Page 35 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
He didn’t offer the letter, but read aloud, his voice steady, though it carried the faintest undertone of resignation:
My dear Jasper,
Your continued presence in Brighton has not gone unnoticed. Given your original purpose in visiting—that is, to assess properties along the coast for potential estate expansion—I had expected a detailed report before now.
“I understand, through no formal channel, that your current position at Seacliff Retreat has become... more complicated than anticipated.
As such, I write to request clarification—both of your findings regarding the estate itself and of your intentions in remaining where, it seems, public interest has turned from curiosity to concern. The Retreat now finds itself at the centre of considerable attention, and while I am not one to indulge idle gossip, you are well aware that our family name does not endure public speculation lightly.
If you have taken up interests beyond what you were sent to examine, I trust you will apprise me directly. I remind you that discretion and clarity remain paramount to any man of our name.
I await your reply.
Your brother,
Vexwood”
Jasper folded the letter slowly, his expression unreadable. He set it beside him on the armrest of his chair.
“He is not unsympathetic,” he said at last. “But he is… exacting.”
Thalia tilted her head, her voice cool. “That letter did not read as sympathetic.”
“No,” he allowed. “But it wasn’t unkind. Sebastian rarely expends sentiment. He prefers to express himself through expectation.”
She rose from her desk and crossed the room, coming to stand beside him.
“He suspects something has changed.”
Jasper glanced up at her, his expression softening. “He suspects I’ve stopped sending reports because I no longer trust myself to write them honestly.”
“And have you?”
He looked at her then, fully—no performance, no detachment. “I believe I have.”
They stood in silence for a moment longer.
“He will expect a reply,” Thalia said quietly.
“Yes,” Jasper agreed. “He will.”
He reached again for the letter, folded it once more, and laid it flat against his palm.
“Well,” he murmured, with the faintest trace of dry humour, “it appears the family account is due.”
Chapter Sixteen
The missive arrived the following morning, just after ten.
Hopkins, composed and unsmiling, placed it upon a silver salver atop the sideboard. He said nothing, but the way his gaze lingered on Thalia as he withdrew suggested he already knew what it contained. The seal—black ink, official, implacable—was unmistakable.
The morning room had gathered slowly, as it always did. Violet was at her usual post near the window, a book in her lap but untouched. Ivy had taken her tea in silence, fingers moving occasionally in quiet conversation with Kit, who translated her thoughts with murmured patience. Aunt Iris stood before the unlit hearth, fan in hand.
Jasper remained beside the bookshelf, outwardly relaxed, but his posture had stiffened the moment the envelope entered the room.
Thalia took the letter without flourish. She read in silence.
Not even the fire crackled.
