Page 48 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
“That’s not enough,” he said, his voice low but urgent. “We must search beyond the gates. Immediately.”
He rose from his chair, the weight of authority and panic pressing equally upon him, and strode toward the door.
Every step was purposeful, his mind already forming plans.
He had to track his son before he came to harm.
Wilhelmina brushed her brown hair slowly, the soft bristles massaging her scalp so thoroughly that she could not help but moan softly.
It was a small pleasure, one of the few she allowed herself these days. Food had once been a source of comfort, but it came at a cost she could not ignore.
Her cup of tea had long gone cold on the bedside table, untouched save for habit.
She set the brush down with deliberate care and turned her attention to her writing, penning her responses as Lady Silverquill. Her hand moved with precision, every stroke smooth and controlled.
There was a sharpness to her letters, a delicate balance of elegance and bite that she had long perfected. The older replies leaned toward the latter, but tonight, she sought finesse—a metaphor here, a subtle provocation there.
Her concentration was broken when her bedroom door flew open.
“My Lady!” her maid gasped, her cheeks flushed with excitement and perhaps a tinge of fear. “There’s a boy at the door. He said he’s here to see you!”
Wilhelmina frowned, glancing at the clock. It was late, too late for social calls.
Before she could speak, a footman ushered in a familiar figure: a tall, dark-haired boy she had grown familiar with in recent weeks. She tightened her robe around her shoulders, a faint prick of irritation mingling with concern.
“Lord Hector? What are you doing here?” she asked, rising from her chair.
The night had promised quietude, the calm solitude of her home a sanctuary from the demands of Society. Yet the world seemed to have other plans for her, at least for this evening.
Hector did not answer immediately. Instead, he ran forward and flung his arms around her waist, clinging to her desperately. She could feel the tremors in his body, the intensity of emotions held too long in check.
“I-I had to come here,” he stammered, his voice thick, as though he had been crying.
Wilhelmina sank to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. One hand cradled the back of his head as he pressed against her, leaving damp marks on her robe with each sob.
“There now, sweet Hector,” she murmured, stroking his hair in gentle, rhythmic motions. “I don’t know what happened, but you are safe here. Always. You are always welcome here; I was merely worried.”
For a few moments, she allowed him to cry, the sound of his sobs punctuated by the faint crackling of the fire in the grate. Gradually, his tears subsided, leaving only shallow, uneven breaths. He pulled back, his little chest heaving as he struggled to compose himself.
Wilhelmina studied his face, still glistening with tears, his lashes dark like his father’s, his cheeks red and blotchy from the storm of emotions he had endured.
The fragility of the moment struck her, yet so did the resilience she had always admired in him.
“Papa is always cross with me now,” he croaked. “Always! I thought that you could—” He broke off and looked down, avoiding her eyes.
“What is it, dear? Tell me,” she coaxed.
“Yes. I think how you feel will matter to my father,” he said, his eyes wide with innocent conviction.
Wilhelmina drew back slightly, her gaze lingering on his earnest, handsome little face. She could not deny the truth in his words or the unspoken weight they carried.
For a moment, she wondered whether his belief was naïve or if, in some quiet way, it reflected the respect he held for her, even at his tender age.
Chapter Fourteen
Gerard arrived at Lady Slyham’s townhouse, his jaw set, every muscle taut with contained frustration. His thoughts churned with a simmering anger that no amount of reason could fully douse.
Did it have to come to this again? Must he chase his son like some hapless fool every time Hector’s curiosity or stubbornness led him astray?
