Page 33 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
“Because the circumstances in which you now find yourselves—this convergence of public scandal and legal ambiguity—may require a remedy not easily found in statute or precedent.”
Jasper lifted a brow. “I see. And what remedy would you suggest? A duel, mayhap?”
Edmund allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch. “Nothing so dramatic.”
His gaze shifted to Thalia. “Let me speak plainly. The matter of guardianship is no longer speculative. The Earl of Berendon intends to pursue it formally. If successful, he would gain legal authority over your estate and personal affairs.”
Thalia’s hands, folded lightly in her lap, did not move.
“But there is a means to render such a claim void before it is made,” Edmund continued. “Should you choose to… expedite your wedding, your husband would naturally supersede any brother in questions of guardianship. And, more usefully still—”
He paused, and now his voice dropped slightly, enough to suggest discretion rather than manipulation.
“—a wedding, especially one of some note, would shift public attention. It would create… noise. The sort that delays proceedings. Reframes narratives.”
Thalia tilted her head. “You’re advising me to marry in order to distract the public?”
“I am notadvisinganything, my lady. I am offering a potential course of action. A wedding might be your best defence—on both social and legal fronts.”
Jasper was silent. Thalia could feel the quiet shift in him before she turned to look.
“And if a wedding were to be announced,” she asked, her voice even but measured, “would it not invite speculation rather than quiet it?”
“On the contrary,” Edmund replied. “Given the nature of your present understanding, such an announcement would appear both timely and entirely natural.”
He stood then, as though aware his suggestion had landed and that lingering would only diminish it.
“I have taken a risk by speaking as plainly as I have. I leave the decision in your hands.” He bowed. “Lady Greaves. My lord.”
And with that, he departed, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Jasper, with the smallest of smiles, said, “Well. I suppose we ought to discuss the matter of our imminent nuptials.”
Thalia looked at him.
Her voice, when it came, was quiet. “Yes. I suppose we must.”
***
The sun had lowered enough to cast long, softened shadows across the southern garden. The air still held the brightness of day, but the hush of evening had begun to settle—an hour too quiet for formality, too golden for indifference.
Thalia walked beside Jasper in silence for a time, the muted crunch of their footsteps the only sound between them. A gentle breeze stirred the hem of her gown and set the hedges whispering, but she did not speak. Neither did he.
At last, she drew a breath. “I cannot quite decide whether Sir Edmund is the most reasonable man I’ve encountered this week or the most mad.”
Jasper gave a low hum of agreement. “He is certainly one who understands the currency of appearances.”
“And we,” she said with a dry smile, “have been forced to trade in nothing else.”
They reached the stone sundial at the garden’s centre and paused. The bench nearby, worn smooth by weather and years of quiet use, beckoned without ceremony. Thalia sat; Jasper remained standing, hands behind his back as he regarded the roses in thoughtful silence.
“Our arrangement,” she said at last, her voice steady but not cold, “was initially meant to be a matter of convenience. Practicality. A defence.”
He glanced at her, but did not interrupt.
“A courtship, however brief, to lend your name to my establishment. To forestall speculation. To reassure donors. To make the Retreat appear less… radical.”
