Page 19 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Oh dear heavens, what was she to do now?

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“I dare say Mrs. Shelley’s grasp of the human experience is far beyond what you’d expect from someone her age,” Mrs. Witherspoon proclaimed, her voice rich with the authority of someone whose literary opinions were always taken seriously. “I think it is rather genius that such deep philosophical questions can come from a ghost story contest. I truly believe her examination of human arrogance in the face of divine power places her work right alongside Milton’s legacy.”

The ladies of the Athena Society were gathered in Mrs. Witherspoon’s beautifully decorated drawing room, a room that had quickly become a haven for the flourishing of feminine intellect, shielded from the judgments of the outside world.

The soft light of the afternoon streamed through lace curtains, creating a warm glow around the room. A room where they could freely engage in discussions far beyond the domestic issues Society expected them to focus on.

Or at least, most of them.

Emma merely nodded—rather absentmindedly, too—at the matron’s comments, her mind drifting far from the gothic tale they were discussing.

Her mind was far away. Or rather, it was still very close to home. She just couldn’t shake the memory of her earlier confrontation with her little boy. She couldn’t forget his frustrated face or the hurt in his eyes, the desperate need for the very thing she just couldn’t seem to give him—male companionship.

What kind of mother was she, failing so completely to understand her son’s needs?

An absolutely horrid one.

The thought was not comforting at all. But there was no alternative.

On the one hand, there was Sidney Bickford, who had not shown even an ounce of interest in Tristan for the last eight years but who was now seeking his attention.

He was a horrid man, and she knew for a fact that he was not the man to quench her son’s thirst for masculine play or wisdom. The man spent most of his time and money on whorehouses and the latest fashion. She had no intentions of turning her son into a worthless dandy who chased after skirts at every minute of the day.

And on the other hand… was theBeast of Westmerehimself. The man whom her son had somehow become fixated on. Well, on his dog, not him. But they were joined at the hip at this point.

And just like that, without any warning, her thoughts veered in a completely different direction—to those striking icy blue eyes set in that intriguing face, and the commanding presence that made her heart race despite her better judgment.

The Duke of Westmere. Victor Aldridge.

Even his name stirred a confusing blend of fear and fascination that left her feeling unsettled.

“I suggest for our next meeting,” Annabelle chimed in with her usual enthusiasm, breaking through Emma’s reverie, “that we explore something with a bit more… sensuality than our recent choices.”

Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief as the older ladies exchanged scandalized yet delighted glances.

“What about Byron’sDon Juan? I find his take on desire to be quite enlightening.”

“Mhm, yes,” Emma murmured, only half-listening to the chatter, her thoughts still tangled between worry for her son and an inexplicable intrigue in the mysterious, brutish Duke, whose eyes alone made her blood simmer.

Noticing her friend’s distraction, Annabelle leaned in closer, feigning casualness. “You know, I think we should spice up our next meeting by showing up in just our chemises. The thrill of being partially undressed would surely enhance our appreciation of Byron’s poetry, don’t you think?”

Across the circle, Joanna pressed her gloved hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh behind a mask of polite interest. Her spectacles caught the afternoon light, reflecting the shared amusement between her and all the women who were seated in that drawing room.

“Mmm, yes, of course,” Emma replied absentmindedly, her eyes glued to the patterns on the carpet as if they held the answers to her struggles of raising a boy on the brink of manhood without a father figure.

“Emma!” Annabelle exclaimed, her eyebrows high on her forehead. “Are you sure about your answer? Should I tell the ladies to get their finest undergarments ready for our next literary discussion?”

Thatfinally shattered through Emma’s distracted thoughts.

She blinked rapidly, warmth flooding her cheeks as she processed Annabelle’s outrageous suggestion. “Excuse me? What on earth are you talking about now, Annabelle?”

Annabelle burst into hearty laughter, the sound infectious enough to coax smiles from the other women. “There you are! I was starting to worry we’d completely lost you to whatever captivating thoughts have been occupying your mind for the last two hours.”

“Forgive me,” Emma said, clearing her throat and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just a bit… distracted today.”

“Perhaps,” Joanna gently chimed in, coming to her rescue, “we could consider Mrs. Radcliffe’sThe Mysteries of Udolphofor our next book choice? The Alpine scenery would be such a refreshing change from our usual surroundings.”

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