Page 52 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
Perhaps this would not be a cold marriage. The Duke might not love her, but he loved his son, and she was already learning to care for the boy.
Her defenses, the careful walls she had built around herself, wavered.
“TheGazetteeris not doing as well as it used to,” she admitted, her voice lower. She disliked revealing that, but it was necessary. Any arrangement between them required trust, and trust required honesty. “My allowance doesn’t cover much.”
The Duke simply regarded her. There was no pity in his expression, but understanding, tempered with patience. He inclined his head slightly, silently giving her permission to continue.
“Not only that,” she went on. “I’ve grown fond of Hector. I have no children of my own, and I never imagined that I would want any. Yet he entered my life so easily… so seamlessly.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” the Duke said, his voice softer now.
Wilhelmina hesitated briefly before adding, “However, I have one condition. I must continue writing as Lady Silverquill.”
The Duke’s eyebrows rose, perhaps surprised that she would insist on maintaining her work even with the promise of financial security and status.
“If I agree to that,” he asked carefully, “will you be discreet?”
Wilhelmina leveled him with a sharp look.
Of course she would. Who did he think she was? She was not foolish or careless.
“Your Grace,” she replied, her tone firm but not unkind, “I am quite discreet. When your son first met me, I had been writing the column for six months. People scarcely noticed, except to criticize. I doubt any of the ton would believe me capable of such work.”
For a fleeting moment, the Duke’s expression softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Wilhelmina dared to hope that he was beginning to see her differently. Not as a mere necessity or convenience, but as an equal, capable of thought, feeling, and subtle wit.
“Very well, then,” he conceded after taking a deep breath. “Keep working on your column. However, you must be careful, because I don’t want my wife’s name to be fodder for gossip. It’s not just about my reputation, but also yours. I can’t imagine how people will react when they meet Lady Silverquill in real life.”
He was right. Wilhelmina could not imagine a life where everyone knew what she did for a living, not when she knew their deepest, rawest thoughts.
“Agreed,” she said softly.
She felt somewhat triumphant that she would be getting the financial and societal security she needed, and also keep the job that made her feel independent.
Then, she thought of something else.
She had not thought about it for a long time, but it just came to her. She tried to stand straight, not moving, lest her trembling fingers would betray her.
“D-Do you want more children?” she asked tentatively.
It startled her that she had to ask. Yes, it would be a marriage of convenience, but usually, lords were eager to produce heirs and spares.
From the look on the Duke’s face, he seemed equally surprised. However, unlike her, he showed no signs of hesitation, no flicker of uncertainty. Instead, he regarded her with a calm certainty that made her pause.
“I already have an heir, Lady Slyham. I just need him to grow into a man worthy of the title.”
Silence followed his declaration.
Wilhelmina let the words settle around them, weighing each one carefully.
On one hand, she realized she would not be forced into childbirth. She would not be forced to sleep beside a man who sought only heirs and spares. Even Robert had not demanded that. On the other hand, it confirmed a quiet, almost shocking finality: she would never have a child.
Ever.
She reminded herself that she had never truly considered it, never thought she would want one. She had long ago given up on love. Robert had been a companion, a friend, and nothing more.
The Duke of Talleystone was a partner in business and convenience. Yet his gaze remained on her—intent, questioning, almost penetrating. In that instant, his shield seemed lowered. His eyes roamed over her with curiosity, revealing more of him than she had expected.
And though it was brief, she felt the weight of his attention, precise and unflinching, as if trying to read the truth behind her carefully maintained composure.
