Page 9 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

The Athena Society had started as a simple meet-up for women who wanted to dive into literature beyond the dull novels that were usually considered ‘suitable’ for them. It had blossomed into a true haven—a space where minds could connect without the usual societal constraints.

Well, of course, the ‘proper’ ladies of the ton never failed to make fun of the club every chance they got.

Emma did not quite care about that. The book club’s members were utterly lovely spinsters and widows, and she loved the idea that her small gathering was the place where all these women could find solace away from the loneliness she knew had them in a tight grip.

“Speaking of stone throwers,” Annabelle said, her voice dropping a notch into a conspiratorial whisper, “get ready. The vultures are circling.”

Emma followed her friend’s gaze and spotted Lady Harwick approaching, flanked by two other women whose names she most definitely remembered but whose company she never particularly enjoyed.

Lady Harwick’s smile was sharp as a knife, and her pale blue eyes scrutinized Emma’s appearance with the precision of a jeweler examining a dubious gem.

“Lady Cuthbert,” she greeted, her voice pitched just right so that those nearby could hear. “How lovely to see you out and about. We were starting to think you had permanently retreated into your widow’s weeds and… those unusual literary interests of yours.”

Emma kept her smile in place, though she could feel it tightening at the edges. “Lady Harwick, what a delight. I believe a well-rounded life needs both solitude and social interaction in equal parts.”

“Indeed,” Lady Harwick replied, her gaze darting to Annabelle and Joanna before settling back on Emma. “And how is your little… gathering coming along? The Athena Circle, was it?”

“Don’t you mean, theClub for Society’s Undesirable Women?” Lady Mary Rothforth, a tall, spindly woman who wished she was half as unkind as Lady Harwick, giggled behind her fan.

And then the three of them started to laugh, inciting others within earshot to join in.

But Emma was unmoved.

“The Athena Society,” she corrected firmly, deciding not to take the bait. “And it is thriving, thank you for your interest.”

Lady Harwick let out a disgusted scoff.

“We have just finished a fascinating discussion on Mrs. Shelley’s work,” Emma added, refusing to give the noblewoman the satisfaction of seeing her stutter.

Lady Harwick’s second companion—Lady Penelope Morton, if Emma remembered correctly—let out a small sound that was probably meant to be a laugh but came out more like a snort.

“How progressive of you. Next, you will be telling us you have taken an interest in politics or mathematics!” she mocked, her voice high and needling.

“And what aterribledisaster that would be,” Annabelle chimed in, her smile bright but her blue eyes icy. “Just think of the horror—women using their minds for anything other than romance novels, gossip, and needlework. Society would surely fall apart!”

It was clear that Lady Harwick did not appreciate Annabelle’s sarcasm, from the way her lips pressed into a near-invisible line. “Your wit is as sharp as ever, Miss Lytton. One has to wonder if that is why you remain a spinster.”

Before Annabelle could unleash what was sure to be a cutting retort, Emma gently placed a hand on her arm.

“We have been neglecting our other friends,” she said smoothly. “If you’ll excuse us, Lady Harwick, I think I see Mrs. Halloway waving at us.”

Emma was well aware that Annabelle was a devoted fan of romance novels, often sharing her favorites with the book club. However, she also knew that her friend would invariably seize any occasion to insult Lady Harwick and her sidekicks, even if it meant taking a jab herself.

Emma quickly led Annabelle away, making sure to keep Joanna close behind. It wasn’t until they had put a good amount of distance between themselves and Lady Harwick’s group that Emma finally let her shoulders drop a little.

“That woman,” Annabelle huffed, the feathers on her hat shaking with her frustration. “I swear she must practice her insults in front of a mirror every morning.”

“You really shouldn’t have engaged with her, Annabelle,” Joanna said, though there was a playful lilt in her voice. “It just feeds her nasty, little habit.”

“And we should just let those gossiping hens walk all over us?” Annabelle shot back, rightly incensed. “Emma works so hard to create an environment where women can actually think, and they act like she’s running a brothel of some sort!”

Emma knew her friend was fighting for her honor, but she also found her mind quickly wandering. And it was going back to a certain blue-eyed man she ought not to even be thinking about.

The Duke of Westmere.

For some reason she couldn’t quite put a finger on, her thoughts kept on circling back to him—particularly to that last moment before she’d left his estate, when she’d caught that tender look on his face as he patted his dog.

He wasthe Beast, the man the ton had labeled dangerous, half-mad, and remorseless; and yes, while hehadbeen cold, she’d glimpsed something in his eyes in that flicker of a moment that contradicted the coldness of his demeanor as he spoke in a hushed tone to the animal.

---