Page 55 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
“I will acquire a special license so that we may proceed without delay. You need not concern yourself with any arrangements; I will attend to them immediately.”
As usual, his words commanded the room. But now, behind the iron-like authority, she glimpsed a shadow of questioning. An invitation to challenge him, to show herself more than acquiescent.
“Do we need to rush things?” she asked, the quiver in her voice betraying her uncertainty.
“Yes,” he replied simply. “For Hector’s sake.”
Wilhelmina inclined her head, acknowledging the truth. “And, of course, we must consider the ton.”
“Indeed,” he agreed. “We’ll make appearances together. Though I insist that widows and widowers not be subjected to the same scrutiny as the younger couples. We come from lives already lived. Our courtship, such as it is, need not be a spectacle.”
“I understand,” she said, lowering her eyes respectfully and inclining her head in gratitude. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
The Duke blinked slowly, his dark gray eyes unreadable, but something lingered there—hesitation, a sentiment she could not decipher.
“Come along, son. It is late, and we have taken up much of Lady Slyham’s evening.”
Hector hugged her again, as if reaffirming a promise, before scampering to his father’s side.
“Goodnight, Lady Slyham.” The Duke bowed.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” Wilhelmina curtsied.
After Hector also bid her goodnight, the Duke lingered for a heartbeat in the doorway, holding her eyes. There was a quiet intensity there that she could not read.
Sadness? Regret? Something else entirely?
Then, he turned and left, his steps echoing down the hall.
Wilhelmina remained rooted in place, her chest still fluttering from the whirlwind of the evening.
The Duke and his son had entered her life like a storm, leaving her disoriented but inexplicably… light. She exhaled slowly, trying to make sense of it all.
In truth, nothing about this night had been ordinary. And yet she found herself quietly hoping it would not be the last storm to visit her.
Chapter Sixteen
There was something about the morning that made Wilhelmina more inclined to notice every detail.
First, it was a pale sort of morning, with fog clinging stubbornly to the lampposts. Second, the chill seeped through her gown as if the silk offered no barrier at all. Third, she almost didn’t know where she was.
She was disoriented. The whole affair did not feel like a wedding ought to. Even her marriage to Robert had been jollier than this.
Now, as she descended from the carriage before the modest church, she asked herself whether she should go through with it.
She told herself that she had no choice. The whispers were already thick in the air—about her, about him.
A widow had no right to change her mind. At least, that was what she told herself.
The rustle of her gown seemed too loud as she walked up the church steps. Too loud, as though it alone announced her fate.
Her family was already assembled, her sisters in their best gowns, her brothers-in-law standing with their arms folded but their faces warm.
Elizabeth gave her a sweet, encouraging smile. Marianne’s eyes danced, amused, curious. Of course, she would be, given how rushed the wedding was. Victoria and Daphne clung to each other, both looking on with an almost girlish hope.
Lady Grisham was there, hawk-eyed as ever, not missing a single twitch or whisper. Her gaze flicked from the Duke to his side of the aisle, narrowing on the guests. Her expression was a blend of satisfaction and suspicion. Wilhelmina almost laughed at it, even as her heart thudded in her throat.
The Duke—the man who would be her husband in mere minutes— had not invited many people. Hector proudly wore a smaller version of his father’s coat, his hair slicked back and shining, his grin wide.
