Page 109 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

The eastern wing of Westmere Hall was less frequented by the wedding party, its long corridor leading to a glass-domed conservatory that Victor had recently restored to its former glory.

“I had begun to fear we might never secure a moment alone,” Victor confessed as they turned down the corridor, his hand warm against hers. “The demands of a ducal wedding are surprisingly relentless.”

“The price of your exalted rank, I fear,” Emma teased, leaning into his side with a familiarity that still held the thrill of novelty. “Though the transition from country widow to duchess presents its own peculiar challenges. Lady Pettiford insisted on addressing me as ‘Your Grace’ no fewer than fourteen times during our brief conversation.”

Victor chuckled. “A tactical error on her part. Had she limited herself to perhaps eight or nine instances, her obsequiousness might have passed unnoticed.”

Their progress toward solitude was halted, however, by the voices coming from a small antechamber adjacent to the conservatory entrance—one male, one female, engaged in what appeared to be an intimate conversation not intended for outside ears.

“I cannot possibly accept such a proposal,” came Joanna’s voice, pitched lower than her usual forthright tone but unmistakable to Emma’s familiar ear. “You must understand the impossibility of the situation.”

“I understand nothing of the sort,” replied Nathaniel, “I am in possession of sound mind, moderate fortune, and an affection for you that surpasses any I have previously experienced. To me, these facts seem entirely compatible with matrimony.”

Emma halted, her hand tightening reflexively around Victor’s arm.

Before they could withdraw, the chamber door swung open to reveal Joanna and Nathaniel, both startled into momentary silence by the discovery of their audience.

“Well…” Nathaniel recovered first, his usual insouciance reasserting itself with visible effort. “This is deliciously awkward. I don’t suppose you can pretend you heard nothing and allow me to continue proposing in dignified privacy?”

“You were proposing?” Emma could not prevent the question from escaping, her gaze darting between her aunt’s red cheeks and the Marquess’s uncharacteristically solemn expression.

“Attempting to,” Nathaniel confirmed with a rueful smile. “Though I fear Miss Joanna has reservations about my suitability as a husband.”

“Not your suitability,” Joanna corrected, her voice steadier than her complexion would suggest. “Your judgment. I am six-and-thirty, Nathaniel. Well past the age when most women contemplate motherhood and firmly established as a spinster of independent means and habits. What possible advantage could marriage to me provide that a younger, more conventional bride would not offer tenfold?”

“The advantage,” Nathaniel replied softly, “of being married to the woman I love. A consideration that outweighs all others, in my estimation.”

The simple declaration, delivered without artifice or calculation, caused a visible softening in Joanna’s carefully maintained composure.

Emma, witnessing the exchange, felt a surge of affection for this man, who had been her husband’s staunchest ally and now offered such unguarded honesty to her beloved aunt.

“It was Joanna who urged me to speak with you about Sidney Bickford’s machinations,” Nathaniel continued, addressing Victor with uncharacteristic directness. “When my initial attempts to reason with you proved ineffective, it was her suggestion that more… dramatic revelations might pierce your self-imposed isolation. I believe we all owe her a debt of gratitude for her insight.”

“Indeed, we do,” Victor agreed, regarding Joanna with newfound respect. “Though I confess I am curious about the nature of the acquaintance that facilitated such collaboration.”

A flush rose in Joanna’s cheeks, lending her an unexpected youthfulness that Emma had rarely observed in her practical, self-possessed aunt.

“We encountered one another at Pembroke’s bookshop,” she admitted.

“Emma mentioned it once,” Victor said.

“Yes, well, she should have also told you that we’d make an unlikely pairing in all respects,” Joanna agreed, her tone suggesting she still harbored doubts about the potential union. “Which is precisely why?—”

“Which is precisely why it has proven so remarkably successful,” Nathaniel interjected, taking her hand with a gentleness that belied his usual flippant demeanor. “We complement one another, Joanna. Your practical wisdom tempers my impulsiveness. My frivolity lightens your seriousness. We are better together than apart—a truth I recognized from our first conversation.”

Emma exchanged a glance with Victor, recognizing in Nathaniel’s words an echo of their own unlikely partnership: the scarred, reclusive Duke and the independent, wary widow, each bringing balance to the other’s life in ways neither had anticipated.

“If I may be permitted an observation,” Emma said carefully. “I have never seen you so animated as in the Marquess’s company, Joanna. Your eyes positively sparkle when engaged in debate with him—something I noticed even before understanding the full nature of your acquaintance.”

Joanna’s expression softened further, a vulnerability appearing that Emma had rarely witnessed in her usually composed countenance.

“I-I did not expect this,” Joanna confessed, the words seeming torn from her despite her customary reserve. “At my age, after establishing a life of independence, to find myself in love… it is most disconcerting.”

“The most worthwhile experiences often are,” Victor pointed out, his hand finding Emma’s with unconscious ease.

Nathaniel seized upon this unexpected support with evident gratitude. “Precisely! If the formidable Duke of Westmere can abandon his fortress of solitude for matrimonial felicity, surely the prospect is not entirely without merit.”

A reluctant smile curved Joanna’s lips.

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