Page 3 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
“Please do not,” Thalia interrupted, holding up one hand while her voice maintained an unnatural calm that belied the tempest of emotions raging beneath her composed exterior. “I find I cannot bear another word on the subject. Not at this moment.”
“But surely I must make amends for such destruction, and the cost of replacing your beautiful carpet alone—” he persisted with the determination of a man who recognised the full magnitude of his blunder.
“Lord Jasper.” She turned to face him with an expression that caused his protestations to die upon his lips like flowers touched by frost. “In the space of less than a quarter hour since your arrival, you have succeeded in destroying my entrance hall, interrupting a crucial business meeting upon which the very future of this establishment depends, subjecting me to what amounts to an interrogation regarding my household arrangements and the propriety thereof, and now you have managed to set fire to my study. I find myself compelled to ask whether you are perhaps the advance guard of some invading army bent upon conquest, or if this level of destruction is simply your customary approach to paying social calls upon unsuspecting ladies?”
He stared at her for what seemed an eternity, his mouth slightly agape with surprise at her forthright assessment of his performance, and then, to her complete and utter astonishment, he began to laugh with genuine, helpless mirth that transformed his entire countenance from shame-faced embarrassment to something approaching boyish charm.
“Advance guard of an invading army,” he gasped between fits of laughter that seemed to bubble up from some deep well of amusement. “Goodness, madam, you are absolutely magnificent in your fury.”
“I beg your pardon?” Thalia blinked at him in confusion, uncertain whether to be insulted by his apparent lack of proper contrition or impressed by his remarkable resilience in the face of social disaster.
“Magnificently terrifying,” he clarified with a grin that seemed to illuminate his entire being, despite the smoke and destruction that surrounded them both. “Most ladies of my acquaintance would be succumbing to hysterics by now, or at the very least demanding their smelling salts and calling for their maids to attend them, but you—you stand there like some avenging goddess of domestic order, utterly composed despite the fact that I have just attempted to reduce your home to ashes through sheer incompetence.”
Thalia found herself at a complete loss for words, uncertain how to respond to such an unexpected reaction to what she had intended as a crushing setdown. “You find this situation amusing, Lord Jasper?”
“I find you remarkable beyond all description,” he said with simple sincerity that made her breath catch in her throat, “though I suspect you hear such declarations rather frequently from gentlemen who have had the privilege of witnessing your extraordinary composure under fire, so to speak.”
“On the contrary, I am far more frequently described as formidable, managing, or—my personal favourite, courtesy of my late husband—catastrophically ornamental,” she replied before she could stop herself, immediately regretting the admission that revealed far more of her private pain than she had intended to share with this virtual stranger.
“Catastrophically ornamental?” Lord Jasper’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline in an expression of genuine incredulity. “Who on earth would describe you in such terms, for they clearly possess neither eyes to see nor sense to appreciate what stands before them?”
“My late husband, among others who shared his particular perspective on the proper role of wives in maintaining household harmony,” Thalia admitted with a bitter laugh, the words slipping past her defences before she could recall them to safety.
Instead of the predatory gleam she had learned to expect from gentlemen when presented with any hint of vulnerability or dissatisfaction with her marriage, Lord Jasper’s expression softened with something that looked remarkably like genuine sympathy mixed with righteous indignation on her behalf.
“Then your late husband,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap around her like a comfortable shawl, “was clearly a fool of the highest order—and I can only be grateful that you are no longer subject to such undeserved censure.”
The unexpected kindness in his voice nearly unravelled her composure. She had grown so accustomed to pity, awkward condolences, and the sort of patronising concern that cast her as something to be managed rather than respected, that this gentle dismissal of her husband’s criticism struck her with the force of revelation. She found herself staring at Lord Jasper with something close to wonder, as though seeing him clearly for the first time since his rather dramatic entrance into her carefully ordered world.
The silence stretched between them like a bridge neither quite dared to cross, broken at last by the sound of rapid footsteps approaching the French doors, accompanied by voices raised in what appeared to be considerable excitement or alarm.
“My lady!” The voice belonged to Hopkins, her long-suffering butler, who appeared in the doorway with his usually impeccable appearance somewhat dishevelled and his expression one of barely controlled panic. “Forgive the intrusion, but a letter has arrived by express messenger, and the young maninsisted it was of the utmost importance and could not wait for a more convenient moment.”
Thalia accepted the sealed missive with hands that trembled only slightly, though her heart sank as she recognised the bold, impatient handwriting that adorned the direction. “Thank you, Hopkins, though I fear this correspondence is precisely what I have been dreading to receive.”
She broke the seal with careful deliberation, unfolding the single sheet of expensive paper to reveal the message she had hoped might never come. As her eyes moved across the familiar scrawl, her face grew progressively paler, and Lord Jasper stepped closer with an expression of concern that seemed entirely unfeigned.
“I trust it is not bearing ill news?” he inquired gently, though he made no attempt to read the contents of her private correspondence.
“On the contrary, it bears news that was entirely predictable, though no less unwelcome for being expected,” Thalia replied with weary resignation, folding the letter carefully before meeting his concerned gaze. “It seems my brother has decided to honour us with his presence here at Seacliff Retreat, and he expresses his intention to assess the situation personally and determine what steps must be taken to resolve what he terms my ‘unfortunate circumstances’ with all possible speed.”
“Your brother?” Lord Jasper’s tone carried a note of wariness that suggested he possessed some understanding of the complications that interfering family members could create. “And I take it his proposed visit is not entirely welcome?”
Thalia hesitated—not long, but enough to remind herself that Lord Jasper was still, for all his charm and attentiveness, very nearly a stranger. Then, with the kind of composed frankness born of long experience, she replied, “Marcus has never approved of my decision to establish this retreat, and he has made his feelings quite clear on numerous occasions through correspondence that grows increasingly pointed with each exchange. He views my independence as both unseemly and potentially dangerous to the family’s reputation, and I suspect he believes that a personal visit will allow him to apply sufficient pressure to convince me to abandon this ‘foolish enterprise’ and return to a more… conventional mode of existence.”
“I see,” Lord Jasper murmured, though something in his expression suggested that he found such interference as distasteful as she did. “And when is his arrival expected?”
“According to this charming missive,” Thalia replied, lifting the folded letter with a flick of her fingers, “he departed London yesterday and intends to arrive sometime on the morrow. I suspect he has paused along the way at some country inn to break the journey—and to compose himself for what promises to be a vigorous campaign of familial persuasion.”
She glanced toward the window, where the light had softened into the pale gold that marked the slow winding-down of the household’s daily rhythm. Beyond the glass, the gardens lay quiet, touched by the first hints of evening.
“In that case,” Lord Jasper said, his tone casual but not without intent, “I wonder if I might impose upon your hospitality a little longer. I would be very interested to see more of this place—properly, I mean. Not merely from a drawing room and a single corridor.”
Thalia studied him for a moment, wary still. “You wish a tour of the retreat?”
“Yes, if you would be willing,” he said.
There was something in his voice—measured curiosity, not performative interest—that gave her pause. She had been bracing herself for clever angles and flattering entreaties, but his request felt… steady. Almost respectful.
