Page 40 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“Excellent! Victor will be pleased. He’s been rather broody lately—more so than usual, which is saying something.” Knightley winked at her. “Perhaps seeing familiar faces will improve his temper.”

Emma’s heart stuttered at the thought of seeing Victor again.

She fought to keep her expression neutral. “The Duke has always been perfectly cordial in our encounters.”

“Has he, indeed?” Knightley looked genuinely surprised. “How fascinating. The Duke I know reserves cordiality for state functions and funerals.” He glanced between Emma and Joanna with new interest. “Now I’m doubly glad you’ll be attending.”

After a few more minutes of pleasant conversation, Knightley purchased his book and took his leave, kissing Joanna’s hand once more with a warmth that left her flustered.

When they were alone again, Joanna fanned herself with her handkerchief. “Well! He’s certainly… vivacious.”

“He’s charming,” Emma corrected with a smile. “And he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Men don’t notice women like me—especially not men like him.”

“He noticed you,” Emma insisted. “And I think you noticed him too.”

Joanna adjusted her spectacles, a sure sign she was flustered. “He said that the Duke will certainly be at this gathering.”

It was Emma’s turn to flush. “Yes, I suppose he will.”

Joanna studied her carefully. “Emma, is there something you wish to tell me about the Duke?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Emma said, willing her cheeks to cool. “He’s been kind to Tristan, that’s all.”

“Mmm,” Joanna hummed skeptically. “And I suppose that’s why you’ve been distracted these past few days? Because of his kindness to Tristan?”

“I haven’t been distracted,” Emma protested weakly.

“You’ve put salt in your tea twice this week, dear.”

Before Emma could formulate a response, the shop bell jingled, and Tristan burst in, his mouth suspiciously sticky with what appeared to be honey candy.

“Mama! Lady Oakley bought me four different kinds, and Mr. Porter gave me an extra piece because I helped him arrange his display!” He noticed Joanna and rushed to embrace her. “Aunt Joanna! Will you come riding with us next time? My riding instructor says I’m getting much better.”

“I would be delighted, dear Tristan,” Joanna replied, smoothing his hair affectionately. “Though I’m not the horsewoman your mother is.”

As Tristan regaled them with tales of his adventure at the confectionery, describing in vivid detail the exact shade and consistency of each sweet, Emma’s thoughts drifted unbidden to the upcoming gathering at Knightley Hall.

She would see the Duke again. The prospect filled her with equal parts anticipation and dread.

How would he look at her? Would she see that same intensity in his gaze that had disarmed her at the lake? Would he acknowledge that the kiss happened at all?

What was happening to her? This… fixation was unseemly,inappropriate. She was a widow with a young son, not some debutante with her head full of romantic nonsense. She had responsibilities and expectations to meet. The gossips of the county already watched her closely, ready to pounce at any hint of impropriety. A woman in her position couldn’t afford to court scandal.

Yet she couldn’t deny the flutter in her chest at the thought of those piercing blue eyes.

“And then Mr. Porter let me taste a new chocolate from France,” Tristan continued excitedly, “and it was so smooth, Mama, like velvet on your tongue! He says the French have a special way of making it, though he wouldn’t tell me the secret. Do you think we could go to France someday and find out?”

Emma nodded absently, her mind still wandering the corridors of Knightley Hall, imagining a waltz with a certain duke…

“Mama? Are you listening?” Tristan tugged at her sleeve, his expression hovering between concern and mild indignation.

Emma blinked, forcing herself back to the present with a guilty start. “Of course, darling. Every word. French chocolate that tastes like velvet. It sounds divine.”

“And the part about the elephant?”

Emma stared at her son, mortified. “Elephant?”

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