Page 1 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
Chapter One
“I do not care if your ladyship must sell every last stick of furniture in this wretched pile, Lady Greaves, for my clients will have their money, or they will have this property, and the choice, as they say, is entirely yours to make.”
Lady Thalia Greaves regarded Mr Wyndham across her study desk with the sort of cool disdain typically reserved for particularly persistent insects that had somehow found their way into one’s drawing room. The creditor’s agent sat hunched forward in his chair like a vulture anticipating carrion, his beady eyes darting about the room as if already cataloguing its contents for the auction block, his fingers drumming an impatient tattoo upon his leather portfolio.
“How refreshingly direct of you, Mr Wyndham, though I confess myself curious whether you practice that particular speech before your looking glass each morning, or if such eloquent brutality comes as naturally to you as breathing,” Thalia replied, her voice carrying the crisp authority that had once cowed drawing rooms across the length and breadth of London society.
Mr Wyndham’s sallow complexion darkened considerably at her retort, and he shifted in his chair with the uncomfortable air of a man unused to having his pronouncements questioned by anyone, least of all by a lady. “Your ladyship’s wit is renowned throughout the ton, to be sure, but wit will not satisfy your creditors, and you have precisely six weeks to produce three thousand pounds, or—”
“Or Seacliff Retreat shall be torn down brick by brick to build some merchant’s gaudy monument to his newfound commerce, yes, Mr Wyndham, you have made your position abundantly clear on no fewer than three occasions during this delightful interview,” Thalia rose from her chair with the fluid grace that had been drilled into her from childhood, smoothing her black mourning dress with hands that remained perfectly steady despite the tumultuous thoughts racing through her mind. Even after two years of widowhood, she found the severe colour suited both her temperament and her firm determination to discourage the advances of fortune-hunting suitors who might view a widow’s independence as a challenge to be overcome.
“Might I suggest, however, that you consider the broader implications of your threat before you proceed with such unseemly haste?” she continued, moving toward the tall windows that overlooked the gardens where several of herresidents could be observed pursuing their various artistic endeavours in the mild November afternoon light.
“Implications, my lady?” Wyndham blinked rapidly, clearly unused to having his carefully rehearsed intimidation tactics met with anything other than tears or immediate capitulation from distressed gentlewomen.
“Indeed, Mr Wyndham, for this retreat provides sanctuary for artists who might otherwise find themselves cast upon the mercies of an unforgiving world that has little use for beauty or creativity,” Thalia explained with the patience one might employ when instructing a particularly slow child. “We currently house a deaf painter whose work is beginning to gain recognition in the most fashionable London circles, a playwright whose most recent work was praised by no less a personage than Lord Byron himself, and a former opera singer whose voice, though somewhat diminished by time and circumstance, still possesses the power to teach others to soar above the mundane concerns of daily existence.”
She paused to observe the effect of her words upon her unwelcome visitor, noting with satisfaction the slight uncertainty that had crept into his previously confident demeanour. “Tell me, Mr Wyndham, what do you suppose the newspapers might make of such a story as this—‘Heartless Creditors Destroy Haven for Struggling Artists’—for it has rather a dramatic ring to it, does it not, and I suspect the reading public would find themselves quite moved by such a tale of artistic persecution?”
Mr Wyndham shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his earlier bravado beginning to waver under the weight of her steady gaze and the implications of her words. “Your ladyship mistakes my position in this matter entirely, for I am merely the agent of others, and I cannot—”
A tremendous crash from the entrance hall interrupted his protestation with all the subtlety of a cannon blast, followed immediately by a string of colourful oaths that would have made a seasoned dock worker blush with shame and caused any proper young lady to reach immediately for her smelling salts. Both occupants of the study turned toward the door as the sound of running footsteps echoed through the corridor, accompanied by the raised voice of Hopkins, the butler, sounding decidedly distressed.
“I say, is everyone quite all right out there? Terribly sorry about that unfortunate incident—didn’t see the blasted thing at all, though I suppose I should have been paying closer attention to my surroundings rather than admiring the remarkable architecture of this establishment! No harm done to anyone, I most sincerely hope?”
The voice that drifted through the partially open door was unmistakably masculine, cultured in the manner that spoke of the finest education, and tinged with the sort of carelessly charming tone that Thalia had learned through bitter experience to distrust with every fibre of her being, for such voices invariablybelonged to gentlemen who considered the world their personal playground and every woman in it a potential conquest.
“Perhaps, Mr Wyndham, we might continue this delightful conversation at another time, for I believe I must attend to whatever catastrophe has just befallen my entrance hall, though I suspect from the sound of things that it may require some considerable effort to restore order,” Thalia said with arctic politeness, moving toward the door with measured steps that betrayed none of the irritation she felt at this untimely interruption to an already trying interview.
