Page 70 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gerard narrow his eyes at her, his jaw ticking.
“Well, it looks like she did her best to be the perfect wife tonight, Your Grace,” Daniel commented, his eyes fixating on the Duke, assessing.
“Her efforts are always appreciated,” Gerard assured her brother, whose face seemed to soften only a little.
As Wilhelmina turned to her right, she spotted her mother.
Lady Grisham was as graceful as always, swanning instead of merely walking toward them. She eyed Wilhelmina up and down, her lips curling in distaste.
“So, daughter,” she asked, her tone as sharp as ever, “how have you been managing your new duties? Or have you spent the past month redecorating your bedchambers and the library instead?”
Wilhelmina stiffened at the question. There was a bit of truth in her mother’s words, and guilt crept unbidden from somewhere deep inside her.
Perhaps she was not fit to be a duchess, after all.
She opened her mouth, feeling a retort rising, ready to defend herself. Her lips quivered with the effort to hold it back.
Before she could speak, Gerard stepped smoothly to her side.
“Good evening to you as well, Lady Grisham,” he greeted, his voice calm but edged with authority. “My wife has performed her duties admirably, if you must know. And allow me to remind you that she no longer answers to you, for she is now a married woman once more. She also outranks you, so you’d better address her accordingly when in public.”
Lady Grisham’s lips pressed together into a thin line.
Wilhelmina watched her carefully, noting the way her mother’s eyes flashed with anger and reluctant acknowledgment. She said nothing, but the tightness around her eyes betrayed the effort it took to bite back words that might have scorched the air.
Her chest swelled with a quiet, fierce satisfaction. She had expected nothing. Yet, here was her husband, standing beside her, defending her without hesitation, without wavering.
The realization made her pulse quicken. At that moment, she felt protected, acknowledged, and, surprisingly, empowered. Gerard had not only shielded her from her mother’s cutting remark, but had done so with a grace and decisiveness that left her grateful, her heart stirred in ways she had not anticipated.
The waltz began, and Gerard held out his hand. Wilhelmina froze for a fraction of a second, surprise flashing across her features.
The Duke of Talleystone—her husband—was asking her to dance? Surely something was amiss. Perhaps he wished to make a point, and she could help him with that.
As they glided toward the center of the ballroom, she felt the familiar prick of stares. Whispers rose almost immediately, some curious, others judging.
She should have been accustomed to this, having spent years branded as a shrew, and then, after Robert’s death, as a widow of interest and intrigue.
But tonight… tonight felt different.
The weight of scrutiny pressed heavier, sharper. Gerard, however, seemed impervious. A duke of his stature never needed to concern himself with idle gossip, and Wilhelmina reminded herself that she had once thought the same. Once, when she was younger, braver, and far less cautious.
“You’re… quite something,” Gerard remarked, almost sounding amused. “A rare occurrence, supposedly.”
Supposedly.
He knew her well enough to understand how she conducted herself with family, staff, and Society. And yet, with him, everything felt slightly askew. She found herself measuring her words and gestures, as if even the wrong pause could betray her true self.
“Everyone is staring,” she whispered, her voice barely carrying above the music.
“Let them,” he said indulgently, his hand firm on her waist. “I must admit, I’m glad I’ve seen you less demure, or I might have begun to wonder who you truly are. Remember that night you thought the bottles of wine were nothing but lemonade or tea?”
Her eyes widened in shock.No, he couldn’t remember that.
But of course, he did. He recalled a night she had long tried to erase from her memory, a night she had hoped would vanish without a trace.
A warm blush crept up her chest, spread to her throat, then flared across her cheeks.
“Don’t you dare speak of that now,” she warned, though her voice was soft, and her body moved with his effortlessly, caught in the rhythm of the waltz.
