Page 42 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
The question startled Wilhelmina, though her mother’s expression betrayed nothing except calculation.
Wilhelmina turned her head away, drawing in a steadying breath and letting it out slowly before she turned back again.
Her spine stiffened. “I do not need your scrutiny, Mother.”
Lady Grisham’s fan twitched once before she replied in her usual honeyed tone, “You know that I only want the best for you.”
Wilhelmina’s lips curved in bitter recognition. “Do you? Truly? I think you want the best for our reputations. For us as the Grishams, not as a family. Not for me as your daughter.”
The words hung between them, sharp as cut glass. She could not stop herself; her mother’s relentless maneuvering pressed upon her like a vise.
Lady Grisham leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Look around you, Wilhelmina. Do you honestly believe that the current Earl of Slyham will provide for you forever? He cannot even give you a proper allowance.”
Wilhelmina pursed her lips and cut her a glare.
“Oh, do not look at me like that. I can see it plain as day. You have been penny-pinching more than usual. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? At the rate things are going, you will endup in the countryside, living on the charity of Marianne and Elizabeth.”
The mention of her sisters struck like a blow to the chest. Wilhelmina’s breath caught, her resolve faltering for a heartbeat.
Marianne, with her tireless kindness. Elizabeth, with her restless energy. She could not—shewouldnot—become their burden.
And yet her mother’s words, however cruelly delivered, were not without truth. With her pitiful allowance, her meager income from the column, and her lack of desire to remarry, the path ahead narrowed into something bleak.
She could almost see it: the lonely cottage, the genteel poverty, the whispered pity of the ton when they spoke ofthe poor sister.
Her jaw tightened.
No, she would not let that be her future.
The night’s struggles were far from over. No sooner had Wilhelmina regained her composure than a cluster of married ladies swept toward her, as though drawn by a silent signal.
She wondered, with a wry twist of her lips, why they had not descended earlier. Then, she saw it clearly: they had beenwaiting. Waiting for her to be without protection, without the buffer of another conversation to shield her.
They came in a flurry of silks and perfumes, their voices lilting with false sweetness. Each was comfortably married to a minor lord, their positions secure enough to embolden them. They were about her age—still young, still fresh-faced, still smug in their belief that her fate could never touch theirs.
The sight of them felt like looking at her younger self in a distorted mirror. The innocence of it, the assurance, the cruel ignorance of thinking fortune and favor were permanent.
“We’ve been wondering, Lady Slyham, whether your choices of late are still considered proper,” the Viscountess Forrest drawled.
“Are you talking about me speaking my mind, Lady Forrest?” Wilhelmina asked evenly. “If that was what you were referring to, then I must say I am guilty.”
Some of the ladies gasped. A few were truly shocked, while the others seemed happy to be scandalized.
“Really, Lady Slyham—” Lady Forrest protested.
But Wilhelmina could see that the woman’s eyes were twinkling; Lady Forrest had been hoping for such a reaction.
“No,” Wilhelmina cut in, her voice cool but edged, clinging to the last threads of her patience. “Let us not pretend, shall we? We all know what this is about. At least be honest if you mean to stand above the same rules that bind us all. Do not cloak your curiosity in concern for my well-being. I see it clearly enough. There is a certain satisfaction in watching another woman stumble under the weight of the ton’s rigid expectations. Especially when, for once, it is not you.”
Most of the ladies recoiled, as though she had struck them outright. Her stomach turned at the sight of their practiced expressions—injured innocence painted across faces far too skilled in the art of feigned delicacy.
“Y-You needn’t be quite so harsh, Lady Slyham,” Lady Bertram stammered, her voice trembling.
The stir drew the attention of Lord Elwood, an acquaintance of Robert’s. He approached them, visibly ill at ease, shifting from one foot to the other as if the floor itself was treacherous.
“Lady Slyham,” he began, “perhaps you might accompany me to, ah?—”
“Please, Lord Elwood. No need; I understand,” Wilhelmina said with finality.
