Page 11 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
“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 didwhat?” 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 fatheristhe 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—inmyoffice—because you charmed him with your quill! The Dukehatesthe column. He hates gossip. Now, his heir isbeggingfor 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 letanythingfall. 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.”
