Page 34 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
“And now,” Jasper said, his tone neutral, “we find ourselves invited to marry. In earnest.”
“In defence of my reputation. And yours. And the household whose survival now depends upon our apparent unity.”
There was a silence between them—not uncomfortable, but finely drawn.
At last, Jasper spoke.
“When I first came here, I expected to find eccentricity. Possibly disorder. Certainly a misuse of funds and a great deal of embroidery about ‘artistic purpose.’”
“And instead?” she asked softly.
“I found Miss Fairweather painting birdsong in colour,” he said. “And Kit teaching a boy with a stammer how to recite Shakespeare. I found Violet Ashworth explaining to three very determined young women that scandal is simply a question of who has the louder voice.”
Thalia smiled faintly.
“And I found you,” Jasper continued, now turning to face her fully, “holding it all together with three pins, sheer force of will, and a refusal to let the world dictate what you may or may not create.”
She looked up at him then, and the moment stretched.
“Thalia,” he said, her name catching low in his throat. “I am not offering marriage merely as a remedy. But if it is to happen… I would not have it be another fiction.”
There was a pause—long, thoughtful.
Then she rose, her gaze steady on his.
“Then let it be true,” she said.
He looked at her for a long moment. Something in him eased—not quite relief, not quite triumph, but something gentler. He inclined his head, and a faint smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“Then I shall write to Sebastian.”
She watched him. “Will he object?”
“Oh, certainly,” Jasper said, with quiet amusement. “Which is why I intend to inform him rather than ask.”
Thalia tilted her head. “That sounds unwise.”
“Almost certainly.”
They began walking again, the hush of twilight settling around them.
But something had shifted—subtle, certain—as if two threads, drawn close by necessity, had finally chosen to knot themselves by will.
***
Evening had drawn a soft veil over Seacliff Retreat by the time Hopkins tapped gently at the study door.
“An express post has arrived, my lord,” he said, stepping inside. “From Vexwood.”
Jasper took the envelope without a word. The Vexwood seal—deep red wax, crisply stamped—stood unbroken on the flap. He turned it over in his hand once before drawing his thumb through the seal.
Thalia, seated at the escritoire across the room, looked up from a ledger but said nothing. She watched as Jasper unfolded the letter, eyes scanning the contents with the quiet intensity of a man reading more than the words on the page.
The silence lengthened. At last, Jasper exhaled through his nose—a quiet breath, measured and unreadable.
“From your brother?” she asked gently.
He nodded. “Yes. The Duke is always punctual when his interests are involved.”
