Page 31 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

“ S it down, Duchess. Hector had kept you busy the whole day. You need some rest. It is the maid’s work to tidy this room,” Gerard said, his tone firm but edged with something softer.

“I’m almost done,” Wilhelmina replied, glancing up with a small smile, her hands still gathering Hector’s scattered toys.

She looked tired, but it was the kind of exhaustion that came from laughter and engagement rather than obligation.

Gerard studied her for a moment, a glass of whiskey in hand. He had been waiting for this admission, for the proof that Hector’s energy could wear down even his indefatigable Duchess.

A typical Society wife, especially one newly elevated, might have been restless at home, running off to call on friends or visiting family. Wilhelmina, however, seemed wholly content in the quiet chaos of their home.

He shifted in his chair, letting his gaze wander over the fort Hector had built and the scattered remnants of play. The little boy had long since retreated to his room, leaving the two of them in the aftermath of his imagination.

Gerard had quietly joined them over the past few weeks, easing into their domestic world slowly, almost cautiously. He had begun by simply being present, sitting nearby with a paper in hand, observing the pair as they created their own little universe.

Sometimes, they sat on the rug together, lost in their games, and he wondered if he was intruding at all. Wilhelmina’s small smile suggested otherwise, yet he could not help the niggling thought that perhaps the sense of normalcy he so craved was more his desire than theirs.

Hector, of course, was delighted with every gesture, every shared glance, every invitation to play, even if his father’s participation was tentative at first.

Gerard set his glass down, watching his wife straighten a pillow. She looked up at him briefly, her cheeks flushed, her hair slightly disheveled from bending over the toys.

For a moment, he allowed himself a rare thought: perhaps he could be part of this quiet, domestic happiness, if only he dared to step fully into it.

“I can help you with that,” he offered, putting down his glass and leaning forward.

“You can help me with something else instead,” Wilhelmina said, raising her eyebrows as she sat back on her heels, still on the rug.

They had supper in the drawing room that night. It was informal and utterly strange for Gerard to approve such a setting. However, he thought that it would benefit his son.

Hector was ecstatic, but Gerard had reminded him that it might not happen again. Or if it did, it would be a rare occasion.

“Help you with what?” Gerard asked, his eyebrow raised.

“I thought it would be most agreeable to take him out for a proper evening,” Wilhelmina replied. “He may be only seven, but he possesses an intelligence beyond most children of his age.”

“He is indeed clever,” Gerard agreed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Though I fear we are biased judges.” He arched an eyebrow. “Even so, a child is not meant to be out and about at such hours.”

“I understand your concern, Duke,” Wilhelmina said softly. “Yet I do believe he would immensely enjoy the theater. I have heard that a new production of The Tempest is to open shortly. Such an experience could prove most stimulating for his already vivid imagination.”

Gerard frowned, stepping closer. “He may give the impression of maturity, or even a certain na?veté beyond his years, but he is still a child. The performance will run late. And don’t you think Shakespeare too intricate for one so young?”

“He need not comprehend it fully,” Wilhelmina answered, rising and smoothing the folds of her gown.

“It would be enough if he feels the wonder as the actors bring the tale to life. He need not grasp every phrase to enjoy the performance. More than that, it would give him a moment of pure delight with his father. Something to remember long after the play has ended.”

Gerard crossed his arms over his chest. “It will disrupt his routine.”

“Routine is a comfort, yes,” Wilhelmina conceded, stepping closer.

“But even the most diligent of scholars requires a bit of inspiration. Hector has applied himself with such care to his studies today. An evening out would not disrupt his routine, but grant him a rare pleasure. Naturally, it would be a singular treat, not a recurring indulgence, or else the magic might lose its effect.”

Gerard met her gaze and saw only sincerity there.

She was not seeking her own amusement, but Hector’s.

She could have summoned him to accompany her, and he would have done so willingly, for it would have been expected of him as her husband.

He ought to be grateful that she so naturally included Hector in her plans.

He considered it carefully. What harm could there be? A child might grow excited and restless, perhaps struggling to sleep afterward, but such bouts were hardly confined to evenings out. At home, Hector often tumbled into fits of energy just as fervently.

“Very well,” Gerard said at last. “We shall attend a single performance together. You will see to it that he remains attentive and decorous. I would not have the actors conclude that they had bored us.”

