Page 19 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
“Lady Grisham, Sisters, allow me to present Lord Alcott, Lord Welles, and Lord Bertram,” Daniel announced. “They are my business associates.”
“Hopefully, you have said nothing bad about me, Grisham,” Lord Bertram remarked smoothly, his dark eyes settling briefly on Wilhelmina. He looked five years her senior.
“Gentlemen, may I present my stepmother, the Dowager Marchioness of Grisham, and my sisters, Lady Slyham, Lady Daphne, and Lady Victoria,” Daniel continued, bowing slightly.
Wilhelmina felt a quiet satisfaction. Daniel never referred to them as his half-sisters. Among themselves or before others, they were treated as simply his sisters and nothing less.
“Charmed, ladies,” Lord Bertram offered, inclining his head in an exaggerated bow, lingering on Wilhelmina with a look thatbordered on flirtatious. “I must confess, Lady Slyham, it is… most diverting to find a dowager who still carries such youth and charm. One could almost imagine you have been preserved just for the enjoyment of certain gentlemen.”
Wilhelmina’s eyebrow rose. “How considerate of you to imagine my purpose, My Lord,” she said coolly, each word an icy blade. “However, I should hope that not all gentlemen assume every lady exists solely for their amusement.”
Victoria snorted, flashing a daring grin, while Daphne stifled a gasp. “Mina!”
“What Lady Slyham means, My Lord,” Lady Grisham interjected hurriedly, “is that she is flattered.”
Wilhelmina noted the careful avoidance of any maternal possessive. Her mother stopped referring to her as her daughter in front of the ton. In her mother’s eyes, she had now become the Dowager Countess of Slyham. For Lady Grisham, rank stood firmly above their familial connection.
And Wilhelmina had always resented that.
“I highly doubt that, My Lady,” Lord Alcott said with a wide grin, his eyes twinkling at the sisters’ lively reactions.
Lady Grisham drew herself up to her full height, stepping back with a huff and a pointed glare at the young women. “Girls,” sheinstructed, her voice crisp. “Stand properly. Daphne, Victoria, cease your fidgeting.”
“I am not fidgeting,” Victoria protested, folding her arms with bold defiance.
Wilhelmina shook her head in quiet disbelief.
When Lady Grisham had managed Elizabeth’s Season, she had been tyrannical. She hadn’t softened much during Wilhelmina’s Seasons, but she had been pleased when Robert had proposed to her.
But now that Wilhelmina was widowed and childless, perhaps her mother considered her a disappointment.
“You were not, Vicky,” Wilhelmina whispered dryly. “Merely restraining yourself from leaping at them.”
“Mm,” Victoria murmured, her eyes narrowing at Lord Bertram.
Daniel cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow at Wilhelmina. She squared her shoulders, now standing perfectly.
“Lady Slyham, it is positively delightful to see you here at Lord Edgecomb’s musicale,” Lord Welles said, stepping closer with a polite smile that barely touched his calculating eyes.
Wilhelmina tried not to flinch. The man was one of her brother’s associates and outwardly polite, but there was a certain gleam in his gaze that set her on edge. She reminded herself to tread carefully.
“One cannot help but wonder,” he continued, his tone soft, almost conversational, “whether a lady in your… situation might find herself entertaining new prospects?”
“That is rather forward, Lord Welles,” she warned, a flash of indignation in her eyes. “We have just been introduced, might I remind you.”
Are people already speculating so freely?
She recalled Lady Farnmont and her circle; no doubt they thought she had returned solely to seek a husband.
“My Lady,” Lady Grisham interjected hastily, “Lord Welles meant no offense. My Lord, my daughter is not accustomed to such… remarks. Isn’t that right, dear? Consider it a compliment. You are still a young, accomplished woman. Your life need not be confined by widowhood.”
Wilhelmina’s gaze flicked to Lord Welles, noting the faint satisfaction on his lips. His words were honeyed, yet there was an undercurrent. Suggestive, probing.
A snake with a cravat.
She scoffed. “Was that what it was? A compliment?”
“I trust your sister’s sharp tongue keeps you in check, Grisham?” Lord Welles drawled with a sly tilt of his head, his eyes lingering just a moment too long on her.
