Page 23 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)

Chapter Sixteen

T here was something about the morning that made Wilhelmina more inclined to notice every detail.

First, it was a pale sort of morning, with fog clinging stubbornly to the lampposts. Second, the chill seeped through her gown as if the silk offered no barrier at all. Third, she almost didn’t know where she was.

She was disoriented. The whole affair did not feel like a wedding ought to. Even her marriage to Robert had been jollier than this.

Now, as she descended from the carriage before the modest church, she asked herself whether she should go through with it.

She told herself that she had no choice. The whispers were already thick in the air—about her, about him.

A widow had no right to change her mind. At least, that was what she told herself.

The rustle of her gown seemed too loud as she walked up the church steps. Too loud, as though it alone announced her fate.

Her family was already assembled, her sisters in their best gowns, her brothers-in-law standing with their arms folded but their faces warm.

Elizabeth gave her a sweet, encouraging smile. Marianne’s eyes danced, amused, curious. Of course, she would be, given how rushed the wedding was. Victoria and Daphne clung to each other, both looking on with an almost girlish hope.

Lady Grisham was there, hawk-eyed as ever, not missing a single twitch or whisper. Her gaze flicked from the Duke to his side of the aisle, narrowing on the guests. Her expression was a blend of satisfaction and suspicion. Wilhelmina almost laughed at it, even as her heart thudded in her throat.

The Duke—the man who would be her husband in mere minutes— had not invited many people. Hector proudly wore a smaller version of his father’s coat, his hair slicked back and shining, his grin wide.

It pleased her to see him look so proud.

The Duke was unusually polished, too. She had come to know him as rugged, often seeming worn by the weight of his duties. Today, though, he had taken care. He was the Duke of Talleystone, and he looked like it.

Beside him stood Lord Berkhead, his closest friend, smiling but shifting his weight as if the pews themselves itched. The rest were loyal servants, some teary-eyed with happiness, others stiff with duty.

It struck Wilhelmina how stark the difference was between them. Her side consisted of family, either by blood or marriage. His side consisted of his son, his friend, and his servants.

She reminded herself that she was joining that little circle. Though adding to it, not quite belonging.

The ceremony was swift. Practical. The choir was absent, the organ silent. The minister spoke with brisk efficiency, and vows were exchanged almost before she could steady her breathing.

At one point, the minister droned, “Do you, Gerard Langmirth, the Duke of Talleystone, take this woman…”

“I do,” Gerard answered without hesitation, his voice steady and deep, ringing through the empty space with a weight that made Wilhelmina’s knees weaken.

When it came to her part, her tongue felt thick. For a moment, she faltered. The minister prompted her gently, and she forced the words out.

“I… do.”

Their gazes met, and for the first time since she had stepped out of the carriage, her nerves stilled.

The ring was cool on her finger. A band of finality.

And then it was done. Just like that.

She blinked, almost in disbelief. She was no longer the Dowager Countess of Slyham, the widow who ought to mourn forever. She was now the Duchess of Talleystone.

Beside her, Gerard leaned down slightly and murmured low enough so that only she could hear, “Do not look so startled, Duchess. We have both played our parts well.”

She gave a short, nervous laugh. “I wondered if we did.”

“You did,” he said firmly. His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest second before turning to the minister. “And that is all that was required.”

Her sisters surged forward when they stepped off the altar.

Elizabeth clasped her hand tightly. “Dearest Mina, you look pale as a ghost.”

“I feel rather like one,” Wilhelmina admitted softly.

Marianne leaned closer with a wicked grin. “But ghosts cannot wear diamonds quite so well.”

Wilhelmina rolled her eyes, and for a moment, it felt like any other family gathering.

But then she glanced at Gerard again.

The Duke. Her husband .

He was speaking quietly to Hector, who looked up at him with plain pride. And she knew deep down that nothing would ever be quite the same again.

Gerard had the dining room prepared for a wedding feast. It was not ostentatious, but it lacked nothing: glazed ham glistening on silver platters, neat tiers of sandwiches, sugared pastries, and at the center, a beautifully decorated cake with white icing piped like lace.

