Page 61 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
Her gaze feasted on the colors—deep crimsons and soft pinks, whites as pure as linen. She drew a breath that trembled in her throat.
“The gardens are beautiful,” she whispered, overcome despite herself.
“Indeed, Your Grace,” Hector agreed with a solemn nod. “Although Papa prefers to hide in his study.”
Wilhelmina smiled faintly. “That is a shame, for he forgoes such beauty.”
“Shameful,” Hector corrected with a grin.
Suddenly, Wilhelmina felt a prickle at the back of her neck. She was being watched.
She turned around. Behind the tall glass windows of the study stood a figure, tall, dark, and motionless.
The Duke.Gerard.
Though the panes and the distance separated them, her breath caught as though he were but a step away. She could not get over this effect he had on her.
Surely it was natural, for he was her husband now. And yet the weight of his gaze unsettled her. Not with fear, but with something more dangerous, more intricate. Emotions she could scarcely begin to name.
Their eyes met. He did not frown. He did not smile. Yet there was an intensity in his look that seemed to reach past glass and stone to strike at her very composure.
Then, with sudden decisiveness, he turned away, disappearing back into the shadowed recesses of his study without so much as a nod.
Wilhelmina’s wedding day was proving to be a lifetime in itself. Her nerves were frayed by the time she was called for dinner. She had to sit between her husband and his son at the dining table.
Even though it was just the three of them, with Mrs. Everly hovering discreetly in the corner, it still felt like a feast, with roasted venison, herbs, and pastries.
The newlyweds seemed to be nervous, or at least awkward, for the conversation seemed to drag at first.
Gerard was his usual polite and formal self, not behaving like a newlywed at all. Even Robert was much giddier during their wedding dinner, although the two men’s personalities were a lot different.
“Your Grace, do you know,” Hector began, the words tumbling out the instant he had swallowed a bite of meat, “that my father and I have not dined together here for years?”
Gerard’s knife paused midway to his venison. His fingers tightened, though his expression did not betray any emotion. “Hector, that is an exaggeration. I have not eaten with you here these past few nights, not for years.”
“I truly thought you were avoiding me! You were so distraught!” Hector cried, ignoring his father’s correction as though he had not even heard it.
A tense silence ensued.
When Gerard spoke again, his voice was low and edged with steel. “And what if I said it was you who avoided me? You ran away more than once. I believe that trumps my absence from the table. What say you, son?”
The boy’s defiance faltered a little.
Wilhelmina felt the air thicken around them, strained between father and son. This was not merely a disagreement; it was a wound that was reopened.
She could not sit idle.
“I believe,” she interjected, setting her fork carefully on her plate, “that no matter how busy either of you becomes, there is comfort in dining together. A family must gather at the table whenever possible. When my parents were absent, my siblings and I still sat down, spoke, and jested together. It bound us and made the nights more peaceful. You can see how close we still are, even now that most are grown and with families of their own.”
She glanced at Hector, who sat straighter, his eyes alight with the promise in her words. He liked the notion. He liked the wordfamily.
“Hear, hear!” he declared, his grin returning.
But when she looked back at Gerard, her heart stuttered. His gaze was fixed on her, dark and assessing, as though she had laid bare more than she had intended. The weight of it unsettled her.
Heat rose into her cheeks, and she shifted in her chair, suddenly conscious of the fine line she had crossed.
At last, he said, “It is a sound proposal. We will discuss it later. And yes, we will endeavor to gather whenever time allows.”
