Page 10 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
“Don’t start imagining things,” Mr. Finch warned. “You know how quickly that mind of yours runs off.”
“Perhaps the boy is looking for something his father cannot give. A mother figure. A confidante.”
Mr. Finch held her gaze. “You, Lady Slyham, of all people, should know what it means to be embarrassed before one’s peers. You’re a member of the ton.”
“I do not trouble myself with gossip,” Wilhelmina replied coolly, though her tone was a touch too restrained. Her gaze dropped briefly to her fingernails, avoiding his eyes.
Mr. Finch scoffed. “And yet your livelihood depends on it.”
“I speak truth, not idle rumors.”
“You write an advice column, My Lady,” he said sharply. “Your ears must always be open, your pen swift. But now, you must also be cautious.”
She sighed, her eyes flicking to the stack of letters. “All this fuss for one line of kindness?”
“No. All this fuss for apowerfulman’s pride,” Mr. Finch replied grimly. “He warned us: any further correspondence, and he’ll see to it that theGazetteeris ruined. Do you understand me?”
Wilhelmina narrowed her eyes at him. He was still hiding something.
But before she could press further, the door burst open.
Miss Cottle, the secretary, stood breathless in the doorway, her eyes wide.
“Mr. Finch!” she squeaked.
“Good God, Miss Cottle! You scared me half to death!” Mr. Finch exclaimed, fanning himself once more. “What on earth possessed you to barge in here like that?”
“Well, you see, Sir…” Miss Cottle responded between shaky breaths. “There’s a little boy in the lobby, and he refuses to speak to anyone except Lady Silverquill.”
Chapter Three
“What 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 achild!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’rethatboy, 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.”
