Page 27 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
The words were neither accusation nor rebuke. They were truth.
He opened his mouth to reply—some half-formed argument of earnest feeling and naïve hope—but the sound of swift footsteps in the corridor forestalled any response. The soft hush of slippered feet against stone, a knock barely formed, then the library door eased open.
Miss Ivy Fairweather appeared on the threshold, her eyes wide and apologetic, her posture taut with hesitation. She hovered as though preparing to withdraw again, but her hands moved quickly in urgent signs.
“She’s sorry to intrude,” Thalia translated, stepping toward her, “but she’s troubled. She saw someone in the garden. Watching the house. For some time.”
Jasper’s expression sharpened. “Watching?”
Ivy nodded emphatically and signed again, her gestures swift and certain. Thalia read them aloud, her tone growing graver with each word.
“She says the figure remained hidden in the shrubbery for nearly two hours. Watched the front entrance. The parlour windows. Made notes.”
“Notes?” Jasper echoed, his voice taut with alarm.
Ivy nodded again. Her fingers danced, then stilled, clenched into anxious fists.
“She’s frightened,” Thalia said simply. “She thinks this was no casual loiterer. It was surveillance. Intentional. Planned.”
Jasper’s eyes darkened. “So they’re no longer content to speculate from a distance.”
Before either could speak further, hurried footsteps approached from the opposite corridor—boots this time, quick and uneven.
Mr Christopher Whiston appeared next, dishevelled and breathless, his coat hastily buttoned over a crumpled waistcoat.
“Lady Greaves, Lord Jasper, forgive the interruption,” he said quickly, “I have just come from town. My sources say that Lady Gossamer has been corresponding with your brother—and with certain members of the Vexley family. She’s shared observations about Seacliff. About your courtship. About the... convenient timing of everything.”
Jasper muttered something dark under his breath.
“She’s framed it,” Kit continued, “as an arrangement of convenience, masking impropriety. According to my source, she’s been careful—never overtly slanderous—but persistent. And effective.”
Thalia folded her arms, her chin lifting. “What does that mean for tomorrow?”
Kit hesitated.
“Out with it,” she said impatiently.
“There have been... arrangements,” Kit said, his voice grave. “Representatives of your brother’s legal counsel will accompany him tomorrow—under the guise of a social call. But they’re bringing documentation. Prepared ones. Guardianship. Financial control. Property reassignment. The implication is unmistakable: they intend to place you—legally—under your brother’s supervision.”
Silence fell like a shroud.
Thalia exhaled slowly, evenly—though her spine remained ramrod straight, and her hands were now tightly clasped.
“Documentation?” Jasper echoed, his brows drawing low. “Are you suggesting they mean to have Lady Greaves declared incompetent? That her association with Seacliff, and its inhabitants, is evidence of diminished judgment—moral or otherwise?”
“Exactly that,” Kit replied grimly. “They are said to have compiled testimonies from multiple sources—servants, neighbours, visitors—each designed to paint this household as, quote, irregular and morally unsound. They’re making a case for unfitness. For the necessity of male oversight.”
A quiet rustle drew their attention toward the library door.
Miss Violet Ashworth stepped inside, elegant as ever, though the shadows beneath her eyes betrayed the weight of what she had already intuited. She paused only long enough to take in the assembled expressions before speaking.
“My dears,” she said gently, “I believe we must now admit that our success—however gratifying—has made us a target. Continued operation under the present arrangement is no longer tenable. Not without protection far stronger than fiction.”
Her voice, calm but unsparing, held the authority of someone long practiced in the navigation of fragile alliances and brutal social terrain. No one mistook her tone for defeat.
“You speak,” Thalia said, “as though you’ve identified an alternative to the half-measures and evasions we’ve relied upon.”
Violet smiled faintly. “Not an alternative. A shift.”
