Page 16 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)
“Knights and dragons,” the Duke said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm, arching an eyebrow. “Will they be your next conquest, Lady Slyham?”
Wilhelmina lowered her gaze, her cheeks pinkening. Was he teasing her, or merely commenting on her choice of books?
“Dragons do surround me,” she replied carefully, “if the ton insists on their importance. Yet the outcasts—the so-called monsters—are often more courteous.”
“Mhm,” he murmured. “Still, even dragons must unleash their fire at some point.”
“As they should,” she agreed, meeting his gaze. “And some people deserve to feel the burn.”
A small smile curved his lips, and for a moment, Wilhelmina simply basked in it. Recognition arced between them—subtle, electric, and impossible to ignore.
Before the silence could settle into something warmer, the door swung open again. Wilhelmina wondered why this bookshop drew large crowds when other shops were equally open.
She turned and groaned inwardly. Her mother and Daphne had arrived. Reflexively, she took a step back from the Duke.
Lady Grisham swanned in as if the shop were a ballroom, every movement thoroughly practiced and elegant. Daphne followed, pleasant but obedient in her shadow.
“Wilhelmina,” Lady Grisham began, her voice carrying that familiar chill. “What on earth is happening? We’ve been—oh, dear.” Her eyes landed on the Duke. “Your Grace. Pardon me. This is… unexpected.”
“Lady Grisham,” Gerard greeted smoothly, inclining his head. “Lady Daphne. I am pleased to see you both.”
A flurry of pleasantries ensued. Smiles were all out, cheeks aching from effort, teeth grating behind each curt nod. Even the twins stiffened at the subtle way their mother nudged them closer to the Duke.
“You must excuse me, ladies,” the Duke said firmly. “I must pay for my son’s books, and then we must be off.”
“We have other errands!” Hector announced proudly.
“That’s very mature of you,” Lady Grisham praised.
“My governess calls me a young man,” Hector replied with a small smirk.
“You did seem much older,” Wilhelmina murmured, thinking how easily the little boy had wormed himself into her life.
After paying for the books, the Duke and Hector exchanged nods and quietly departed.
Wilhelmina caught a furtive glance from her mother, an unspoken promise that this moment would not go unexamined. A bookshop visit, no matter how mundane, would soon become a matter of inquiry.
“Let’s pay for our books,” she urged Victoria, who had lingered near another shelf. She had left their earlier selection on the counter, along with Victoria’s.
“Oh, of course! I’m done browsing,” Victoria replied, lowering her gaze as she closed her fan slowly, the sparkle in her eyes dimming for just a moment.
“That’s a relief,” Lady Grisham chimed in, her tone probing. “I thought you were planning to use up the allowance for your gowns.”
“I want to,” Victoria muttered, her cheeks coloring slightly.
As the sisters approached the counter, the shopkeeper leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. “Lady Slyham, the Duke of Talleystone has already settled your bill. He said it was his pleasure. Should you wish to add more, you may pay for them separately.”
Wilhelmina’s fingers tightened on her reticule. “Did he now?” she forced out.
“Yes, indeed,” the shopkeeper said dreamily. “Very generous, is it not?”
Victoria’s eyes lit up, and she turned to add another volume, but Wilhelmina caught her arm gently. “Oh no, Vicky. Not this time,” she warned.
Disappointment flashed in Victoria’s eyes, then faded as she accepted her bag of books.
Wilhelmina met her mother’s suspicious gaze.
Had she caught the shopkeeper’s words?
More likely than not.
Wilhelmina had survived the morning without being dragged to a modiste. A small miracle, she thought, glancing down at the smart ensemble she still possessed from when Robert had been alive.
Those clothes, though not the height of fashion, allowed her a measure of dignity and independence. An independence she had learned to cherish after the upheavals of widowhood.
Money was always on her mind. The allowance from the new Earl of Slyham was modest. With no children to inherit and no fortune of her own, she knew her financial security hinged entirely on prudence. Every shilling counted. Every choice, no matter how small, carried weight.
By evening, she was obliged to visit the Gazetteer . The familiar, cluttered office smelled faintly of ink and paper, with stacks of correspondence lining the walls and an ever-present tang of beeswax from sealed letters.
She placed a neat pile of envelopes on her publisher’s desk, careful not to scatter the papers like a careless novice.
“These,” she said, slowly lifting the top envelope, “are Lady Silverquill’s replies to the latest letters. She’s been surprisingly amiable as of late, I’m pleased to report.”
“Oh? Has she?” Mr. Finch’s voice carried a hint of curiosity and suspicion that she had come to recognize over many visits.
He adjusted his spectacles over the bridge of his nose and leaned forward, sifting through the stack with careful fingers.
He paused, and Wilhelmina held her breath. He furrowed his brow, his lips pressing together for a moment before he finally looked up. He gave a small, tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“They look excellent, My Lady,” he said, setting the letters aside. “Thankfully, there’s no word from the Duke on my end, and apparently, none on yours either.”
Wilhelmina tried not to flinch. The subtle reminder of the Duke’s presence in the gossip she curated for the ton was enough to make her stomach twist, but she let out a small sigh of relief, for Mr. Finch’s sake as much as her own.
A heavy silence settled between them, the kind that felt neither comfortable nor temporary.
Wilhelmina glanced at her publisher, raising an eyebrow. His expression was unreadable, but something told her the words that followed would not be pleasant.
“My Lady,” Mr. Finch finally said, exhaling slowly, “our sales are down this month.”
Wilhelmina felt her chest tighten. She sank into the chair opposite him, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk.
“Down?” she repeated, trying to mask the panic in her voice.
He gave a nod, though it was faint, almost imperceptible. “It seems that our readership—the ton, in particular—is no longer as amused by what we can offer. Perhaps they find the columns predictable, or perhaps they simply tire of the same topics.”
Her stomach sank. Was it her fault? She had done everything she could—crafting replies, polishing Lady Silverquill’s witticisms, ensuring every letter sparkled with wit and propriety. And yet she had no way of controlling the tastes of the ton.
“D-Do you think we can recover?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid of the answer.
Mr. Finch rubbed the bridge of his nose, a gesture that suggested both fatigue and deep thought.
“Perhaps,” he replied after a pause. “It may depend on whether we can make Lady Silverquill entertaining again. The ton responds to her as though she were a prize exhibit. Without her spark, we risk fading into obscurity.”
Wilhelmina leaned back in her chair, letting out a long breath.
She could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down on her—not just for herself, but for her sisters and their standing in Society.
Every word she wrote, every correspondence she oversaw, had consequences far beyond the pages of the Gazetteer .
“And if she refuses to be entertaining?” she asked, a small edge of steel entering her tone.
“Then we adapt,” Mr. Finch replied firmly, his eyes meeting hers with unwavering seriousness. “We find another way. But for now, we must hope for Lady Silverquill’s cooperation.”
Wilhelmina nodded, a small, determined smile tugging at her lips. She had faced more daunting challenges than this, and she would face this one, too. The ton’s fickle whims might sway the masses, but they would not sway her.
She gathered the letters carefully, holding them close as though they were armor.
Tomorrow, she would draft new strategies, sharpen her wits, and ensure the Gazetteer regained its footing. For now, though, she allowed herself the faintest glimmer of relief.
The work was hers to control, at least for today.