Page 5 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)

Chapter Three

“ W hat did you just say?” Mr. Finch sputtered, turning sharply to his secretary.

Wilhelmina rose, her lips curling with faint amusement. “Let him in,” she said to Miss Cottle.

“Absolutely not!” Mr. Finch nearly shrieked. “He’s a child! We cannot?—”

It was too late. The door flew open, and in charged a small, breathless boy with flushed cheeks and tousled hair, looking as though he had galloped down from Scotland.

His eyes found Wilhelmina instantly—wide, curious, and shining with recognition.

“Are you Lady Silverquill?” he asked, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Wilhelmina glanced at Mr. Finch. The man’s eyes were bulging in horror, his head shaking wildly as if that alone could turn back time. She sighed inwardly. He wasn’t joking about the trouble they were in.

“And who might be asking, my dear?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

“Why, me , of course!” the boy answered, slightly confused. “I wrote to you! Twice!”

“You’re that boy, are you?” Wilhelmina said, playing along, her grin widening.

“I am! My name’s Hector. I’ve been waiting for your reply!”

She gave Mr. Finch a dry look, then turned her attention back to the boy.

“Are you truly Lady Silverquill?” he asked again, stepping closer. “Because you’re very pretty. Just as pretty as your letters.”

Wilhelmina blinked, momentarily disarmed. “That is quite the compliment, young sir.”

“I need your help,” the boy said, suddenly serious. “Papa doesn’t listen to anyone. Not even me. But he might listen to you. You know so many things!”

That struck a chord. Once upon a time, Wilhelmina had believed she knew many things, too. But time had proven otherwise.

“How did you even get here?” she asked. “Are you alone?”

“I told a cabbie to bring me to my father’s office,” the boy explained proudly. “He’s waiting outside. I said I’d pay him later.”

“You did what ?” Mr. Finch cried, leaping to his feet, his face nearing the shade of a beet.

“Calm down, Mr. Finch,” Wilhelmina said coolly, handing a few coins to Miss Cottle.

The secretary fled the room without a word.

“We are doomed,” Mr. Finch moaned, pacing furiously. “Do you understand that, Lady Slyham? Ruined ! The boy’s father… he’s the Duke! The Duke of Talleystone!”

Wilhelmina turned back slowly. “The Duke?”

“My father is the Duke of Talleystone,” the boy affirmed proudly. “Do you know him?”

“Vaguely,” Wilhelmina murmured, frowning.

“ Vaguely? ” Mr. Finch gasped. “He’s one of the most powerful men in the realm. And now his son is here—in my office—because you charmed him with your quill! The Duke hates the column. He hates gossip. Now, his heir is begging for a columnist’s help!”

“I was just helping him,” the boy mumbled.

Mr. Finch ignored him, reaching out and attempting to steer Wilhelmina toward the door. “Take him home. Now. Before we’re both tossed out into the street! If the Duke comes to fetch his son himself, he’ll end us!”

“You are being dramatic, Mr. Finch,” Wilhelmina protested, though she wasn’t quite as certain as before.

“Am I?” he snapped. “Take the boy back, or find yourself back in the gutter.”

“I’m not going home until Lady Silverquill listens to me!” Hector cried, waving his arms.

Wilhelmina held up a hand. “Enough. You were right. I am Lady Silverquill. And I will listen to you, but I shall do so on the way home. Will that satisfy you?”

“Oh, yes, My Lady!” Hector beamed.

“We’re going,” she told Mr. Finch, who looked one sneeze away from fainting.

She led Hector down the stairs where her horse waited.

“Do you ride often, Lord Hector?” she asked once she’d mounted and pulled him up behind her.

“Not alone,” he admitted. “But I’m not afraid. You won’t let me fall, will you?”

“Of course not. I’m far too proud to let anyone fall off my horse.”

He giggled. “You sound like Papa. He doesn’t let anything fall. Not even a book.”

“That sounds exhausting,” she commented lightly.

“He is exhausting,” Hector said, gently kicking his heels against the saddle. “He doesn’t smile much. Not unless I do something impressive.”

“And what counts as impressive?”

“Reciting Cicero. Standing still for portraits. Not crying at funerals.”

Wilhelmina turned slightly, looking at him over her shoulder. “That’s a tall order for someone your age.”

“I do my best,” he said solemnly. “But sometimes I wish someone would help him instead. He doesn’t have many friends.”

The sincerity in the boy’s voice tugged at something in Wilhelmina’s chest. She had known loneliness too well to dismiss it in others, especially in a child.

“I think your father is luckier than he knows,” she offered.

“I told him to write to you, but he wouldn’t. So I did instead.” Hector paused. “You’re not going to stop writing, are you?”

Wilhelmina hesitated, then shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

The conversation drifted to lighter topics as they rode. Hector told her all about his dogs and the governess who made him copy Latin conjugations thrice if he got them wrong. She laughed more than she had in weeks, maybe months. He was sharp and candid, but entirely free of cruelty.

She didn’t correct him when he kept calling her Lady Silverquill.

For the first time in a long time, she let herself just be. Without performance, without armor.

They arrived at the Talleystone estate just as the last of the daylight faded. The house loomed ahead, stately and grim.

As they reached the front steps, the door flew open, and the butler—grey-faced and wild-eyed—stared at them in horror.

Wilhelmina dismounted and lifted Hector down carefully.