“Aye, captain,” Wilhelmina drawled, her eyes alight with amusement.

They went as soon as The Tempest opened for its first night. Hector was bouncing in his seat when their carriage rolled to a halt in front of the theater.

“Will there be pirates, Papa?” Hector asked as Gerard helped him down.

“Not quite,” Wilhelmina replied. “But it will happen at sea. You see, there’s a shipwreck, magic, and spirits. Don’t you think that makes the play more interesting?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically, and the three of them filed inside. They could feel the excitement of everyone else.

The interior glowed golden, and voices murmured with wonder. Hector’s eyes were wide, taking in everything.

Gerard was quiet, but he had to admit that he felt a thrill at being in the theater with his son. He would like to share the wonderful experience of a story coming to life with him. He kept on glancing at his son to make certain he was still there, and at Wilhelmina, who wore a soft blue gown.

His eyes lingered on her. She glowed under the theater lights, but perhaps it was her smile that made her look radiant.

In their seats, they waited with bated breath.

Then, the curtain rose to a raging storm.

Wilhelmina had to steady Hector, who leaned far forward in his excitement.

Gerard was surprised he didn’t squeal, but the boy’s mouth was open throughout the scene at sea.

Hector took in everything: the swaying ship, the actors’ loud voices, and the startling clap of thunder.

Yet, from time to time, it was Wilhelmina who caught Gerard’s attention. Even as Ariel sang beautifully and Prospero spoke with much feeling, she accepted questions from Hector and patiently answered them.

Gerard placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. It was his own way of saying , I’m here, I’m right here .

By the time the actors gave their final bows, Hector was already yawning. In the carriage, he slumped on Wilhelmina’s lap, fast asleep, lulled by the rumbling of the wheels.

“I didn’t expect him to finish the whole play,” she admitted, gently stroking his hair.

“You were right about the play,” Gerard said softly. “He truly enjoyed it.”

How else could he describe it? His son had been wide-eyed and gaping at the stage. If Hector could climb up to join the actors, he would have.

“Did you?” Wilhelmina asked, looking at him in the semi-darkness.

“Yes,” he replied, after a pause. “I’ve forgotten how plays can make one feel alive.”

He saw her smile softly, but she had gone quiet. Her eyes were now trained on the little boy in her lap.

Would she have given Gerard more attention if he had not avoided her for so long?

When they arrived home, Gerard gently lifted Hector from her lap. The boy stirred and mumbled, but did not wake as Gerard carried him to his room.

Wilhelmina prepared the bed, and Gerard lay him down. They worked together quietly as they took off his shoes, tucked him beneath the blankets, and let him snuggle deeper into his pillow.

Both lingered by his bedside, watching him breathe softly.

“Such a sweetheart,” Wilhelmina murmured. “He will never forget the night he saw The Tempest .”

“Thank you,” Gerard said. “I would not have thought of it.”

“It’s part of our arrangement, after all.” Wilhelmina smiled softly. “I am supposed to ensure Hector’s happiness while I save myself from the horrors of being a widow in Society.”

Our arrangement .

Gerard could not smile back. His chest had clenched tightly, reminding him that what they had was not real.

Of course, it wasn’t. He had distanced himself from her because it wasn’t.

His gaze lingered on her, tracing the gentle slope of her shoulders, the way her hair caught the candlelight. Something unspoken thrummed in the quiet room, a pull neither of them dared acknowledge.

Wilhelmina shifted, sensing the intensity of his gaze. Her cheeks warmed, and she lowered her gaze to the floor, pretending to smooth the quilt around Hector. The closeness, the heat of the moment—it was almost too much.

Finally, she straightened, lifting her chin with the smallest measure of courage.

“Good night, Duke,” she murmured, her voice soft yet carrying the dignity of her station.

She dipped into a careful curtsy, the fabric of her gown fanning lightly around her feet.

Gerard’s chest tightened at the sight, and for a heartbeat, he imagined closing the distance between them. But he did not move.

Wilhelmina straightened once more, met his eyes briefly, and with a polite smile, made for the door.

Gerard watched her go, the quiet click of the latch echoing louder than it ought. For yet another night, as so many before, he felt the ache of restraint. Of wanting something he could not yet claim.

The door closed.

He exhaled slowly and clenched his fists, as if touching his own skin might anchor him to reality.

Still, his yearning was nearly as sharp as any wound.