Page 56 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
It pleased her to see him look so proud.
The Duke was unusually polished, too. She had come to know him as rugged, often seeming worn by the weight of his duties. Today, though, he had taken care. He was the Duke of Talleystone, and he looked like it.
Beside him stood Lord Berkhead, his closest friend, smiling but shifting his weight as if the pews themselves itched. The rest were loyal servants, some teary-eyed with happiness, others stiff with duty.
It struck Wilhelmina how stark the difference was between them. Her side consisted of family, either by blood or marriage. His side consisted of his son, his friend, and his servants.
She reminded herself that she was joining that little circle. Though adding to it, not quite belonging.
The ceremony was swift. Practical. The choir was absent, the organ silent. The minister spoke with brisk efficiency, and vows were exchanged almost before she could steady her breathing.
At one point, the minister droned, “Do you, Gerard Langmirth, the Duke of Talleystone, take this woman…”
“I do,” Gerard answered without hesitation, his voice steady and deep, ringing through the empty space with a weight that made Wilhelmina’s knees weaken.
When it came to her part, her tongue felt thick. For a moment, she faltered. The minister prompted her gently, and she forced the words out.
“I… do.”
Their gazes met, and for the first time since she had stepped out of the carriage, her nerves stilled.
The ring was cool on her finger. A band of finality.
And then it was done. Just like that.
She blinked, almost in disbelief. She was no longer the Dowager Countess of Slyham, the widow who ought to mourn forever. She was now the Duchess of Talleystone.
Beside her, Gerard leaned down slightly and murmured low enough so that only she could hear, “Do not look so startled, Duchess. We have both played our parts well.”
She gave a short, nervous laugh. “I wondered if we did.”
“You did,” he said firmly. His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest second before turning to the minister. “And that is all that was required.”
Her sisters surged forward when they stepped off the altar.
Elizabeth clasped her hand tightly. “Dearest Mina, you look pale as a ghost.”
“I feel rather like one,” Wilhelmina admitted softly.
Marianne leaned closer with a wicked grin. “But ghosts cannot wear diamonds quite so well.”
Wilhelmina rolled her eyes, and for a moment, it felt like any other family gathering.
But then she glanced at Gerard again.
The Duke. Herhusband.
He was speaking quietly to Hector, who looked up at him with plain pride. And she knew deep down that nothing would ever be quite the same again.
Gerard had the dining room prepared for a wedding feast. It was not ostentatious, but it lacked nothing: glazed ham glistening on silver platters, neat tiers of sandwiches, sugared pastries, and at the center, a beautifully decorated cake with white icing piped like lace.
Wilhelmina’s gaze lingered on the cake, her lips curving faintly. “Oh, Lizzie. It seems a pity to cut into something so lovely,” she murmured to her sister.
Elizabeth leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “You only say that because you haven’t tasted it yet.”
The merriest voice in the room, however, was Hector’s. He darted about like a swallow, full of bright chatter, and quickly attached himself to Victoria.
“Do you have a dozen sisters?” he asked too loudly.
