Page 13 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)

Chapter Eight

“ D o they cry and fuss a lot at night?” Wilhelmina asked, straightening her back when the theater lights dimmed.

She pulled her velvet wrap more snugly around her shoulders, a faint chill seeping into her skin. Her eyes fell on her dear sister Elizabeth, who looked radiant despite the hour.

Elizabeth had always possessed a quiet beauty, but motherhood seemed to have deepened it, lending her a soft glow that no gown or jewel could match.

“Their fussing is mostly theatrical,” she confessed, chuckling. “When they hear Alasdair coming up the stairs, they make noise so he will stay with them longer. It was their only way to push back their bedtime. Even Clara, who’s only a year old, already knows how to do it.”

“I’ve been called a beast by many peers, lass,” Alasdair declared proudly, puffing out his chest. He was a large, muscular man, but Wilhelmina knew he was harmless around family. “But I’m naught but a bairn meself around the wee ones.”

Wilhelmina grinned at her brother-in-law, catching the truth in his words. “I dare say there must be more than a few anxious governesses relying on your counsel for coaxing little ones to sleep at night.”

“They don’t always sleep immediately, mind you,” Elizabeth grumbled.

Wilhelmina let her eyes sweep the theater, allowing herself a rare moment to admire the elegantly attired patrons. The chandeliers above cast a warm, glittering light, and the speckled mirrors along the walls added a subtle, refined glamour.

They continued down the dimly lit hallway, the soft murmur of conversation guiding them toward their seats.

“You look beautiful, Sister,” Elizabeth whispered. “You always do. But today, you are positively glowing!”

“I was just about to tell you the same! And you mustn’t, truly, or you’ll have the entire ton believing I’m actually having fun—and I can’t have that scandalously cheerful reputation, can I?”

Suddenly, a high-pitched voice called out, “Lady Slyham!”

Wilhelmina turned to see two brightly dressed women practically vibrating with excitement. Polite enough on the surface, but their eyes gleamed with something sharper.

“It seems you’ve been very busy with social gatherings of late, Lady Slyham,” the taller one remarked, her smile too practiced to be genuine.

Wilhelmina recalled her name—Lady Rampling. The shorter one, whose saccharine smile made her skin crawl, was Miss Felicity Ashford. Both were clearly allies of Lady Farnmont.

“It is so important for widows to return to Society,” Miss Ashford cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness. “One mustn’t grow too comfortable in solitude.”

“So daring, all on your own,” Lady Rampling added, ignoring Elizabeth and Alasdair.

“I used to have a chaperone,” Wilhelmina said with a wide, innocent grin. “Alas—though perhaps fortunately—she ran off with one of the footmen.”

Elizabeth coughed delicately to hide her laughter, while Alasdair cleared his throat with exaggerated formality.

“As you may notice some mild choking at my side,” Wilhelmina continued sweetly, matching the tone of the two busybodies, “you may rest assured that my dear sister and her husband have graciously accompanied me. Fear not for my unsupervised behavior; I promise I shan’t steal the stage from the performers. ”

The women froze, their mouths opening and closing in disbelief. Mutterings about taking their seats before the performance began floated behind them.

“Perfectly done, lass,” Alasdair muttered under his breath.

“They’re harmless,” Wilhelmina whispered. “Nothing they say carries any weight. They’re implying I’m on some hunt for a husband. Don’t let them rattle you.”

The sisters finally recovered from the shock of having two self-important women try to disrupt their evening. They reached their private box when another voice cut through the murmurs.

“Aha! There you are!”

It was Daniel, striding toward them with tousled hair that suggested he’d given up caring about appearances in a room full of pomaded heads. He moved with an ease Wilhelmina had always admired, though she suspected there was more to his nonchalance than he let on.

“Good evening, Brother.” Elizabeth beamed at him. “Where are the girls?”

“They’re home,” he replied. “Lady Grisham claimed a headache, so they were mercifully able to skip one event.”

“A headache?” Elizabeth echoed, genuinely surprised.

“I was equally shocked,” Daniel admitted, lowering himself into a chair. “Perhaps she truly is unwell. Or perhaps she thought the theater offered insufficient social opportunities.”

“Hmm. Either way, you deserve to enjoy a little bit of freedom,” Wilhelmina said with a small smile.

Daniel’s eyes darkened for the briefest instant, a shadow passing over his face.

“Freedom,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“A rare treasure in our family. One comes to value it most when it has been so scarce.” Then, with a shake of his head, he leaned back, forcing a grin.

“Anyway, you look well. Managed to survive the musicale?”

“Barely,” Wilhelmina replied, the thought of her mother and the Duke of Talleystone crossing her mind.

“Tonight, at least, you’re free from any matchmaking schemes,” Daniel pointed out.

“Ah, that’s true,” she murmured, feeling herself relax for the first time that evening.

