Page 39 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
Unbeknownst to them, just beyond the low hedge that bordered the far garden path, a woman stood still.
She had not meant to eavesdrop. She had meant only to walk.
But the sound of her name—spoken with such quiet reverence—had stilled her, and now Lady Thalia Greaves stood, eyes closed, breath uneven, listening.
Listening to the man who had once offered to lend her a name, and now offered something far more dangerous.
Himself.
She did not wait to hear Edmund’s reply.
She turned back toward the Retreat—her stride purposeful, her resolve sharpened by new understanding.
He would not protect her by sacrificing his reputation.
She would protect him by refusing the cost.
***
The house was now quiet.
Too quiet.
The usual rustlings of late-night activity—the turning of pages, a distant piano key struck in passing, the murmured hush of shared whispers—had all fallen away. Tonight, Seacliff Retreat seemed wrapped in a strange stillness, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Thalia walked its corridors slowly, candle in hand. Shadows followed her across the panelled walls, tall and wavering. Her slippers made no sound against the floors she had come to know like a second skin.
At the foot of the east wing staircase, she paused.
It would be easier, perhaps, to let things remain as they were. To say nothing. To pretend she had not heard the words spoken in the garden. That her heart had not twisted with them.
But silence was its own cruelty. And she would not let him pay the price of her resolve.
She climbed the stairs.
The east wing had once housed visiting scholars, foreign musicians, patrons of delicate fortune and generous ambition. Now it also housed one man—one who did not belong, and who had stayed anyway.
At his door, she hesitated. Then knocked, once.
There was a moment’s pause. Then the latch turned.
Jasper stood in his shirtsleeves, coat and cravat discarded, though his posture was composed. He had not expected her, but he did not look surprised.
He stepped back, allowing her to enter.
Thalia walked past him into the room, her candle casting soft light over the modest furnishings. A chair. A writing desk. The fire still banked to embers. His letter to Sebastian had not yet been sealed.
She turned to face him. “You love me.”
He said nothing at first. Then, softly: “I do.”
Her throat tightened. But she forced herself forward.
“And I believe you would stay. You would stand beside me, shoulder this scandal, defend my name—at cost to your own.”
“Yes,” he said. “Without hesitation.”
“Then let me do for you what you would do for me,” she said. “Let me protect you.”
