Page 27 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
“I merely uphold standards.”
“So do I, Your Grace,” she drawled, her eyes glinting.
Gerard turned fully toward her and caught her smirk. “So you’d better prepare yourself, My Lady, for I do not suffer mediocrity.”
Samuel, perched on his other side, hissed, “As much as I’m shamelessly entertained by the two of you, please hush. You’re disturbing the performance and teetering a bit too close to a scandal. I doubt either of you wants that.”
Lady Slyham straightened, her focus returning to the music as if she’d been doused in cold water.
Gerard, however, could not tear his gaze away from her. There was something about her—her wit, the subtle fire in her eyes—that demanded his attention, despite himself.
At last, the performance ended. The room buzzed with relief as guests moved toward the refreshments table, indulging in pastries and light conversation.
Gerard lingered, letting others pass. Lady Slyham remained nearby as well, her eyes briefly meeting his.
Clearly, she intended to speak before indulging in the delicacies.
“You may wish to consider Lady Mary, the blonde one. She is the Marquess of Greenfield’s daughter. Then, there is Miss Haddonfield. She’s in her third Season, though only because she is… rather particular,” she suggested softly. “Both are amiable and fond of children. The only inconvenience would be their mothers’ eagerness, but that is inevitable. You saw how my own mother reacted when you were near my sisters.”
“Ah. You are recommending debutantes, then?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I promised your son I would help, and I intend to keep my word, Your Grace. You must feign interest, enough so that he sees you have tried. He is clever; he will ask the staff or anyone who might know. Of course, should one of these young ladies prove suitable, it may ease your purpose. They are also lovely, and not quite so young as my sisters.”
Gerard’s lips twitched as if he were suppressing a laugh, though the situation weighed more heavily than amusement allowed. He eyed the woman beside him narrowly.
“Everything I do is for Hector, My Lady,” he said, with a hint of a scowl.
Lady Slyham’s expression softened. “I know. It must have been difficult for both of you to have lost his mother so young.”
“Is this where you tell me you understand because you are a widow yourself?” he asked quietly, equal parts combative and curious.
They moved toward the refreshments table, keeping a polite distance from the crowd, Samuel’s warning echoing in Gerard’s mind. A conversation like theirs might trigger gossip if it were overheard.
Before either could speak further, the gentler of the twins, Lady Daphne, rushed toward her older sister, her cheeks flushed with excitement, a broad smile brightening her face.
“Mina! Did you hear that music? Would you—” She caught herself mid-sentence, curtsied gracefully to Gerard, and lowered her eyes. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice polite. “Might my sister and I be excused? I’d very much like to speak with the quartet.”
Gerard inclined his head slightly. “By all means, Lady Daphne,” he allowed.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied softly, her eyes lighting up for a moment. Then, she linked arms with her sister. “Shall we, Mina?”
“Certainly,” Wilhelmina replied, casting a glance over her shoulder at Gerard before turning toward the musicians.
The sisters moved off with quiet poise, and he observed their retreating figures.
As predicted, he soon found himself surrounded by eager mamas practically thrusting their daughters at him.
Lady Mary and Miss Haddonfield were pretty enough, but their polite smiles and fluttering lashes offered little substance. They agreed to everything he said before he could even finish a thought. The other young women did no better.
In short, none of them was interesting. Gerard had no intention of remarrying, yet even for form’s sake, these women were doing little to encourage him.
He remained polite, answering questions and even asking a few of his own. Small talk was not his strength, but he knew it was necessary, for his son’s sake.
Still, his gaze drifted repeatedly to where Lady Slyham laughed with her sisters, her brother, and the quartet.
Earlier, he had spoken of valuing sincerity. How, then, could he sense it radiating from someone whose livelihood was woven with gossip?
Much later that evening, Gerard and Samuel lingered at White’s, far from the clamor of the musicale.
