formal curtsy, her smile careful. “What an honor to meet you, Your Grace. And you, Lord Berkhead. I hear that you rarely make an appearance at such gatherings, Your Grace?”
“In truth, I am seldom compelled to attend, Lady Grisham,” Gerard responded.
Lady Grisham laughed, a tinkling, practiced sound that carried an unmistakable determination.
“Perhaps you simply need the right events, ones more suited to your tastes. If this musicale drew you in, then I trust you have an appreciation for music. My daughter Daphne is particularly fond of music and art; you may find some common ground.”
Lady Daphne suddenly found the floor utterly fascinating. Lady Victoria rolled her eyes, making it plain that neither had much interest in whatever schemes their mother was weaving.
“Indeed,” Gerard uttered, giving the twins a cursory glance.
He could only hope that he had identified them correctly after such a brief introduction.
“Your Grace,” Lady Slyham interjected, her eyes narrowing momentarily at Lady Grisham before softening as they landed on him.
“What are your thoughts on Herr Wilberg’s latest compositions?
I had the one with that intriguing violin solo near the conclusion in mind.
Have you had the opportunity to hear it? ”
Gerard felt a spark of interest. Clearly, she was testing him.
But to what end?
“I have, My Lady,” he replied, his voice low. “Wilberg is perfectly capable, but his compositions can be… indulgent. They linger on melancholy until it becomes almost deliberate. A kind of sorrow that feels manufactured, rather than felt.”
Lady Slyham arched an eyebrow, her skepticism faint but unmistakable. “So you prefer cheerful music?”
Gerard’s lips curved, almost imperceptibly. “Not necessarily cheerful. I admire sincerity. Whether the music soars or mourns, it must be genuine. Anything else feels hollow. Pandering to taste rather than truth.”
Their eyes met, a spark of recognition passing silently between them. There was something in her gaze—an intelligence, a challenge—that made him unusually at ease.
For the first time that evening, he felt no need to pretend. The bustle of the room faded around them, leaving only their quiet scrutiny of one another.
“Mhm,” she murmured, an enigmatic smile on her lips. “Then sincerity is a virtue you value not only in music, but also in… most things, Your Grace?”
“Above most,” he admitted without hesitation, letting the words linger between them.
Lady Slyham opened her mouth, then closed it, as if weighing her next words.
But before she could speak, their host stepped forward, clapping his hands to draw attention. He gestured grandly, directing the assembled guests toward a section of the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “some guests have departed early, but for those who remain, we have prepared a special performance for the most avid music enthusiasts. Please, find your seats. The special performance will begin shortly.”
Guests shifted and murmured, filling the remaining chairs. Gerard, scanning the room, realized with a faint start that the seat beside him was vacant.
Until the woman whose presence had already unsettled him in the most compelling way approached.
Lady Slyham slid gracefully into the seat beside him. She offered a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that seemed equal parts challenge and invitation.