Chapter One

“I do not care if your ladyship must sell every last stick of furniture in this wretched pile, Lady Greaves, for my clients will have their money, or they will have this property, and the choice, as they say, is entirely yours to make.”

Lady Thalia Greaves regarded Mr Wyndham across her study desk with the sort of cool disdain typically reserved for particularly persistent insects that had somehow found their way into one’s drawing room. The creditor’s agent sat hunched forward in his chair like a vulture anticipating carrion, his beady eyes darting about the room as if already cataloguing its contents for the auction block, his fingers drumming an impatient tattoo upon his leather portfolio.

“How refreshingly direct of you, Mr Wyndham, though I confess myself curious whether you practice that particular speech before your looking glass each morning, or if such eloquent brutality comes as naturally to you as breathing,” Thalia replied, her voice carrying the crisp authority that had once cowed drawing rooms across the length and breadth of London society.

Mr Wyndham’s sallow complexion darkened considerably at her retort, and he shifted in his chair with the uncomfortable air of a man unused to having his pronouncements questioned by anyone, least of all by a lady. “Your ladyship’s wit is renowned throughout the ton, to be sure, but wit will not satisfy your creditors, and you have precisely six weeks to produce three thousand pounds, or—”

“Or Seacliff Retreat shall be torn down brick by brick to build some merchant’s gaudy monument to his newfound commerce, yes, Mr Wyndham, you have made your position abundantly clear on no fewer than three occasions during this delightful interview,” Thalia rose from her chair with the fluid grace that had been drilled into her from childhood, smoothing her black mourning dress with hands that remained perfectly steady despite the tumultuous thoughts racing through her mind. Even after two years of widowhood, she found the severe colour suited both her temperament and her firm determination to discourage the advances of fortune-hunting suitors who might view a widow’s independence as a challenge to be overcome.

“Might I suggest, however, that you consider the broader implications of your threat before you proceed with such unseemly haste?” she continued, moving toward the tall windows that overlooked the gardens where several of her residents could be observed pursuing their various artistic endeavours in the mild November afternoon light.

“Implications, my lady?” Wyndham blinked rapidly, clearly unused to having his carefully rehearsed intimidation tactics met with anything other than tears or immediate capitulation from distressed gentlewomen.

“Indeed, Mr Wyndham, for this retreat provides sanctuary for artists who might otherwise find themselves cast upon the mercies of an unforgiving world that has little use for beauty or creativity,” Thalia explained with the patience one might employ when instructing a particularly slow child. “We currently house a deaf painter whose work is beginning to gain recognition in the most fashionable London circles, a playwright whose most recent work was praised by no less a personage than Lord Byron himself, and a former opera singer whose voice, though somewhat diminished by time and circumstance, still possesses the power to teach others to soar above the mundane concerns of daily existence.”

She paused to observe the effect of her words upon her unwelcome visitor, noting with satisfaction the slight uncertainty that had crept into his previously confident demeanour. “Tell me, Mr Wyndham, what do you suppose the newspapers might make of such a story as this—‘Heartless Creditors Destroy Haven for Struggling Artists’—for it has rather a dramatic ring to it, does it not, and I suspect the reading public would find themselves quite moved by such a tale of artistic persecution?”

Mr Wyndham shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his earlier bravado beginning to waver under the weight of her steady gaze and the implications of her words. “Your ladyship mistakes my position in this matter entirely, for I am merely the agent of others, and I cannot—”

A tremendous crash from the entrance hall interrupted his protestation with all the subtlety of a cannon blast, followed immediately by a string of colourful oaths that would have made a seasoned dock worker blush with shame and caused any proper young lady to reach immediately for her smelling salts. Both occupants of the study turned toward the door as the sound of running footsteps echoed through the corridor, accompanied by the raised voice of Hopkins, the butler, sounding decidedly distressed.

“I say, is everyone quite all right out there? Terribly sorry about that unfortunate incident—didn’t see the blasted thing at all, though I suppose I should have been paying closer attention to my surroundings rather than admiring the remarkable architecture of this establishment! No harm done to anyone, I most sincerely hope?”

The voice that drifted through the partially open door was unmistakably masculine, cultured in the manner that spoke of the finest education, and tinged with the sort of carelessly charming tone that Thalia had learned through bitter experience to distrust with every fibre of her being, for such voices invariably belonged to gentlemen who considered the world their personal playground and every woman in it a potential conquest.

“Perhaps, Mr Wyndham, we might continue this delightful conversation at another time, for I believe I must attend to whatever catastrophe has just befallen my entrance hall, though I suspect from the sound of things that it may require some considerable effort to restore order,” Thalia said with arctic politeness, moving toward the door with measured steps that betrayed none of the irritation she felt at this untimely interruption to an already trying interview.