Wilhelmina’s gaze lingered on the cake, her lips curving faintly. “Oh, Lizzie. It seems a pity to cut into something so lovely,” she murmured to her sister.

Elizabeth leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “You only say that because you haven’t tasted it yet.”

The merriest voice in the room, however, was Hector’s. He darted about like a swallow, full of bright chatter, and quickly attached himself to Victoria.

“Do you have a dozen sisters?” he asked too loudly.

Victoria laughed, delighted by his solemn expression. “Four, my darling boy. I assure you, that is quite enough.”

“Not nearly enough!” Hector declared, his small hands gesturing wildly. “If I had a dozen sisters, there would always be someone to play with.” He paused, thoughtful. “But I am an only child. So I suppose I must hope for a brother or a sister.”

That pronouncement elicited a ripple of laughter across the table.

Elizabeth caught his eye and raised her eyebrows in teasing triumph. “Your Grace, I fear your son and my youngest sister will become partners in mischief before the week is out.”

Gerard’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile he could muster before a room full of new relations.

“It would do him no harm,” he said evenly. “Better he learn to conspire with companions than alone.”

Wilhelmina, overhearing, looked at him, her expression unreadable.

But not everyone shared in the mirth. The Marquess of Grisham had scarcely touched his plate. His gaze, whenever it strayed toward Gerard, carried all the warmth of a blade.

“I do quite respect the Duke, Mina. However, I trust you know what you’re doing,” he muttered, his voice pitched low. But Gerard had caught the words all the same.

Wilhelmina’s spine stiffened. “I do,” she replied firmly, though her eyes remained on her plate.

Gerard let a beat pass, then spoke across the table, his tone courteous but edged. “It seems you doubt me, Lord Grisham.”

Grisham’s gaze flicked up, cool and steady. “I do not doubt you’re your Grace. I doubt haste . And I doubt any man who marries my sister without courting her first.”

A hush fell over the table, broken only by the clink of a spoon against china.

Wilhelmina lifted her chin, her voice steady despite the faint flush on her cheeks. “Daniel?—”

But Gerard leaned forward, his dark eyes never leaving the Marquess. “Then you may keep your doubts, My Lord. What matters isn’t your approval, but your sister’s decision. And she has chosen.”

Grisham’s lips pressed into a hard line, but he said nothing further.

Hector, mercifully oblivious to the tension, tugged at Victoria’s sleeve again. “Are sisters as noisy as brothers, or worse?”

Victoria laughed, breaking the tension in the air, and Elizabeth joined her.

The hum of conversation resumed, though Gerard’s pulse still beat with the sharp satisfaction of staking his ground.

Wilhelmina told herself that she ought to be content, if not blissfully happy. Contentment was no small thing.

She had married once more. And not to some minor lord, but to a wealthy young duke. A handsome one, at that. The ton would be wagging their tongues soon enough, if they were not already. At least she had secured her place before they could sharpen their teeth upon her.

Yet her brother hovered like a dark cloud on an otherwise pleasant day. He had not bothered to hide his disapproval, and the weight of his gaze on her was every bit as heavy as his words had been earlier. He glared openly at the Duke, with a frank hostility that caused her embarrassment.

She was not accustomed to Daniel being so brusque.

“You think I am making a mistake?” she whispered, meeting his eyes across the space between them. “Think about it. This is not my first marriage. I am hardly leaping into the unknown.”

Daniel leaned closer, his tone clipped. “Precisely my point. You first married young, at your prime, and that still ended badly. Now you have tied yourself to a man who did not even court you, who offered you no time to get to know him properly. How could this end better?”

His words struck home with cruel accuracy.

Wilhelmina was not in this marriage for love, nor for passion. It was a practical affair, conceived out of necessity, but that was not a truth she could confess, least of all to Daniel.

She knew her record in marriage was already one of disappointment. She had not entered this new union to garner admiration or sympathy. She had entered it to survive .