As the group settled into their seats, preparing for the performance, Wilhelmina couldn’t resist glancing back, curiosity winning over despite the comfort of familiar company.

The Duke of Talleystone. He was there.

For a man known to disdain social gatherings, he had certainly attended more than one of late, even before their appointed meeting at the Hawthorne ball.

He stood tall among a cluster of lords, an unexpected sight. Perhaps they were business associates, much like Daniel’s companions.

Even from a distance, Wilhelmina noticed the tension in his broad shoulders. He was present, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be.

Lord Berkhead, who was standing beside him, did the talking, gesturing with his hands animatedly.

For a fleeting moment, the Duke seemed composed, almost resigned, before turning as if to finally survey the stage.

Their eyes met.

They had met before, but the movement was sudden, and it sent a jolt through Wilhelmina.

He did not look away. He did not soften his gaze. That was not his way. Recognition and something else, something sharper, flickered behind those dark eyes.

Wilhelmina’s pulse quickened. Of course, it did. Lady Grisham’s whispered warnings, Lady Farnmont’s meddling friends—it all came rushing back.

“Excuse me,” she murmured to her family, her voice steady despite her racing heart. “I must powder my nose. I’ll return shortly.”

“Do you need company?” Elizabeth asked, looking a little concerned.

“I will be all right, Lizzie. Those ladies have already settled into their box. I won’t be long,” Wilhelmina assured.

As she walked toward the powder room, a quiet descended upon her. Then, she heard deliberate footfalls following her.

Gerard made his excuses as soon as he saw Lady Slyham slipping away. Her footsteps were quick and purposeful, but his strides were longer. Soon, he caught up with her.

“You move through the corridor like a phantom,” she commented softly, without turning to him.

“While you vanished like one,” he retorted. “I wasn’t certain if you wanted to meet me, or if you really needed time on your own.”

Lady Slyham finally turned to him. A nearby wall sconce illuminated her face. “Why did you follow me, Your Grace? Did you suspect any of the things you mentioned?”

“I saw you flee without your sister. Why would you walk here on your own? Why did they let you?”

“I told them I won’t be long,” she said, stepping back.

Gerard responded by stepping forward. He didn’t say anything, just watched her. He wondered why he was compelled to follow a woman who had given him so much trouble recently.

“How did it go with the ladies at the musicale?” she asked.

“It was tedious,” he replied, frowning.

“Mhm,” she murmured, rubbing her chin with her thumb and forefinger. “If I knew any better, Lady Silverquill would suggest throwing your own event. Something large. That way, you can excuse yourself from anyone you dislike—claim pressing duties. What do you think?”

Gerard groaned. He had hosted an event not long ago. Young ladies had found ways to hover near him. Not for him, certainly. None of them truly cared.

“A larger event,” Lady Slyham added, almost reading his mind.

“That sounds like a circle of hell,” he muttered. “Hosting more people.”

“Remember why we’re discussing this,” she said. “It’s for Hector. He wants you to try.”

“Fine,” he sighed, resigned. “For Hector’s sake.”

“Fantastic! Lady Silverquill would be thrilled to write glowing remarks about you, should a correspondent mention it.”

“Don’t you dare do that,” he warned. “I already attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“Very well,” she conceded. “How about a garden party, larger than usual? Don’t limit it to business associates and their families.

Your grounds are expansive enough that it won’t feel crowded.

And if you wish to escape…” She paused, her lips twitching.

“You could always inspect a hedge or trim a bush.”

“I do not trim bushes, Lady Slyham,” he said firmly.

“Then make a list of reasons to escape.”

“Do you really think that will work?”

“You can certainly try.”

“That is not how I plan to spend my days—coming up with ways to escape.”

“But that is precisely what you have been doing all along,” she countered. “It seems that company makes you deeply uncomfortable.”

“Do I look uncomfortable now?” he asked, stepping closer.

They stood only inches apart. Gerard could feel her warmth, smell the faint scent of her perfume.

“I… I am not certain,” Lady Slyham stammered.

Her eyes flicked to his mouth. He did the same, captivated by her lips—soft, pink, impossibly inviting.

For a suspended moment, the world around them disappeared. Then?—

Footsteps. Quick, light, purposeful.

Lady Slyham’s eyes widened, a hint of panic flashing in them. Gerard schooled his features into calm.

“I-I need to powder my nose,” she mumbled, fumbling for her purse and quickly dabbing at her nose.

He could have chuckled at her nervousness, but he saw the calculation behind her wide eyes. She was a widow, yes, but one who guarded her reputation fiercely.

He knew he should step back. And so he did, retreating toward the lobby.

As he walked, he overheard Lady Slyham speaking softly to her sister.

“Lizzie, I was about to return to our box.”

“Oh. I was worried. I thought I saw a man walking this way.”

“I didn’t see anyone,” Lady Slyham said quickly. “Not a soul.”