Page 56 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Victor’s eyes, usually so inscrutable, were warm as they met hers. “Thursday next, then?”

Emma nodded, surprised by how much she was already anticipating their return, how the prospect of seeing him again sent a flutter of anticipation through her that was entirely inappropriate for a proper widow.

“Thursday.”

* * *

“I challenge you to a match of Pall-Mall, Lady Oakley!” Tristan declared, standing with his wooden practice sword at his side like a miniature knight issuing a formal challenge. “Or are you too tired from your journey?”

Theodosia Lytton, the Dowager Viscountess Oakley, raised a single eyebrow and regarded Emma’s son with amused indignation. Despite her sixty-five years, she sat ramrod straight in Emma’s drawing room, her walking stick positioned precisely at her side.

“Too tired? Young man, I was playing Pall-Mall when your grandmother was in leading strings,” she replied, her voice crisp but her eyes twinkling. “I accept your challenge, though I warn you, I am notorious for my competitive spirit.”

“Grandmother,” Annabelle said with a laugh, “do try not to scandalize the servants again. Your last match with the Bishop of Canterbury is still discussed in certain circles.”

“Poppycock! That man was a dreadful cheat,” Lady Oakley sniffed, rising with surprising agility. “Now then, Master Tristan, shall we proceed to the lawn? I find I am quite eager to demonstrate proper technique to one so enthusiastic.”

Emma watched with fond amusement as Tristan offered his arm to the elderly Viscountess with exaggerated gallantry, a gesture that clearly delighted the older woman.

As they made their way toward the garden, Tristan’s excited voice drifted back.

“Is it true that you once bested three gentlemen at whist while also winning a debate on Aristotle’sEthics?”

Emma had long since stopped wondering just how her son knew of those advanced books. She was the one who let him read them, after all.

“Indeed, it is,” came the proud reply. “Though I must correct you—it wasfourgentlemen, and we were discussing Plato’sRepublic.”

As their voices faded, Annabelle turned to Emma with a conspiratorial smile. “Now, with those two occupied, perhaps you’ll finally tell me about these fascinating lessons with the Duke of Westmere. I’ve been positively bursting with curiosity.”

Emma sighed, accepting the fresh cup of tea the maid had poured. “There’s little to tell. His Grace has been most accommodating in instructing Tristan in various gentlemanly pursuits.”

“And…?” Annabelle prompted, leaning forward eagerly.

“And Tristan is happier than I’ve seen him in years,” Emma admitted. “He talks of little else between our visits.”

“How lovely for Tristan,” Annabelle said, her tone deliberately casual. “But what about you, dear friend? Has the fearsome Duke offered any…privatelessons?”

Emma nearly choked on her tea. “Annabelle! For heaven’s sake, nothing has changed. We both agreed that—that moment was a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Annabelle repeated, her expression skeptical. “And yet you continue to visit his estate, allowing him to stand very close behind you while teaching you archery…”

“How did you know about that?” Emma gasped.

“I didn’t,” Annabelle replied triumphantly. “But I do now! Oh, Emma, I’ve read far too many novels to believe nothing will develop between you two. The brooding Duke and the gentle widow—it’s positively literary!”

Emma set her cup down with more force than intended. “I am doing this for my son, nothing more.”

“So you feel absolutelynothingfor the Duke?” Annabelle pressed, her eyes dancing with mischief. “He leaves you completely cold? His voice doesn’t make your heart beat faster? His hands don’t?—”

“He’s… moderately handsome,” Emma conceded, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “In a rather severe way.”

Annabelle gave an unladylike snort. “Moderately handsome? My dear, I have seen statues less perfectly formed than the Duke of Westmere.”

“You’re impossible,” Emma muttered but couldn’t quite suppress a smile.

“No, I amobservant,” Annabelle corrected. “And what I observe is that you blush like a schoolgirl whenever he is mentioned.”

Before Emma could formulate a suitably cutting reply, Mr. Frederick entered, bearing a silver salver with a sealed letter.

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