And survival, she reminded herself, was something she had grown accustomed to.

The feast progressed with its subdued merriment, the dining room filling with the hum of conversation and the laughter of younger voices. After the meal, many of the guests drifted into smaller groups, strolling around the room or clustering near the tables.

It was then that her mother glided toward her, her skirts rustling, her face pinched with displeasure.

“The whole affair is too quick, daughter. Or should I say, Your Grace ?” Lady Grisham’s voice rang out loudly.

“Even widows ought to have a proper courtship. A season at the very least, so that everyone can observe the progress. Marrying with such haste will trigger rumors. And rumors, you can be sure, will not be kind.”

Her mother’s indignation swelled so loudly that Wilhelmina scarcely needed to answer. Indeed, it hardly mattered what she said. She had long since learned that her mother’s disapproval was inexhaustible and would burn itself out, whether met with argument or silence.

So she chose silence. She let the torrent pass, her countenance calm, though her pulse quickened beneath the weight of her mother’s words.

A gentle touch on her elbow rescued her from the storm. She turned and found Marianne and Elizabeth standing beside her, their faces full of concern. Their expressions touched her in a way that her mother’s scolding never could.

“How are you, really?” Elizabeth asked softly, her eyes searching Wilhelmina’s face with sisterly earnestness. “I feel like Daniel and Lady Grisham’s… inputs must have rattled you, if at least a little.”

“I am fine. And I somewhat expected those,” Wilhelmina replied with a small shrug, attempting nonchalance.

“This marriage is not what many imagine. It is not…” She lowered her voice.

“It is not a love match. It is for Hector’s sake.

He is such a dear boy. I like him very much. He reminds me of Victoria.”

As if summoned by his name, Hector’s laughter rang out across the room, bright and unrestrained. He stood with Victoria, the two of them deep in animated conversation, their hands flying as they recounted stories, each trying to outshine the other.

Wilhelmina’s lips curled into a smile. The plan was working. The boy was happy. And upon seeing his joy, she felt a measure of satisfaction that steadied her.

“He is spirited, yes,” Elizabeth whispered, her gaze warm on Hector. “He will need your guidance, Mina. I remember what it was like when Victoria was his age. She was a handful.”

“Tell me about it,” Marianne muttered, no doubt recalling the infamous occasion when Victoria had slipped away to watch the hunt, where she had first met Dominic, her husband.

For a while, the three sisters watched the younger ones with a wistful silence, as though looking back on their lost girlhood.

“Oh,” Marianne murmured, tilting her head. “Are you quite certain of your arrangement? One may begin with duty, yes, but friendship sometimes grows into more. And Mina, shouldn’t you call him by his name now? He is your husband.”

In fact, the Duke’s name hovered on the tip of Wilhelmina’s tongue. She recalled, with sudden clarity, the moments after he had proposed to her. He had told her quite directly that she must use his given name. He had asked for hers in return.

It was a curious kind of intimacy, that simple exchange, and yet it was all they had allowed themselves.

Beyond that, little had been spoken about what their days might hold. Their union was never meant to be more than a shield: protection for her from dwindling prospects, and a mother figure for Hector. That had been the deal.

And yet…

“We will speak of it soon,” Wilhelmina replied. “He is a reasonable man. I expect he will wish to lay out the details of our life together.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, hesitation plain in her eyes. “What about children of your own?” she whispered, almost scandalized by the notion.

“Not everyone desires offspring, Lizzie,” Wilhelmina said firmly.

But even as the reassurance left her lips, it rang hollow in her ears.

The conversation dwindled, and Wilhelmina allowed herself to be drawn toward Hector’s and Victoria’s laughter once more. Yet this time, her gaze landed on another figure.

The Duke was standing at a distance, watching his son with quiet intensity. His eyes flashed with unmistakable pride. The sight of his warmth and devotion focused fully on the boy struck her unexpectedly.

And before she could check herself, a strange longing welled up within her—that one day, her husband might look upon her with the same light in his eyes, and more.