Page 76 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke
“Was Papa angry that I helped you with Lady Silverquill’s letters?” Hector asked innocently.
“No, my dear,” Wilhelmina replied gently. “Didn’t you notice that he came to your fort? He even tried his best to guess the watchword.”
She felt the subtle weight of his presence in the house, though he remained distant. He had pleased his son today, and he had pleased her once, yet the distance he now maintained gnawed at her.
Was it because of Robert?
She had mentioned her late husband to Hector in passing while arranging the books, hoping to enrich the game. Perhaps Gerard’s sudden coldness was caused by that. But then again, he had never once brought up Robert on the night he had touched her intimately. That alone suggested her late husband’s memory could not be the sole cause.
For a few minutes, the fort was still. Hector abandoned climbing chairs and tables and turned to reading and writing.
“I read two of the letters written to Lady Silverquill, Your Grace. I like those stories best. So, I wrote back to them,” he announced proudly.
Wilhelmina’s heart warmed. She guided him gently through his errors, and he absorbed her corrections with eagerness.
“I’ll submit your work. Well done, Hector,” she praised, and he nodded enthusiastically.
It was not false encouragement, for she genuinely believed in his talent. Even Mr. Finch seemed pleased with the boy’s efforts. When his letter was finally published, it became clear that his contribution had been a success.
Mr. Finch sent Wilhelmina an extra copy along with a note that said:
It seems the change in Lady Silverquill’s style has paid off. Our readership has increased; many have found the new style refreshing. They are eager for more. –Finch
Wilhelmina smiled. She cut out Hector’s response from the copy and, with careful hands, slipped quietly into Gerard’s study. She left it on his desk, hoping he would see it. He might not speak to her directly, but she knew he would want to witness what his son had accomplished.
However, as she returned to the fort, a flicker of doubt lingered in her mind.
Perhaps she should never have mentioned Robert to Hector at all. But if that were the only reason for Gerard’s reserve, then it didn’t fully explain his current distance.
Some other part of him, a part she could not yet reach, remained closed off, and she had no idea how to open it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Sit down, Duchess. Hector had kept you busy the whole day. You need some rest. It is the maid’s work to tidy this room,” Gerard said, his tone firm but edged with something softer.
“I’m almost done,” Wilhelmina replied, glancing up with a small smile, her hands still gathering Hector’s scattered toys.
She looked tired, but it was the kind of exhaustion that came from laughter and engagement rather than obligation.
Gerard studied her for a moment, a glass of whiskey in hand. He had been waiting for this admission, for the proof that Hector’s energy could wear down even his indefatigable Duchess.
A typical Society wife, especially one newly elevated, might have been restless at home, running off to call on friends or visiting family. Wilhelmina, however, seemed wholly content in the quiet chaos of their home.
He shifted in his chair, letting his gaze wander over the fort Hector had built and the scattered remnants of play. The little boy had long since retreated to his room, leaving the two of them in the aftermath of his imagination.
Gerard had quietly joined them over the past few weeks, easing into their domestic world slowly, almost cautiously. He had begun by simply being present, sitting nearby with a paper in hand, observing the pair as they created their own little universe.
Sometimes, they sat on the rug together, lost in their games, and he wondered if he was intruding at all. Wilhelmina’s small smile suggested otherwise, yet he could not help the niggling thought that perhaps the sense of normalcy he so craved was more his desire than theirs.
Hector, of course, was delighted with every gesture, every shared glance, every invitation to play, even if his father’s participation was tentative at first.
Gerard set his glass down, watching his wife straighten a pillow. She looked up at him briefly, her cheeks flushed, her hair slightly disheveled from bending over the toys.
For a moment, he allowed himself a rare thought: perhaps he could be part of this quiet, domestic happiness, if only he dared to step fully into it.
“I can help you with that,” he offered, putting down his glass and leaning forward.
“You can help me with something else instead,” Wilhelmina said, raising her eyebrows as she sat back on her heels, still on the rug.