She had nearly reached the door when it swung open with dramatic suddenness to reveal a figure that made her steps falter and her breath catch quite unexpectedly in her throat. The gentleman who appeared in her doorway was tall and elegantly dressed in the first style of fashion, his dark blue coat fitting his broad shoulders to absolute perfection, his buff-coloured breeches without a single wrinkle, and his boots polished to a mirror shine that spoke of a valet who took considerable pride in his work. His hair, the deep, warm brown of polished wood, showed signs of having been recently dishevelled despite what had clearly been careful attention from that same devoted valet, and his grey eyes held an expression of rueful embarrassment that might have been charming under entirely different circumstances.
More concerning still, he was devastatingly handsome in precisely the way that Thalia had sworn upon her late husband’s grave to avoid for the remainder of her natural life, for such men brought nothing but heartache and disappointment to women foolish enough to believe their practised declarations of devotion.
“Lady Greaves, I presume?” The stranger swept off his hat with a flourish and executed a bow that managed to be both perfectly proper according to the strictest standards of etiquette and somehow irreverent in a manner that suggested he found the entire ritual of formal society rather amusing. “Lord Jasper Vexley, at your most humble service, and I do hope you will find it in your generous heart to forgive the rather dramatic nature of my arrival, for I fear your entrance hall may never fully recover from the shock of my presence.”
Lord Jasper Vexley.Thalia’s mind raced through her mental catalogue of society gossip with the efficiency of a well-trained librarian, quickly locating the relevant information about this unexpected visitor. One of the notorious Vexley twins, if she recalled the gossip correctly, younger brother to His Grace the Duke of Vexwood, possessed of a considerable fortune that afforded him the luxury of pursuing whatever diversions caught his fancy, and graced with a reputation for charm that had served him well in London’s most exclusive ballrooms.
In short, precisely the sort of gentleman she had come to Brighton specifically to avoid, for such men viewed widows as particularly entertaining challenges to be conquered through the application of sufficient charm and persistence.
“Lord Jasper,” she replied with the careful courtesy that served as both greeting and warning to those astute enough to recognise it. “I confess myself intrigued by your mention of my entrance hall’s supposed trauma, and I find I must inquire as to the precise nature of the catastrophe you claim to have inflicted during your evidently eventful arrival.”
A becoming flush of embarrassment coloured his lean cheeks, and she observed with reluctant interest that it made him appear younger and considerably less practised in the arts of seduction than his reputation suggested. “Ah—yes, well, you see, I encountered your man Hopkins in some considerable distress over a rather substantial spider that had taken up residence in one of the floral arrangements near your front entrance, and being of a naturally chivalrous disposition, I offered to assist in its removal from the premises.”
“How very gallant of you,” Thalia murmured, though she detected a suspicious twitch at the corner of her mouth that threatened to betray the amusement she was struggling to suppress at the image of this elegant gentleman doing battle with garden spiders.
“Unfortunately, in my enthusiasm to rescue the poor fellow from his arachnid predicament, I may have inadvertently collided with what I can only assume was a rather valuable Chinese vase that had been placed in what I now realise was a most unfortunate location,” Lord Jasper continued, his expression growing increasingly sheepish with each word. “Several rather valuable vases, actually, along with what appeared to be a small table and possibly a chair, though the exact inventory of casualties remains somewhat unclear given the general chaos that ensued.”
“I see,” Thalia replied with admirable composure, though inwardly she was calculating the cost of replacing whatever this charming disaster had managed to destroy in the space of his brief acquaintance with her entrance hall. “And how does poor Hopkins fare in the aftermath of this gallant rescue, might I inquire?”
“Splendidly, I am most happy to report, though I believe he may be reconsidering his position on the relative merits of spiders versus visiting gentlemen, and I confess that I am beginning to share his perspective on the matter,” Lord Jasper admitted with a rueful smile that turned his handsome features unexpectedly compelling.
Mr Wyndham cleared his throat with obvious irritation, clearly displeased at having his moment of intimidation interrupted by what he undoubtedly viewed as frivolous social pleasantries. “Lady Greaves, if we might return to our business, for time is of considerable importance in these matters—”
“Our business, Mr Wyndham, is concluded for today, and you have made your position as clear as crystal while I have endeavoured to make mine equally transparent,” Thalia announced with finality, her voice resuming its arctic tone as she turned her attention back to the unwelcome creditor. “I trust you can find yourway out without requiring assistance, though perhaps you might take care to avoid any lingering obstacles that Lord Jasper may have inadvertently created during his recent act of arachnid heroism?”
The creditor’s agent rose stiffly from his chair, gathering his papers with the wounded dignity of a man whose carefully planned intimidation had been thoroughly disrupted by circumstances beyond his control. “Six weeks, Lady Greaves, and not a single day longer, for my clients’ patience has its limits, and those limits are rapidly approaching,” he declared with as much authority as he could muster under the circumstances. He cast a suspicious glance at Lord Jasper, who had moved further into the room with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to being welcome wherever he chose to appear. “Good day to you both.”
The moment the door closed behind him with a decisive click, Lord Jasper released a low whistle of appreciation. “What a thoroughly charming fellow that was—I take it he wasn’t here to discuss the remarkable beauty of your rose gardens or to compliment you on the excellent management of your household?”
