Page 11 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)
“You know,” she said softly, just for him, “if you are going to criticize music so thoroughly, I might start to worry that nothing pleases you at all.”
“Perhaps,” he muttered under his breath, “nothing pleases me as much as a person who doesn’t pander.”
Her lips curved. “I should warn you, Your Grace,” she whispered, “I do not pander either.”
“Then we may be in dangerous agreement,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on hers as the musicians tuned their instruments.
The music began, and Gerard found himself unexpectedly captivated. The quartet played with precision and warmth; Lord Edgecomb had not exaggerated.
Lady Slyham, seated beside him, was entirely absorbed in the music, though not with the rigid poise of a lady trained for display.
One elbow rested lightly on the armrest, her fingers drumming almost imperceptibly on the wood, and her shoulders hunched in a way that suggested thoughtfulness rather than formality.
Gerard studied her profile, noting her slightly untamed hairline, the faint crease of concentration between her eyebrows, and felt a rare stir of intrigue.
She was younger and far more striking than he had imagined Lady Silverquill to be, yet it was not conventional beauty that drew him in; it was the unusual, arresting way she seemed engrossed in the music, untouched by Society’s expectations.
She caught him staring. Instead of the flirty or amused look he might have expected, her gaze sharpened into a glare. Then, to his further astonishment, she leaned slightly closer.
“Do not even think of courting either of my sisters,” she warned, her voice low and firm. “They are still very young. And off-limits .”
Gerard’s eyes flicked to the stage, though damned if he could retain any details of the performance. His focus was elsewhere.
“You presume a great deal, My Lady,” he murmured. “I am quite aware your mother is far more invested in arranging matches than the young ladies themselves. And, if I recall, your column gave me a surprising number of… options.”
“Good,” she said, softening slightly. “I will do everything I can to keep you away from them.”
“And what, pray tell, do you mean by that, Lady Slyham?” he asked. “You are meant to assist me in finding a match—surely you do not think I would target your sisters? I have no such inclination.”
She allowed herself a small smirk. “I cannot imagine either of them with someone so rigid and… unyielding.”
“I merely uphold standards.”
“So do I, Your Grace,” she drawled, her eyes glinting.
Gerard turned fully toward her and caught her smirk. “So you’d better prepare yourself, My Lady, for I do not suffer mediocrity.”
Samuel, perched on his other side, hissed, “As much as I’m shamelessly entertained by the two of you, please hush. You’re disturbing the performance and teetering a bit too close to a scandal. I doubt either of you wants that.”
Lady Slyham straightened, her focus returning to the music as if she’d been doused in cold water.
Gerard, however, could not tear his gaze away from her. There was something about her—her wit, the subtle fire in her eyes—that demanded his attention, despite himself.
At last, the performance ended. The room buzzed with relief as guests moved toward the refreshments table, indulging in pastries and light conversation.
Gerard lingered, letting others pass. Lady Slyham remained nearby as well, her eyes briefly meeting his.
Clearly, she intended to speak before indulging in the delicacies.
“You may wish to consider Lady Mary, the blonde one. She is the Marquess of Greenfield’s daughter.
Then, there is Miss Haddonfield. She’s in her third Season, though only because she is…
rather particular,” she suggested softly.
“Both are amiable and fond of children. The only inconvenience would be their mothers’ eagerness, but that is inevitable.
You saw how my own mother reacted when you were near my sisters. ”
“Ah. You are recommending debutantes, then?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I promised your son I would help, and I intend to keep my word, Your Grace. You must feign interest, enough so that he sees you have tried. He is clever; he will ask the staff or anyone who might know. Of course, should one of these young ladies prove suitable, it may ease your purpose. They are also lovely, and not quite so young as my sisters.”
Gerard’s lips twitched as if he were suppressing a laugh, though the situation weighed more heavily than amusement allowed. He eyed the woman beside him narrowly.
“Everything I do is for Hector, My Lady,” he said, with a hint of a scowl.
Lady Slyham’s expression softened. “I know. It must have been difficult for both of you to have lost his mother so young.”
“Is this where you tell me you understand because you are a widow yourself?” he asked quietly, equal parts combative and curious.
