Page 2 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
“Hardly anything so pleasant as that,” Thalia replied dryly, studying her unexpected visitor with renewed wariness, for in her extensive experience, gentlemen who appeared without warning at the homes of unprotected widows invariably brought complications in their wake. “Might I inquire as to the true purpose of your visit, Lord Jasper, for I confess I was not expecting callers today, and your arrival seems remarkably well-timed to coincide with my interview with Mr Wyndham?”
“Ah, well, I fear my arrival is rather presumptuous, and I can only hope you will not think too poorly of me for appearing upon your doorstep without proper introduction,” he admitted, though something in his manner suggested there was more to his presence than mere social curiosity. “You see, I find myself in Brighton on a matter of family business that I confess I find rather tedious, and I had heard such intriguing things about your retreat from various sources that I simply felt compelled to see this remarkable establishment for myself.”
“Family business?” Thalia’s tone sharpened with suspicion, for she had learned that when gentlemen spoke vaguely of “family business,” it usually involved either gambling debts that required immediate settlement or marriage settlements that required the cooperation of unwilling parties. “What manner of family business brings a Vexley to Brighton in November, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”
“The most tedious sort imaginable, I assure you—nothing more exciting than reviewing various properties and investments on behalf of my family’s interests,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, though Thalia caught the flicker of something that might have been annoyance or perhaps reluctance that crossed his handsome features before he could suppress it. “Nothing that needconcern you in the slightest, I give you my word, but do tell me about this marvellous establishment of yours, for I understand you provide refuge for artists and other creative souls who might otherwise find themselves without proper support or encouragement?”
Family properties and investments.
The phrase set off warning bells in Thalia’s mind with all the subtlety of a fire alarm, for she had not survived two years of widowhood without developing a healthy suspicion of gentlemen who took sudden interest in her affairs while simultaneously conducting mysterious business in her immediate vicinity.
“I provide a home for individuals whose talents might otherwise go unrecognised by a society that values commerce above beauty and practicality above inspiration,” she said carefully, choosing her words with the precision of a diplomat navigating treacherous political waters. “Artists, writers, musicians—those in need of peace and encouragement to pursue their craft without the constant worry of where their next meal might come from, or whether they will have a roof over their heads when winter arrives.”
“How wonderfully charitable of you, and what a noble undertaking it must be to provide such sanctuary for those whose gifts are not immediately appreciated by the masses,” Lord Jasper replied, his tone perfectly pleasant and appropriately admiring, though something in his eyes suggested he was cataloguing details with far more attention than mere polite interest would warrant. “And you manage this establishment entirely through your own resources and efforts?”
“I am hardly alone in this endeavour, Lord Jasper, for I have several residents who contribute significantly to the daily management of the retreat and whose wisdom and experience prove invaluable in maintaining the peaceful atmosphere that allows creativity to flourish,” she replied, moving behind her desk to use the substantial piece of furniture as a barrier between them, for she had learned that maintaining proper distance was essential when dealing with gentlemen of uncertain motives. “Though I confess myself curious as to why the particular arrangements of my household should be of such interest to a gentleman of your evident standing in society.”
Lord Jasper’s smile never wavered, though she caught the slight tightening around his eyes that suggested her question had struck closer to the mark than he found comfortable. “Mere curiosity, I assure you, Lady Greaves, for one hears such conflicting accounts of these artistic communities from various sources—some claim they are havens of inspiration and creativity, while others suggest they are rather more—”
“Dens of iniquity populated by fallen women and dissolute poets who have abandoned all pretence of proper moral behaviour?” Thalia interrupted, her voice dropping to a temperature that could have frozen the English Channel in the height of summer. “How refreshing to encounter such an original perspective, Lord Jasper,for I confess I have never heard such concerns expressed before by visitors to my establishment.”
“I say, that is not what I meant at all, and I fear you have quite misunderstood my intentions—” he began, appearing genuinely flustered for the first time since his dramatic entrance.
“Is it not, indeed?” She fixed him with a stare that had once made seasoned diplomats stammer and retreat in confusion. “Then perhaps you might be so good as to enlighten me as to what youdidmean by such observations?”
