Page 19 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
“My reasons have clarified more than I anticipated,” he said, low but firm. “What you’ve built here is rare. I see that now. And I believe it deserves not just protection, but admiration. If I can help preserve it—truly—I will.”
It was the kind of declaration that, under different circumstances, might have stirred real trust. But Thalia had learned to be wary of earnestness—especially when it came wrapped in charm and good breeding.
“Very well,” she said at last, her voice carrying the steadiness of command. “We’ll accept your assistance—on the understanding that this is a shared effort, in defence of something worth preserving. Not a quiet step toward its dissolution.”
He bowed, and she did not miss the flicker of something like relief behind his eyes.
With that unspoken accord struck, attention turned to the tasks ahead. Conversations resumed with new urgency, and what had begun as a defensive gesture was evolving into something bolder—a declaration not just of resilience, but of intent.
To prove that a house like Seacliff Retreat could stand not only as a haven, but as a model: principled, respectable, and alive with beauty.
It would require more than talent. It would demand faultless execution, impeccable decorum, and a touch of grace—possibly even luck. But the alternative, Thalia knew, was silence. Erasure. Surrender.
And that, she would not allow.
Chapter Eight
“I fear Mr Templeton’s eagerness to formalise his courtship is exceeded only by your brother’s determination to resolve what he views as the regrettable entanglements of your present circumstances,” Lord Jasper said. “I received correspondence this morning which suggests their combined pressure may soon require responses—responses that could fundamentally alter your authority in managing the affairs of this household.”
Lord Jasper stood before the library windows where the morning light illuminated the careful repairs that had restored order to the room following the previous week’s storm damage. His expression bore the gravity that had marked their recent discussions, each one coloured by mounting threats: family interference, public scrutiny, and the slow tightening of legal nooses.
Lady Thalia Greaves looked up from the documents in her lap, her dark eyes shadowed by sleepless nights, hard decisions, and the relentless demands of preparing a salon meant to salvage both reputation and livelihood. She said nothing at first, only blinked once with the stillness of a woman calculating which crisis to confront next.
“And what,” she asked at last, her voice calm but edged with steel, “has prompted so ominous a warning?”
Lord Jasper shifted slightly. “I have, unfortunately, something of a talent for hearing such developments the moment they begin to circulate—particularly when they carry the sheen of certainty rather than speculation.”
He met her gaze. “Your brother has informed Mr Templeton that you have reconsidered your reluctance to marry. He has arranged for a formal proposal this afternoon—witnessed by both families, and accompanied by settlement negotiations conducted on the assumption that your consent has already been obtained.”
The blow landed. She said nothing, only drew a breath that was neither quick nor shallow, as though absorbing the impact required care.
“He hasarrangedmy marriage?” she said finally, her voice low with incredulity. “Without my consultation or agreement?”
“Further still,” Jasper said, with evident reluctance, “I’ve heard that legal documents have already been drawn up—documents that would, upon yourmarriage, transfer ownership of Seacliff Retreat to Mr Templeton. Full control. Effective immediately.”
Thalia’s eyes narrowed, not with confusion but clarity. “Prepared by whom?”
“Solicitors acting under instructions from both your brother and Mr Templeton’s father,” he replied grimly. “They have prepared contingencies. Should you resist, they are ready to proceed without public confrontation—though not without private consequences. In essence, they intend to place you in a position where refusal would be both difficult and potentially damaging to your establishment’s reputation.”
The silence that followed was dense and complete, broken only by the quiet scratch of Ivy’s brush in the next room and the distant murmur of Violet’s voice. Peaceful sounds, rendered suddenly precarious.
“There must be some legal recourse,” Thalia said at length, though her voice lacked conviction. “Some remedy. Surely—”
“I fear the law is not often written in defence of women who manage property alone,” he said gently. “Especially when male relatives can claim—however falsely—to act on their behalf.”
“Not much left for me to do then, I suppose,” Thalia said, her voice tight with the kind of desperate frankness that betrayed the sheer pressure she had been carrying—pressure that seemed carefully designed to exhaust any resistance she might raise against the combined assault of familial duty, legal constraint, and social expectation.
Lord Jasper drew a slow breath, the kind that marked the crossing of a threshold. His usual composure had given way to a grave uncertainty, as though even he recognised the audacity of the idea forming in his mind. And yet, the quiet force of his conviction—the urgency of protecting her work, her home, her people—seemed to outweigh his caution.
“There may be one course,” he said at last, deliberate and steady. “Something that might afford the legal protection you require, while preserving your authority over this household and its affairs.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What manner of course?”
He met her gaze. “A courtship,” he said quietly. “Between us.”
The words fell into the room like a stone dropped into still water.
“A courtship with the understood direction of betrothal,” he continued, “would make further interference from your brother both socially and legally hazardous. It would establish—publicly—that your household is under the interest and approbation of a family with both consequence and influence. It would buy you time. Legitimacy. Shield.”