She had nearly reached the door when it swung open with dramatic suddenness to reveal a figure that made her steps falter and her breath catch quite unexpectedly in her throat. The gentleman who appeared in her doorway was tall and elegantly dressed in the first style of fashion, his dark blue coat fitting his broad shoulders to absolute perfection, his buff-coloured breeches without a single wrinkle, and his boots polished to a mirror shine that spoke of a valet who took considerable pride in his work. His hair, the deep, warm brown of polished wood, showed signs of having been recently dishevelled despite what had clearly been careful attention from that same devoted valet, and his grey eyes held an expression of rueful embarrassment that might have been charming under entirely different circumstances.

More concerning still, he was devastatingly handsome in precisely the way that Thalia had sworn upon her late husband’s grave to avoid for the remainder of her natural life, for such men brought nothing but heartache and disappointment to women foolish enough to believe their practised declarations of devotion.

“Lady Greaves, I presume?” The stranger swept off his hat with a flourish and executed a bow that managed to be both perfectly proper according to the strictest standards of etiquette and somehow irreverent in a manner that suggested he found the entire ritual of formal society rather amusing. “Lord Jasper Vexley, at your most humble service, and I do hope you will find it in your generous heart to forgive the rather dramatic nature of my arrival, for I fear your entrance hall may never fully recover from the shock of my presence.”

Lord Jasper Vexley. Thalia’s mind raced through her mental catalogue of society gossip with the efficiency of a well-trained librarian, quickly locating the relevant information about this unexpected visitor. One of the notorious Vexley twins, if she recalled the gossip correctly, younger brother to His Grace the Duke of Vexwood, possessed of a considerable fortune that afforded him the luxury of pursuing whatever diversions caught his fancy, and graced with a reputation for charm that had served him well in London’s most exclusive ballrooms.

In short, precisely the sort of gentleman she had come to Brighton specifically to avoid, for such men viewed widows as particularly entertaining challenges to be conquered through the application of sufficient charm and persistence.

“Lord Jasper,” she replied with the careful courtesy that served as both greeting and warning to those astute enough to recognise it. “I confess myself intrigued by your mention of my entrance hall’s supposed trauma, and I find I must inquire as to the precise nature of the catastrophe you claim to have inflicted during your evidently eventful arrival.” 

A becoming flush of embarrassment coloured his lean cheeks, and she observed with reluctant interest that it made him appear younger and considerably less practised in the arts of seduction than his reputation suggested. “Ah—yes, well, you see, I encountered your man Hopkins in some considerable distress over a rather substantial spider that had taken up residence in one of the floral arrangements near your front entrance, and being of a naturally chivalrous disposition, I offered to assist in its removal from the premises.”

“How very gallant of you,” Thalia murmured, though she detected a suspicious twitch at the corner of her mouth that threatened to betray the amusement she was struggling to suppress at the image of this elegant gentleman doing battle with garden spiders.

“Unfortunately, in my enthusiasm to rescue the poor fellow from his arachnid predicament, I may have inadvertently collided with what I can only assume was a rather valuable Chinese vase that had been placed in what I now realise was a most unfortunate location,” Lord Jasper continued, his expression growing increasingly sheepish with each word. “Several rather valuable vases, actually, along with what appeared to be a small table and possibly a chair, though the exact inventory of casualties remains somewhat unclear given the general chaos that ensued.”

“I see,” Thalia replied with admirable composure, though inwardly she was calculating the cost of replacing whatever this charming disaster had managed to destroy in the space of his brief acquaintance with her entrance hall. “And how does poor Hopkins fare in the aftermath of this gallant rescue, might I inquire?”

“Splendidly, I am most happy to report, though I believe he may be reconsidering his position on the relative merits of spiders versus visiting gentlemen, and I confess that I am beginning to share his perspective on the matter,” Lord Jasper admitted with a rueful smile that turned his handsome features unexpectedly compelling.

Mr Wyndham cleared his throat with obvious irritation, clearly displeased at having his moment of intimidation interrupted by what he undoubtedly viewed as frivolous social pleasantries. “Lady Greaves, if we might return to our business, for time is of considerable importance in these matters—”

“Our business, Mr Wyndham, is concluded for today, and you have made your position as clear as crystal while I have endeavoured to make mine equally transparent,” Thalia announced with finality, her voice resuming its arctic tone as she turned her attention back to the unwelcome creditor. “I trust you can find your way out without requiring assistance, though perhaps you might take care to avoid any lingering obstacles that Lord Jasper may have inadvertently created during his recent act of arachnid heroism?”

The creditor’s agent rose stiffly from his chair, gathering his papers with the wounded dignity of a man whose carefully planned intimidation had been thoroughly disrupted by circumstances beyond his control. “Six weeks, Lady Greaves, and not a single day longer, for my clients’ patience has its limits, and those limits are rapidly approaching,” he declared with as much authority as he could muster under the circumstances. He cast a suspicious glance at Lord Jasper, who had moved further into the room with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to being welcome wherever he chose to appear. “Good day to you both.”

The moment the door closed behind him with a decisive click, Lord Jasper released a low whistle of appreciation. “What a thoroughly charming fellow that was—I take it he wasn’t here to discuss the remarkable beauty of your rose gardens or to compliment you on the excellent management of your household?”

