Page 20 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

That suggestion quickly sparked a lively discussion that naturally wrapped up the meeting, allowing Emma to engage at least a little, even though her mind still wandered.

And as the ladies stood to say their goodbyes, exchanging warm hugs and promises to keep in touch, Emma felt Mrs. Witherspoon envelop her in a comforting embrace.

“My dear,” the elderly woman whispered, her eyes twinkling with an empathy that belied her age and experiences, “whatever is weighing on you, just remember that most of life’s challenges can be eased by good books or good friends—and you, my lucky girl, have plenty of both!”

Oh.

Just like that, Emma’s pulse slowed down as she realized that she’d locked herself inside her own head, isolating herself from the very community that’d given her strength ever since she’d retreated to the countryside.

Now, she couldn’t help but smile warmly at the elderly woman, touched by her simple yet profound wisdom and her efforts to lift her spirits.

“Thank you, Mrs. Witherspoon. I am indeed grateful for this society and for all of you. Truly.”

CHAPTER6

“All right then…” Annabelle started right off the bat as soon as they were a good distance from the Witherspoon residence. “Care to tell us what—or maybe who—has stolen your focus today?” Her blue eyes were bright and narrowed on Emma’s face. “I haven’t seen you this lost in thought since that awful poetry reading, when Lord Pemberton’s wig went askew during his reading ofThe Lady of Shalott.”

The afternoon air was filled with the sweet scent of early summer as Emma set off with Annabelle and Joanna.

The three of them climbed into the carriage that Annabelle’s grandmother, the Dowager Viscountess Oakley, had sent.

The rhythmic sound of hooves on the country road created a calming backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in Emma’s mind.

She let out a sigh, realizing it was pointless to hide her feelings from someone as perceptive as Annabelle.

“It’s Tristan,” she confessed, smoothing her skirts absentmindedly. “He’s become quite obsessed with visiting the Duke of Westmere’s estate to play with his English Setter.”

“The Beast of Westmere’s watchdog?” Joanna gasped, her eyebrows shooting up over her spectacles and her warm brown eyes sharp within the spheres of her lenses. In fact, she was so surprised that she scooted out of her seat, leaning toward her niece. “Goodness, my dear Emma! No wonder you’re worried.”

“Exactly,” Emma replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over her as she finally voiced her concerns. It was always so reassuring to know that she had such caring friends around her. “I’ve had to rescue him from the Duke’s gardentwicenow. You can only imagine how those encounters went.”

“Perhaps we can,” Annabelle chimed in, her interest piqued if the spark that lit up her eyes was any indication. “I’d really love to hear the details! The Duke hardly makes appearances in Society these days. Is he as terrifying as the rumors say?”

Emma felt her cheeks flush, torn between honesty and the urge to avoid delving too deeply into her feelings about the Beast of Westmere. Even she had yet to understand the things she felt whenever she thought of him or was in his presence, so she wasn’t quite sure that exposing anything too quickly would yield anything good.

And yet she couldn’t stop the words from bubbling out of her throat, like frothing soap suds in bathwater.

“He was… quite imposing,” she admitted.

She recalled the broadness of his shoulders, the intensity of his gaze, and… the way his scar slashed across his face so brutally and yet gave his face such character that she couldn’t put it out of her mind.

In fact, ‘imposing’ did not do justice to the way he overwhelmed her whenever she was in his presence—to the way her body seemed to want to melt against his own.

No, Emma. Focus on the important issue here, she told herself, shaking herself off the track before she could even get on it.

“But it’s not just the Duke that worries me.”It truly isn’t.“Tristan… He’s… he’s getting restless. This morning, he spoke passionately about wanting to engage in more… masculine activities. Things I’m not really… equipped to help him with.”

That admission weighed heavily on her heart, reflecting her deepest fears as a mother—that despite her best efforts, she might not be enough to guide her son into manhood.

“He really needs some male companionship,” Joanna remarked thoughtfully, taking off her glasses to give them a gentle polish with a soft handkerchief. “It’s natural for his age. Boys need certain outlets for their energy and role models to help shape their sense of self.”

“Exactly,” Emma replied, a look of gratitude softening her features. “But where am I supposed to find a suitable male influence? Certainly not from Sidney Bickford, who sees Tristan as nothing more than a temporary nuisance until he grows up.”

Just mentioning Sidney cast a brief shadow over the carriage, a shared understanding of the man’s unpleasant nature passing silently between the three women.

“What about Lord Griggs’ pheasant hunt next week?” Joanna suggested after a pause. “The gentlemen will be busy with their sport while the ladies play cards and chat. Maybe Tristan could join them? It would give him a chance to see proper masculine behavior in a fitting environment.”

Emma hesitated, uncertainty clouding her face. “I’m worried about his safety. Hunting can be risky, and Tristan doesn’t have much experience with firearms.”

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