Page 36 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
She lifted her hand in answer, her smile lingering until he disappeared through the door. Then, it faded, and a heavy silence ensued.
The awkwardness swept back at once, sharper now for having been briefly lifted.
“I should go back inside,” she said, striving for composure.
The Duke opened his mouth to speak, but she did not give him the chance. She turned swiftly, reentering the glow and noise of the house.
The cool night air, the stolen proximity, the unsettling warmth of his gaze—all of it, she left behind.
Because between them, she was the one with far too much to lose.
Chapter Ten
“Do you know what each of these numbers means?” Hector asked eagerly. “Will I understand them when I reach your age?”
He leaned over the desk, his small hands braced on the polished wood, peering at the neat columns of figures in the open ledger. His finger hovered above the page, careful not to touch the ink—Gerard had taught him that lesson early on.
“You will, in time,” Gerard replied, his eyes still scanning the entries before him. “That is why you must pay attention during your arithmetic class. One day, you will need to know how much you have spent and how much you have earned.”
He sat in his high-back leather chair, worn smooth from years of use.
To him, numbers were a comfort. Orderly, consistent, far less troublesome than people. Still, he was not alone in the task. Hissteward, Mr. Fairchild, sat opposite him, poring over another stack of papers.
Gerard was grateful for the man’s conscientious service; with Fairchild managing rent, sales, and expenditures, the burden was less heavy.
“That looks dreadfully dull,” Hector declared, wrinkling his nose. “Mr. Williams makes arithmetic interesting, though.”
“You are still young,” Gerard said evenly. “What entertains you now may not entertain you later. Many gentlemen hire experts to manage their accounts. We have Mr. Fairchild, who does his work very well. Yet that does not mean you should know nothing of it. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”
“You have a very inquisitive boy, Your Grace,” the steward remarked with a chuckle, his eyes never leaving the page. “He will make a fine duke one day.”
Gerard’s mouth curved despite himself. He reached across to ruffle his son’s hair.
“He can be relentless. Hector…” His voice softened as he addressed the boy. “There is a new globe in the waiting room. Going over expenditures reminded me.”
“Not new anymore, Papa,” Hector corrected promptly. “I have already spun it no fewer than three times. Perhaps more.”
Gerard sighed, though his heart warmed. He liked having the boy near, liked seeing what mischief he was thinking up.
Hector got up and became swiftly engrossed in studying the spines of books on the shelves.
Someday, no doubt, he would claim to be weary of ledgers and volumes, but Gerard doubted it. The boy had his focus, tempered by a brighter wonder at the world.
“Your Grace,” Fairchild spoke, closing the last ledger with care. “We have balanced all accounts. After draining the marshlands last year, revenues have increased by eight percent.”
Gerard let out a long sigh—not of relief, for he had expected no less, but of the quiet satisfaction of confirmed order.
“Excellent. That will be all for now, Fairchild. Go home to your family,” he said, setting his pen aside and signing the last page.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I will have the figures for your new investments ready before the week is out,” Fairchild replied with a small bow, then withdrew.
Gerard turned to his son. “As for you, Hector, we are leaving the study. We have other things to see.”
The city seemed busier than ever, the late-morning crowd pressing into every street. Hawkers called out their wares, carriage wheels clattered over cobblestones, and the air was thick with a jumble of scents—fresh bread, leather, perfume, and horse manure.
A wave of relief washed over Wilhelmina as she and Victoria stepped into Chalmers and Sons Bookshop. The hush inside wrapped around her like balm. She breathed in the scent of paper, ink, and polished wood, delighting in the faint perfume of dust motes as they drifted through shafts of sunlight slanting between the shutters.
Almost at once, the sisters broke apart, each lured by a different aisle. Victoria gravitated toward the travelogues, her eyes widening at every spine she skimmed.
