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

Elizabeth reached across the table and took her hand. “And you shall. Not everyone is like Lady Farnmont and her little circle. Remember that. But… how are you, truly? You never speak of what you feel. Not about Robert. Not really.”

“It’s been a year,” Wilhelmina murmured, blinking against the sudden heat behind her eyes.

She could still see him so clearly—laughing, animated, full of warmth. His death had been cruel and senseless. A mystery that still offered no peace.

“That’s not what I asked,” Elizabeth said gently.

“I’m fine, Lizzie,” Wilhelmina replied, reaching for her sister’s hand with a faint smile. “Truly. You must believe me.”

“You do know it’s all right to grieve still? That your pain is real and valid?”

“Yes,” Wilhelmina uttered, her voice low. “He was my husband. And more than that, he was my best friend. Aside from you and the girls, of course.”

Though the words were clipped, a smile touched her lips. Thoughts of Robert often did that, though they carried bitterness too.

She had loved him. She still did. And she had never stopped wondering why someone would want him dead.

Elizabeth looked as if she wanted to say more, to pry deeper, but stopped herself.

Perhaps everyone in the family had noticed Wilhelmina wasn’t grieving in the way Society expected her to. Perhaps Lady Farnmont’s barbs weren’t so far from the truth.

Perhaps they were all beginning to suspect that she was not simply mourning a man, but preparing to fight back against a world that had never made room for women like her.

Suddenly, the door to the teashop banged open. This time, it wasn’t a hush that followed, but a ripple of energy that burst down the aisles and straight to their table.

“Mina!” a voice cried.

Victoria—one of Wilhelmina’s younger twin sisters—came bounding through the room, her dark blonde curls flying and her cheeks flushed with excitement. She had always been the tempest in their family.

Wilhelmina barely had time to blink before she was wrapped in a fierce hug.

“Calm yourself, Vicky,” Elizabeth chided, tapping the empty seat beside her.

Panting slightly from the run, Victoria only tightened her hold. “I missed you! I have so many stories bursting inside of me!”

“My little storm,” Wilhelmina murmured fondly, though a pang hit her chest as she realized that Victoria, just eighteen, was now of an age to be ushered toward marriage.

As if to restore balance to her twin’s whirlwind, Daphne entered the teashop with quiet poise, her walk deliberate, her chin high, her gloved hands folded. The picture of composed elegance.

“You weren’t supposed to run indoors,” she said, her tone soft but chastising.

“You’re only cross because you lost the race from the carriage,” Victoria replied triumphantly, grinning. “And you always lose.”

“I wasn’t racing you,” Daphne insisted as she took the seat beside Wilhelmina, folding her arms with delicate precision.

Just as conversation began to bubble again, a male voice broke through with dry amusement. “So, this is where the noise is coming from. I swear I could hear Victoria from outside.”

Wilhelmina turned to see her half-brother, Daniel, sauntering toward them with a crooked smile.

“You’ve just gathered us all here, Mina,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “We’ve missed you.”

“Sit with us, then.” Wilhelmina rose to embrace him. “Let me collect you, too.”

As their table filled with chatter and laughter, Wilhelmina felt a warmth spread through her chest. Surrounded by her siblings, she began to feel more like herself again—less a grieving widow and more simply Mina.

“You’ve missed so much, Mina!” Victoria exclaimed.

“She was in mourning,” Daphne reminded, her voice edged with disapproval.

“Well, I’d hoped she’d join us at the last dinner party Mother hosted,” Victoria continued, undeterred. “There was this lord with a ridiculous name. What was it again, Daphne? Something Tree-whatever?”

“Trevelyan,” Daphne answered, sipping her tea delicately.

“He was horrid,” Victoria declared. “He lectured me on what ladies should and shouldn’t read. Imagine! I never even asked for his opinion. Apparently, novels rot the brain, but I suspect he was speaking from experience.”

Wilhelmina laughed aloud. “And what did you tell him? Don’t say you remained silent, I won’t believe it.”

“I told him I’d rather read scandalous French novels than listen to him prattle on about Latin grammar and trade policy.”

Daniel nearly choked on his tea. “You didn’t.”

“I did! He looked so sour, I was tempted to send him to the refreshments table to ensure we’d all get our share of lemonade.”

“You’re dreadful!” Daphne cried, though she was clearly stifling a smile. “We’ll never be invited back.”

“But that’s the plan,” Victoria said sweetly. “You see, Daph, we’re trying not to get invited.”

The realization struck her twin, and for a moment, Wilhelmina could see it land. Victoria wasn’t going to be forced into marriage. She’d make sure of it.

“You’re all ridiculous,” Wilhelmina huffed, half-laughing.

“We missed this,” Daniel said softly, and the table grew quiet.

“I missed you, too,” Wilhelmina said.

“Weren’t you the one gallivanting around the Continent?” Daphne asked her brother. “You didn’t even know when, or if, you’d return.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you all.”

“Oh, speaking of absences,” Daphne added casually, though her expression softened. “Marianne sends her love.”

The mention of their eldest sister brought a quiet hush to the table. Marianne had long been their protector, the one who stood between them and their father’s anger. Now, happily married to the Duke of Oakmere, she had stepped away from London’s bustle to raise her family in peace.

“She wanted to come,” Elizabeth said. “But the twins are still so small.”

“Martin and John,” Wilhelmina murmured. “When I first heard of them, I could hardly believe it. It’s strange to think that Diana has two little brothers now.”

“She does.” Elizabeth smiled.

“Is she happy?” Wilhelmina asked softly.

“We know she is,” Daphne answered. “She’s exhausted but content.”

“She deserves that,” Wilhelmina whispered.

She meant it. But beneath the surface, an ache stirred. She was happy for Marianne, but it left her wondering…

When would it be her turn?

She and Robert had married for convenience, and though affection and companionship had grown between them, they had agreed not to bring children into the world. It had felt wise at the time. Safe.

Now, it felt like something was lost.

She shook the thought away.

The conversation flowed again, the comfort of her siblings slowly dulling the edge of grief. With them, she could pretend—for a little while—that she was just a girl.

That there had been no Robert to lose. No Lady Farnmont. No whispers.

Just laughter, and warmth, and home.

Gerard was still in his study. The oil lamp on his desk hissed softly, its flame flickering in the quiet. The window stood open, letting in the cool night air. Before him lay piles of papers awaiting his signature. It was late, but he disliked retiring with work unfinished.

His life was devoted to legacy, and legacy demanded discipline.

He dipped his quill into the inkwell once more, preparing to write the final lines of the evening. His muscles ached—not from hours of writing, but from years of tension carried in silence.

He had been married at nineteen and widowed for five years. Now, at thirty-two, the weight of it all seemed only to grow heavier.

“Enough of that,” he muttered to himself, brushing the thoughts aside.

Then came a knock.

Once.

Twice.

Sharp and urgent.

“Yes? Who is it?” he called.

It was an odd hour for visitors. The door was unlocked, and whoever stood beyond it opened it slowly. The hinges creaked.

Mrs. Everly, the housekeeper, stepped into the lamplight. Her usual calm was gone, replaced by wringing hands and a pale, drawn face.

“Your Grace,” she began, her voice trembling, “forgive me for the late hour?—”

“Speak.”

“It’s Lord Hector,” she blurted out. Her voice cracked, and her face twisted, as though she were holding back tears. “He’s… gone.”

“Gone?” Gerard echoed.

The quill slipped from his fingers, landing on the page. Ink spread in a slow, dark blot, but he didn’t look down.

“He’s not in his room, Your Grace,” Mrs. Everly continued, almost whispering now. “And the back gate was found open.”