Page 41 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
“Lady Slyham,” Lord Harlington greeted, bowing with practiced polish.
The beginning, at least, was promising enough. They spoke of art—his choice of topic, to which Wilhelmina readily responded. He praised painting, and she mentioned sculpture. He quoted a poet, and she, to her faint amusement, corrected his misattribution.
For a moment, Wilhelmina thought the conversation might hold, until the subject veered toward women’s access to education.
“The problem with educating women,” Lord Harlington declared, stepping closer than decorum warranted, “is that it fills their heads with impractical notions. Far better that they devote themselves to embroidery or pursuits that enhance beauty. A lady might take to the pianoforte, certainly, but politics and trade? Those are quite beyond her. Women are, alas, too emotional for such serious matters.”
Wilhelmina went still, the wine in her glass rippling slightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw another lady bristle, only to scuttle away moments later as if she had heard nothing at all.
That, more than Lord Harlington’s insufferable smugness, stoked her fury.
How many women still swallowed their indignation and chose pretense over defiance?
“Indeed, My Lord?” she said coolly, tilting her head to regard him as one might a bruised fruit at the market. “Do you think a woman’s skill with a needle qualifies her to oversee an estate?”
His eyes narrowed, calculating, as though he could peel away her thoughts. She rewarded him with a syrupy-sweet smile. He chuckled, clearly misreading her mockery as encouragement.
“Good heavens, no,” he replied, puffing out his chest. “That is a man’s duty. I would never trouble my wife’s pretty head with such matters. I manage my holdings quite capably, as you may have heard. My ventures in Liverpool, my investments in West Indian sugar… all well in hand.”
“Then it seems that you are preoccupied with beauty over substance,” Wilhelmina murmured, letting her eyes sweep him up and down with deliberate disdain. “Not long ago, I saw you in raptures with a trio of giggling debutantes. Bright-eyed, yes. Empty-headed, perhaps not. Do you realize, My Lord, that some of those women could manage estates better than you, had they not been taught to feign helplessness for men’s approval?”
Somewhere nearby, someone coughed to hide their laughter.
Wilhelmina’s eyes flicked to a maid balancing a tray of champagne flutes, who tried and failed to smother her grin.
“I am not saying women are simpering fools,” Lord Harlington protested, affecting an air of wounded innocence. “But the fact remains: trade is perilous. Shipping and sugar require boldness, the strength to weather losses. Women cannot—willnot—bear such strain. They are better suited to softer occupations.”
Wilhelmina took her time before replying. She raised her glass and drank slowly, letting silence stretch between them like a drawn bowstring. She cocked her head, deliberately drawing out each sip until his smug composure began to crack. Only when the dregs remained did she set her glass on a waiting tray.
“It fascinates me, My Lord,” she said, her voice honeyed and sharp as glass, “how thoroughly you confuse rigidity with wisdom. You dress stale ideas as conversation, but there is no freedom in them. Only the echo of the same patriarchal refrain we have heard for generations.”
The words landed like a slap. Two matrons standing within earshot froze, their fans fluttering like startled birds. Their eyes widened in horror, though neither looked away.
“I—well—” Lord Harlington sputtered, his practiced charm morphing into panic. His eyes darted around wildly, as if seeking a savior in the crowded room. “Perhaps you… ah… misunderstood me, My Lady. Another time, then, when your feelings are not quite sodelicate. I believe I see a friend—yes, yes, I promised him a round of cards.”
“There will be no next time, My Lord,” Wilhelmina declared, her voice cold as frost.
Lord Harlington mumbled a hasty farewell, already backing away like a chastened schoolboy.
The whispers began at once, rippling through the crowd, and Wilhelmina caught more than one grin aimed in her direction.
It was indeed rare to see Lord Harlington flounder. She could not muster an ounce of regret.
Lady Grisham was at her side in an instant. She snapped her fan shut, disapproval etched on her face. “Did you truly need to do that, Wilhelmina? Such words were hardly necessary.”
“Necessary?” Wilhelmina scoffed, her gaze fixed on Lord Harlington’s retreating figure. “I wasmerciful, Mother. Believe me, I said less than he deserved. The man is drowning in his own ignorance. It is hardly my duty to provide him with a lifeboat.”
From somewhere behind them came the unmistakable sound of a muffled giggle. A woman ducked her head and slipped away before Wilhelmina could catch her eye.
Perhaps she imagined it. But no, the ripple of amusement felt real enough.
Could it be that some in the ton were beginning to side with her at last?
Not her mother, of course. Lady Grisham’s narrowed eyes suggested that she had tasted something sour and would not recover anytime soon.
Wilhelmina had long since grown accustomed to that look. Marriage to Robert had spared her from it for a while, and widowhood had given her a reprieve. But reprieve was not freedom.
“Have you seen the Duke of Talleystone as of late?” Lady Grisham asked suddenly, interrupting her thoughts.
