Page 16 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
She blinked, too swiftly. “Pardon?”
“I traced the hackney driver my son deceived. Hector told him he must bring things to my office. Of course, the man remembered—a boy of seven hiring his own conveyance is not easily forgotten. But the driver also recalled a woman. Older than you. She pressed the fare into his hand. I had expected her to stand before me now.”
Lady Slyham fell silent. Mute, perhaps, but obstinate still, her gaze locked on his without wavering.
“So,” Gerard concluded, his voice hard, “you are no innocent passerby, as you claimed. You lied. Either you are from theGazetteer, or you are in league with those who are.”
“Your Grace, please spare theGazetteer,” Lady Slyham said, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “Your son came of his own accord. The employees had no idea he would arrive, nor had they written the letter in the column. I give you my word that none of them is to blame. People should not suffer for a little boy’s adventure, nor do I blame Lord Hector. For him, it was an opportunity to explore. I imagine you must have felt the same curiosity as a child.”
Gerard’s eyes roamed over her, noting the fire that tempered her plea.
Then, a sudden realization dawned on him.
“You are not denying that you work for theGazetteer,” he said, his voice controlled but sharp. “You defend them with all the force you possess. You are Lady Silverquill, are you not? It is why my son insisted I speak with you. It is why he claimed you converse about anything with such ease.”
Lady Slyham—or Lady Silverquill, whoever she truly was—blinked once. Then, in an instant, the spark in her eyes returned, fiery and unyielding.
“I am not Lady Silverquill,” she declared firmly. “I am only defending those who work for theGazetteer. A child came to them. They should not be punished for that. No one came to take Lord Hector from his home.”
“Yet, Lady Slyham—or Silverquill—you speak as she does. Precise, impertinent, unapologetic…”
She inclined her head with faint amusement. “I suppose that is meant as a compliment. I shall accept it as such.”
“It is not a compliment,” he said, his gaze narrowing.
“Truly, Your Grace?” she pressed, stepping closer, daring him. “But if you have read her column enough to recognize her style, then you have read more than a few of her pieces.”
Gerard felt heat rise to his cheeks. Lady Silverquill had always irritated him, meddling in matters of a child’s curiosity. Yet the woman standing here before him exuded the same intelligence and boldness he had imagined behind the pen.
“I did read some of your works, Lady Silverquill,” he admitted. “Would I be a fool not to? My life has been dissected on paper, in black and white, and now that column needs regulation.”
“Oh? Was it the piece that led some members of the ton to believe you had neglected your son?” she asked, polite yet probing. “After all, why was he?—”
“Enough,” Gerard cut in, his voice hardening.
Silence fell. Only the ticking of the grandfather clock marked time, its steady rhythm grounding him.
“You responded publicly to a child’s letter,” he continued, adopting the monotone his father had taught him, meant to reinforce authority.
“He needed someone,” she murmured softly, her fire dimming just slightly.
“My son has me. If I had not been a good father, do you think he would have come willingly? I know w—” He stopped himself.
He would reveal nothing of his childhood. The lady was sharp, and her pen was sharper.
“You need not be so strict with him,” she advised, her voice calm. “Do not keep your distance. If you cannot answer a question or make a promise, tell him so. A parent need not be a god.”
“I did not ask for advice, My Lady,” he gritted out, taking a careful step closer, “especially from a tongue like yours.”
She did not flinch, nor did she retreat. Her gaze held his, unyielding, and he realized she could not be intimidated.
“A tongue like mine?” she scoffed.
“A tongue that will get you into trouble.”
She tilted her chin up. “Do I seem like I shudder in the face of a little trouble, Your Grace?”
His pulse quickened, a mixture of irritation and… something more coursing through him.
