Page 12 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
The conversation was interrupted by Marcus’s appearance in the conservatory doorway, his expression suggesting that he had been searching for his sister with impatience and had not anticipated finding her engaged in manual labour alongside a gentleman whose appearance suggested he had been crawling through debris for the better part of the evening.
“Sister,” he announced with obvious disapproval, “surely such work is better left to servants who are paid to address household emergencies, for I cannot imagine what purpose is served by subjecting yourself and Lord Jasper to such unpleasant and potentially dangerous activities.”
“The purpose,” Thalia replied with the sort of calm authority that brooked no contradiction, “is preserving an establishment that provides essential support to individuals whose welfare depends upon our willingness to protect what they cannot defend themselves, and I find such work far more meaningful than the sort of drawing room conversations that seem to constitute your preferred method of addressing serious problems.”
Marcus’s colour rose at this implicit criticism of his own contributions to resolving the family difficulties that had prompted his visit, though he appeared uncertain how to respond to such direct challenge in the presence of a witness whose social position made it inadvisable to express open disagreement with his sister’s assessment of their respective approaches to problem-solving.
“Nevertheless,” he persisted with obvious discomfort, “I cannot help but feel that such dramatic exertions are quite unnecessary when more decorous alternatives might suffice—and I must admit some concern that Lord Jasper may carry away an impression of household management ill-suited to the qualities one hopes to find in a prospective wife.”
The words struck the assembled company like lightning, revealing not only Marcus’s continued determination to arrange his sister’s marriage according to his own preferences but also his assumption that Lord Jasper’s presence represented an opportunity to demonstrate her suitability for conventional domesticarrangements that bore no resemblance to the life she had chosen to create at Seacliff Retreat.
Lord Jasper straightened slowly from his examination of the damaged window frame, his grey eyes moving between the siblings with an expression that suggested he found their family dynamics both fascinating and deeply troubling, though he maintained the sort of polite silence that social protocol demanded during private family disagreements of such obviously delicate nature.
“I fear you misunderstand both my motivations and my priorities,” Thalia said with arctic precision, “for I have no intention of demonstrating household management skills for the benefit of potential suitors, and I find the suggestion that my actions should be calculated to create favourable impressions rather than address genuine needs both insulting and completely contrary to the principles that govern my daily decisions.”
The storm outside seemed to echo the tension that filled the conservatory as the three of them stood among the debris and broken glass, their very different perspectives on duty, responsibility, and proper conduct creating an atmosphere of conflict that promised to make the remainder of their enforced confinement even more uncomfortable than the weather that trapped them together in such close quarters.
As thunder crashed overhead with renewed violence, Thalia found herself wondering whether the following morning would bring resolution to the many crises that had descended upon her household—or whether the forces that threatened to undo all she had worked so tirelessly to build would prove as relentless and indifferent as the tempest that raged beyond the fragile walls of her carefully constructed sanctuary.
Chapter Five
Lady Thalia Greaves stood in the morning room doorway, a folded letter in her hand and a guarded expression upon her face.
“I came across these in the stack of outgoing correspondence Hopkins brought for review,” she said evenly, holding the pages between her fingers.
Lord Jasper looked up from the writing desk, where his pen still rested beside an unfinished page. A flicker of recognition crossed his face—followed, almost immediately, by something that looked uncomfortably like regret.
“I see,” he said after a pause, rising slowly.
“I imagine,” Thalia went on, stepping further into the room, “that you had your reasons for composing such detailed reports. But I must admit, I find the tone and scope of what I’ve read troubling. This was no brief note to your brother. It’s a comprehensive survey of my household—its finances, its composition, and its perceived social risks—written in a manner that speaks more of valuation than observation.”
Her voice was steady, but the tension beneath it was unmistakable.
Jasper straightened. “Lady Greaves, I never intended to mislead you. I made it clear that my family had asked me to assess properties in the area. Your retreat was among those of interest.”
“I had gathered as much,” she replied. “What you failed to mention was that those assessments had already begun in earnest before you crossed my threshold. That you were composing a formal case file rather than forming a few private impressions. This reads”—she set the pages gently on the nearest table—“like an investment prospectus. With annotations.”
“That much, I admit.”
Thalia regarded the pages in silence for a moment before continuing, her tone clipped and precise.
“You have recorded details about Miss Fairweather’s deafness and its impact upon her social prospects, evaluated Mr Whiston’s theatrical ambitions in terms of their commercial potential, and assessed Miss Ashworth’s former career with particular attention to whether her association with my establishment might damage its reputation among respectable members of society.”
She looked up. “Do you understand how it feels to see people I value—people who have found shelter here—reduced to a ledger of social risk and commercial merit?”
He held her gaze, his expression subdued. “I do now.”
They stood in silence.
“When I began those reports,” he said at last, “I did not truly understand what you had created here. At the time, I believed I was simply fulfilling my duty—completing an assignment. But that rationale has ceased to hold. The longer I have stayed, the more I have come to see that Seacliff Retreat is not merely unusual. It is rare. And far more worthy than anything the language of acquisition or investment could ever hope to capture.”
Thalia studied him, her expression unreadable. Then: “I appreciate your candour, Lord Jasper. But appreciation does not cancel out the fact that you gathered and recorded information of an intimate nature—without consent. That you examined not only my finances and routines, but the private circumstances of individuals who trusted this house to protect them from precisely such outside judgment.”
His reply was quiet. “You’re right. I can’t defend that.”
She gave a short nod, her voice still composed. “Then I expect you’ll do what’s necessary to correct the record. Not in flattery—just in fairness.”
She turned to leave, but Jasper stepped forward.
