Page 51 of The Widow's Scandalous Gentleman
Thalia turned slightly. “Ivy?”
He nodded. “Her composure, her refusal to court sympathy—he couldn’t dismiss her. Couldn’t fold her into a convenient narrative of fragility. And once you allow one exception to your worldview… the rest begins to follow.”
“Let us hope he means to make space, not simply gesture,” Thalia said quietly. “One can host a celebration and still close the door after it ends.”
Jasper looked at her, solemn now. “He means to open the door. And leave it open. I know it.”
She didn’t answer—but she didn’t refute him, either.
The sound of approaching carriages drew their attention to the windows. Outside, a line of guests began to descend—some familiar, others long absent—each arrival poised to either affirm or complicate whatever resolution His Grace had planned. The gathering was no longer a private affair. This was a statement, and the guest list had been chosen accordingly.
Among those alighting were faces Thalia remembered from brighter days—individuals who had once spoken warmly of Seacliff Retreat but had grown silent when scandal bloomed. Their presence now suggested either a change of heart or a curiosity too pressing to ignore. The care with which each was received—announced by name, ushered inside with quiet ceremony—spoke to Sebastian’s understanding: that reputation was not rebuilt with words alone, but with precision, attention, and a certain kind of grace.
Lady Margaret Vexley entered the drawing room with her usual briskness, but there was something altered in her bearing. Anticipation had softened her usual severity. She crossed the room with purpose and stopped before Thalia with the calm of someone who had faced her own errors—and resolved not to repeat them.
“Lady Greaves,” she began, her voice direct, “I hope you will not think it presumptuous if I speak plainly. You had every reason to refuse our invitation. And every reason to doubt our intentions. Yet you came.”
Her eyes were now steady with something quite difficult to define—humility, perhaps. Or respect.
“I wish to acknowledge that your arrival here required no small courage. As did your continued advocacy—for your residents, for your principles, and for yourself. I now understand that what I once dismissed as an idealistic venture is, in truth, something more durable and more necessary. And I admit, with no small discomfort, that I was wrong.”
Thalia inclined her head, composed but cautious. “Your candour honours you, Lady Margaret. And I am grateful for it. But I admit, I remain uncertain about what exactly this afternoon holds.”
She gestured lightly to the hall beyond, where the footmen moved with the quiet choreography of preparation.
“You spoke of consultation. But this feels very much like spectacle.”
Margaret’s lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, but close.
“That, I suspect, is deliberate.”
Before Thalia could press further, the drawing room doors opened once more.
Sir Edmund Thornwick entered with his usual unhurried precision, his presence needing no announcement. He crossed the threshold, nodding first to Margaret, then to Thalia and Jasper with the ease of familiarity.
“Lady Greaves,” he said, his voice warm but restrained. “Lord Jasper. A pleasure to see you both again—under circumstances no less fraught, though perhaps slightly more hopeful.”
Thalia’s expression shifted, surprise quickly tempered by recognition.
“Sir Edmund,” she greeted, recovering her composure. “I hadn’t expected you—though I can’t say I’m displeased to see you here.”
“Nor I you,” he replied. “When the Duke and Lady Margaret asked if I would advise on the arrangements, I accepted without hesitation. There is, I believe, more at stake here than estate formalities or family pride.”
Jasper moved forward, offering a firm shake of the older man’s hand. “And you are just the man for it.”
Sir Edmund inclined his head. “Let us hope so.”
Margaret, who had moved to stand beside the hearth, now addressed them both.
“We have asked Sir Edmund to offer not only legal guidance, but also to provide a degree of impartiality as this moves—inevitably—into public view. What takes place today may influence more than just the fate of the Retreat. It may help set precedent.”
“For what?” Thalia asked, quietly.
“For how society regards unconventional community,” Margaret replied. “And whether merit can outweigh reputation.”
There was a beat of silence.
Sir Edmund turned to the windows. Outside, more carriages were arriving.