For a long moment, Lord Jasper appeared genuinely at a loss for words—a sight that Thalia found surprisingly satisfying, for most men of his particular stamp sailed through life with such unshakeable confidence that watching one actually struggle for an appropriate response was rather like witnessing a cat attempt to bark or a fish endeavour to climb a tree.
“I meant,” he said at last, his voice marked by a sincerity that took her off guard, “that I have long held an interest in the patronage of the arts—and in offering support to those whose talents are too easily dismissed by a society that values only what is immediately profitable. My sister Eliza is a gifted painter and a voracious reader, and I’ve seen firsthand how little encouragement such gifts receive when they do not serve some utilitarian end.”
The quiet earnestness of his tone struck her almost physically. She had braced herself for charming deflection or polished pomposity—not this gentle undercurrent of genuine concern, which hinted at deeper convictions than she had credited him with.
“Your sister is an artist?” she asked, her suspicion softening, if only slightly.
“Indeed. She sketches beautifully, though she would be mortified to hear me say so.” A flicker of something—fondness, touched with the faintest trace of regret—crossed his features. “There’s always been a streak of artistic sensibility in the family, I suppose. I have never had Eliza’s hand for drawing, but I’ve always had a certain fondness for artistic expression—much like my twin brother. Though, unlike me, he was inclined to seek... less conventional outlets for it, particularly in our younger years.”
He paused—a light, deliberate beat—and though Thalia could not have said exactly why, she sensed mischief in the spaces between his words.
“Our parents were never quite sure what to make of it,” he added, with a faintly wry smile. “And I daresay my brother the duke sees little merit in such eccentricities.”
Before Thalia could formulate a response to this unexpected revelation, a commotion arose from the garden outside her windows, the sound of raised voices drifting through the glass with enough urgency to draw her immediate attention. She could distinguish at least three different speakers, one of them clearlydistressed, though the exact nature of their discussion remained unclear from her position within the study.
“If you will excuse me for a moment, Lord Jasper, it sounds as though some difficulty has arisen among my residents, and I must see what assistance they might require,” Thalia said, moving swiftly toward the French doors that opened onto the stone terrace overlooking her carefully tended gardens.
“Of course, and please allow me to accompany you, for perhaps I might be of some assistance in resolving whatever difficulty has presented itself,” Lord Jasper replied, following closely behind her.
It was in his evident haste to keep pace with her determined stride that disaster struck with the inevitable force of gravity itself. As Thalia stepped through the doorway onto the terrace, Lord Jasper somehow managed to catch his foot upon the edge of the Persian carpet that graced her study floor, stumbling forward with arms windmilling wildly in a desperate attempt to regain his balance, only to collide directly with the small side table that held the room’s oil lamp with its delicate glass chimney and carefully trimmed wick.
Time seemed to slow to the pace of honey dripping from a spoon as Thalia watched in horrified fascination while the lamp toppled from its secure perch, its glass chimney shattering against the polished wooden floor with a crash that seemed to echo through the sudden silence. The flame, freed from its protective cage like some malevolent spirit released from bondage, licked hungrily at the oil that spread across her favourite Persian rug with alarming speed, sending tendrils of smoke curling toward the plastered ceiling.
“Good grief!” Lord Jasper exclaimed, leaping forward with the obvious intention of stamping out the flames with his expertly polished boots—a gesture that would have been admirably heroic had it not resulted in spreading the burning oil even further across the expensive carpet in a pattern that resembled nothing so much as a small but enthusiastic bonfire.
Thalia, drawing upon reserves of composure that she had not known she possessed until this very moment, seized the water pitcher from her washstand and doused the flames in three swift, efficient movements that spoke of a practical nature hidden beneath her ladylike exterior. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air like an unwelcome guest, and a substantial portion of her favourite rug now bore permanent testament to Lord Jasper’s misguided rescue attempt.
They stood in the sudden silence that followed this domestic catastrophe, both breathing heavily from exertion and shock, surveying the damage with expressions that ranged from dismay to outright horror.
Lord Jasper’s face had gone quite pale beneath his natural healthy colour, and his hands trembled slightly as he attempted to smooth his dishevelled hair back into some semblance of order.
“Lady Greaves,” he began, his voice hoarse with smoke and mortification, “I cannot begin to express how deeply sorry I am for this inexcusable accident, and I must insist upon making full recompense for all the damage I have caused—”