They moved toward the refreshments table, keeping a polite distance from the crowd, Samuel’s warning echoing in Gerard’s mind. A conversation like theirs might trigger gossip if it were overheard.
Before either could speak further, the gentler of the twins, Lady Daphne, rushed toward her older sister, her cheeks flushed with excitement, a broad smile brightening her face.
“Mina! Did you hear that music? Would you—” She caught herself mid-sentence, curtsied gracefully to Gerard, and lowered her eyes. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice polite. “Might my sister and I be excused? I’d very much like to speak with the quartet.”
Gerard inclined his head slightly. “By all means, Lady Daphne,” he allowed.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied softly, her eyes lighting up for a moment. Then, she linked arms with her sister. “Shall we, Mina?”
“Certainly,” Wilhelmina replied, casting a glance over her shoulder at Gerard before turning toward the musicians.
The sisters moved off with quiet poise, and he observed their retreating figures.
As predicted, he soon found himself surrounded by eager mamas practically thrusting their daughters at him.
Lady Mary and Miss Haddonfield were pretty enough, but their polite smiles and fluttering lashes offered little substance. They agreed to everything he said before he could even finish a thought. The other young women did no better.
In short, none of them was interesting. Gerard had no intention of remarrying, yet even for form’s sake, these women were doing little to encourage him.
He remained polite, answering questions and even asking a few of his own. Small talk was not his strength, but he knew it was necessary, for his son’s sake.
Still, his gaze drifted repeatedly to where Lady Slyham laughed with her sisters, her brother, and the quartet.
Earlier, he had spoken of valuing sincerity. How, then, could he sense it radiating from someone whose livelihood was woven with gossip?
Much later that evening, Gerard and Samuel lingered at White’s, far from the clamor of the musicale.
The private room smelled faintly of tobacco and old leather, but the quiet suited Gerard’s racing mind. Both men seemed to carry a residual charge from the evening’s events, though for very different reasons.
“So,” Samuel began, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned back in his chair. “How riveting was your chat with Lady Slyham? Worth half of London whispering about you, I presume.”
Gerard’s jaw tightened. “We discussed music,” he said flatly, his eyes narrowing.
“Music, is it?” Samuel’s lips curled into a wide grin. “Curious. Because from where I sat, it seemed the subject had a way of making a man appear as though he wished to devour the lady seated beside him.”
“You see too much,” Gerard scoffed. “You always see too much. The conversation was perfectly innocent.”
“Better to see too much than too little, my friend,” Samuel countered, slowly swirling the brandy in his glass.
Gerard leaned back, his gaze distant. “Lady Slyham is a widow,” he said deliberately.
And yet Samuel seemed to catch the question in his tone.
His eyebrow rose. “Yes. And not one with a… pristine reputation, from what I hear. Her late husband was well-liked. Charming, even. And yet other ladies seem to resent her. Perhaps it’s because she captured him in a way none of them could. Are you interested in Lady Slyham?”
“Of course not,” Gerard huffed, though the edge of irritation could not entirely mask something darker beneath. “Widows are off-limits. They carry burdens that I will not inherit. Not that I am in any mind to remarry, for love or otherwise.”
Samuel leaned forward, suddenly looking serious. “You speak as if the past has taught you caution, yet the facts remain. You were far more attentive to her than to any other lady in the room tonight. Perhaps you are denying more than just interest.”
Gerard’s hand tightened around his glass. “I am not,” he said curtly.
And yet, as he spoke, the lie rang faintly in the air between them.
The truth was stubborn, clinging. He had felt it—an unfamiliar stir of fascination, an unexpected pull to a widow, to such a feisty woman.
Samuel’s grin returned, slow and knowing. “Ah. Denial. That, my friend, is always the first sign that a man has met his match.”
Gerard made a sound that was closer to a growl than a laugh, and he drained the remaining brandy in his glass. “Match or not, I am done with all of that. Never again.”
Samuel’s eyes sparkled, and he leaned back to study him. “We will see, Your Grace. We will see. The heart is seldom obedient, no matter how many rules the mind imposes.”
Gerard said nothing, but the slight unease in his chest betrayed him. Samuel’s words, always sly, had a way of skimming the truth from his carefully guarded thoughts.
He would not admit it aloud, but Lady Slyham had left an impression.
One he could not easily shake.