Page 30 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
“I am not wasting anything,” Wilhelmina shot back, turning on her heel.
She returned to Daniel and the twins, trembling with indignation.
She had enjoyed her conversation with the Duke, yes, but she did not need her mother scrutinizing her every move.
“That looked quite civil,” Victoria commented, raising an eyebrow.
Wilhelmina knew her siblings were desperate to know what had transpired and why she had sought privacy.
“Quite so,” she muttered, her jaw tight.
“What was that about?” Daphne asked softly. “Was it the musicale? Did something happen?”
“No,” Wilhelmina said, her tone clipped. “She is simply too obsessed with my life. I thought I’d already reclaimed it.”
Chapter Eight
“Do they cry and fuss a lot at night?” Wilhelmina asked, straightening her back when the theater lights dimmed.
She pulled her velvet wrap more snugly around her shoulders, a faint chill seeping into her skin. Her eyes fell on her dear sister Elizabeth, who looked radiant despite the hour.
Elizabeth had always possessed a quiet beauty, but motherhood seemed to have deepened it, lending her a soft glow that no gown or jewel could match.
“Their fussing is mostly theatrical,” she confessed, chuckling. “When they hear Alasdair coming up the stairs, they make noise so he will stay with them longer. It was their only way to push back their bedtime. Even Clara, who’s only a year old, already knows how to do it.”
“I’ve been called a beast by many peers, lass,” Alasdair declared proudly, puffing out his chest. He was a large, muscular man, but Wilhelmina knew he was harmless around family. “But I’m naught but a bairn meself around the wee ones.”
Wilhelmina grinned at her brother-in-law, catching the truth in his words. “I dare say there must be more than a few anxious governesses relying on your counsel for coaxing little ones to sleep at night.”
“They don’t always sleep immediately, mind you,” Elizabeth grumbled.
Wilhelmina let her eyes sweep the theater, allowing herself a rare moment to admire the elegantly attired patrons. The chandeliers above cast a warm, glittering light, and the speckled mirrors along the walls added a subtle, refined glamour.
They continued down the dimly lit hallway, the soft murmur of conversation guiding them toward their seats.
“You look beautiful, Sister,” Elizabeth whispered. “You always do. But today, you are positively glowing!”
“I was just about to tell you the same! And you mustn’t, truly, or you’ll have the entire ton believing I’m actually having fun—and I can’t have that scandalously cheerful reputation, can I?”
Suddenly, a high-pitched voice called out, “Lady Slyham!”
Wilhelmina turned to see two brightly dressed women practically vibrating with excitement. Polite enough on the surface, but their eyes gleamed with something sharper.
“It seems you’ve been very busy with social gatherings of late, Lady Slyham,” the taller one remarked, her smile too practiced to be genuine.
Wilhelmina recalled her name—Lady Rampling. The shorter one, whose saccharine smile made her skin crawl, was Miss Felicity Ashford. Both were clearly allies of Lady Farnmont.
“It is so important for widows to return to Society,” Miss Ashford cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness. “One mustn’t grow too comfortable in solitude.”
“So daring, all on your own,” Lady Rampling added, ignoring Elizabeth and Alasdair.
“I used to have a chaperone,” Wilhelmina said with a wide, innocent grin. “Alas—though perhaps fortunately—she ran off with one of the footmen.”
Elizabeth coughed delicately to hide her laughter, while Alasdair cleared his throat with exaggerated formality.
“As you may notice some mild choking at my side,” Wilhelmina continued sweetly, matching the tone of the two busybodies, “you may rest assured that my dear sister and her husbandhave graciously accompanied me. Fear not for my unsupervised behavior; I promise I shan’t steal the stage from the performers.”
The women froze, their mouths opening and closing in disbelief. Mutterings about taking their seats before the performance began floated behind them.