“Lord Hector!” the butler cried. “Thank God you’re home!”

He turned his gaze on Wilhelmina. He looked confused and rightfully cautious. She was, after all, a stranger bringing home a child who had probably been missing for hours.

“This lady brought me home,” Hector explained. “Don’t worry, Mr. Elton. She’s a friend. My friend.”

“My Lady, His Grace will wish to thank you personally,” the butler said, sweeping his hand in a gesture of welcome.

Wilhelmina’s first instinct was to decline. She stepped back from the door, but Hector reached for her wrist.

“Yes, she is coming in. Papa would love to talk to her! She’s the one who brought me home, after all!”

Wilhelmina narrowed her eyes at him, but he only winked at her.

Perhaps he’s not as innocent as I thought.

Still, she sighed heavily, seeing no way out. She promised to listen to him, and she did, but somehow she felt compelled to spend more time with the little boy.

“Very well, then.”

The house was grand, as one might expect of a duke’s residence, but there was more to it than sheer size. Beneath its stately facade lingered a quiet elegance, one that seemed carefully maintained to mask a deeper kind of disarray.

“Pardon my rudeness, My Lady. I am Mr. Elton, His Grace’s butler. How shall I announce you to His Grace when he arrives?” the butler asked.

“Lady Slyham,” she replied.

“Lady Slyham?” Hector echoed, widening his eyes at her as if she had betrayed him.

She widened her eyes back, and he seemed to understand the need to be quiet.

The butler left them to fetch the Duke.

Once they were alone, Wilhelmina knelt before the boy and met his wide, earnest eyes.

“Lord Hector, I must ask you something important. No one—not even your father—must know that I am Lady Silverquill,” she whispered.

“That secret is just between you and me. I know I shouldn’t ask a child to keep something from his father, but this is different.

If the truth came out, the column could be no more…

and your father would be far less inclined to listen to anything I have to say if he knew about me. ”

Hector frowned, looking down at the rug beneath their feet, clearly processing what she’d just told him.

“B-But Papa needs to hear what you have to say. You are Lady Silverquill, and you give grown people advice.”

“No, Lord Hector. He won’t listen to Lady Silverquill because her letter humiliated him in front of the ton. However, he might listen to Lady Slyham,”—she pointed at herself—“for she has not wronged him.”

Not yet, at least.

Wilhelmina had no idea what Hector’s father was like.

The boy drew in a deep breath, his eyebrows knitting together as though he were weighing something far greater than his years. Then, with the gravity of a little gentleman, he gave a solemn nod.

“I promise not to tell anyone about your secret, My Lady,” he said politely, making her smile.

At that moment, what felt like half the staff came rushing in. Leading the small commotion were two women—one younger, one older—whose expressions hovered somewhere between panic and relief.

Wilhelmina guessed, with some certainty, that they were the governess and the housekeeper.

“My Lord!” they cried in unison, rushing forward to gather the boy in their arms.

“Thank heavens you’re home! We were worried sick!” the housekeeper continued.

Wilhelmina chuckled softly, watching the fussing and gentle scolding unfold. The scene lingered for some moments until their eyes landed on her. They stiffened instantly.

“Oh! We’re terribly sorry, My Lady,” the housekeeper said quickly, bowing her head in apology. “We did not see you there.”

“I understand,” Wilhelmina replied. “Lord Hector is your priority.”

The butler returned with a tea tray piled with pastries, cheeses, sweet cakes, and other things that she had to squint to identify.

“Pray forgive the humble spread, My Lady,” he said with solemnity. “We were not prepared for visitors at this hour and had to hastily gather what we could.”

This is a humble spread?

Her lips twitched, and she nodded once. “It should suffice, thank you.”

“Mr. Elton, have you alerted His Grace?” the housekeeper asked.

“Yes, Mrs. Everly,” the butler replied with a slight bow. “He is on his way. It would be best to give Her Ladyship some privacy before his arrival. His Grace has been quite anxious, having searched all over Mayfair for Lord Hector.”

Wilhelmina’s smile faltered, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest. A sharp reply to an adult’s letter was one thing, but this was altogether a different thing.

It wasn’t the Duke who had written to her, but his son, and now the boy had vanished for hours. She could already picture the Duke’s furious glare, ready to reprimand her for setting the city ablaze with his search.

She squared her shoulders, steeling herself for the storm to come. The Duke’s weariness and anger stirred a memory of her father’s temper—a warning that this confrontation would be far from pleasant.

“Papa is coming. Please, talk to Papa, My Lady,” Hector pleaded, clutching at Wilhelmina’s skirts so suddenly that she started.

“Lord Hector, do give Her Ladyship some space,” the governess urged gently, trying to coax the boy back.

“Tell them you need to speak with Papa about—” Hector began again, but Wilhelmina shot him a pleading look.

Mr. Finch’s earlier warning echoed in her mind. She was no coward, yet she understood all too well how this would appear to the Duke. Her carefully guarded secret was in the hands of a child who might unknowingly wield it to his advantage. Hector was sweet, but he was still very young.

Suddenly, the loud thud of approaching footsteps shattered the moment.

There he was. Tall, formidable, and undeniably regal. Wilhelmina had never met him in person, but she had no doubt about who this man was.

The Duke of Talleystone.

Fury blazed in his eyes as they locked onto her.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice low and commanding. “And what are you doing with my son?”