“Hardly anything so pleasant as that,” Thalia replied dryly, studying her unexpected visitor with renewed wariness, for in her extensive experience, gentlemen who appeared without warning at the homes of unprotected widows invariably brought complications in their wake. “Might I inquire as to the true purpose of your visit, Lord Jasper, for I confess I was not expecting callers today, and your arrival seems remarkably well-timed to coincide with my interview with Mr Wyndham?”

“Ah, well, I fear my arrival is rather presumptuous, and I can only hope you will not think too poorly of me for appearing upon your doorstep without proper introduction,” he admitted, though something in his manner suggested there was more to his presence than mere social curiosity. “You see, I find myself in Brighton on a matter of family business that I confess I find rather tedious, and I had heard such intriguing things about your retreat from various sources that I simply felt compelled to see this remarkable establishment for myself.”

“Family business?” Thalia’s tone sharpened with suspicion, for she had learned that when gentlemen spoke vaguely of “family business,” it usually involved either gambling debts that required immediate settlement or marriage settlements that required the cooperation of unwilling parties. “What manner of family business brings a Vexley to Brighton in November, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”

“The most tedious sort imaginable, I assure you—nothing more exciting than reviewing various properties and investments on behalf of my family’s interests,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, though Thalia caught the flicker of something that might have been annoyance or perhaps reluctance that crossed his handsome features before he could suppress it. “Nothing that need concern you in the slightest, I give you my word, but do tell me about this marvellous establishment of yours, for I understand you provide refuge for artists and other creative souls who might otherwise find themselves without proper support or encouragement?”

Family properties and investments. 

The phrase set off warning bells in Thalia’s mind with all the subtlety of a fire alarm, for she had not survived two years of widowhood without developing a healthy suspicion of gentlemen who took sudden interest in her affairs while simultaneously conducting mysterious business in her immediate vicinity.

“I provide a home for individuals whose talents might otherwise go unrecognised by a society that values commerce above beauty and practicality above inspiration,” she said carefully, choosing her words with the precision of a diplomat navigating treacherous political waters. “Artists, writers, musicians—those in need of peace and encouragement to pursue their craft without the constant worry of where their next meal might come from, or whether they will have a roof over their heads when winter arrives.”

“How wonderfully charitable of you, and what a noble undertaking it must be to provide such sanctuary for those whose gifts are not immediately appreciated by the masses,” Lord Jasper replied, his tone perfectly pleasant and appropriately admiring, though something in his eyes suggested he was cataloguing details with far more attention than mere polite interest would warrant. “And you manage this establishment entirely through your own resources and efforts?”

“I am hardly alone in this endeavour, Lord Jasper, for I have several residents who contribute significantly to the daily management of the retreat and whose wisdom and experience prove invaluable in maintaining the peaceful atmosphere that allows creativity to flourish,” she replied, moving behind her desk to use the substantial piece of furniture as a barrier between them, for she had learned that maintaining proper distance was essential when dealing with gentlemen of uncertain motives. “Though I confess myself curious as to why the particular arrangements of my household should be of such interest to a gentleman of your evident standing in society.”

Lord Jasper’s smile never wavered, though she caught the slight tightening around his eyes that suggested her question had struck closer to the mark than he found comfortable. “Mere curiosity, I assure you, Lady Greaves, for one hears such conflicting accounts of these artistic communities from various sources—some claim they are havens of inspiration and creativity, while others suggest they are rather more—”

“Dens of iniquity populated by fallen women and dissolute poets who have abandoned all pretence of proper moral behaviour?” Thalia interrupted, her voice dropping to a temperature that could have frozen the English Channel in the height of summer. “How refreshing to encounter such an original perspective, Lord Jasper, for I confess I have never heard such concerns expressed before by visitors to my establishment.”

“I say, that is not what I meant at all, and I fear you have quite misunderstood my intentions—” he began, appearing genuinely flustered for the first time since his dramatic entrance.

“Is it not, indeed?” She fixed him with a stare that had once made seasoned diplomats stammer and retreat in confusion. “Then perhaps you might be so good as to enlighten me as to what you did mean by such observations?”

For a long moment, Lord Jasper appeared genuinely at a loss for words—a sight that Thalia found surprisingly satisfying, for most men of his particular stamp sailed through life with such unshakeable confidence that watching one actually struggle for an appropriate response was rather like witnessing a cat attempt to bark or a fish endeavour to climb a tree.

“I meant,” he said at last, his voice marked by a sincerity that took her off guard, “that I have long held an interest in the patronage of the arts—and in offering support to those whose talents are too easily dismissed by a society that values only what is immediately profitable. My sister Eliza is a gifted painter and a voracious reader, and I’ve seen firsthand how little encouragement such gifts receive when they do not serve some utilitarian end.”

The quiet earnestness of his tone struck her almost physically. She had braced herself for charming deflection or polished pomposity—not this gentle undercurrent of genuine concern, which hinted at deeper convictions than she had credited him with.

“Your sister is an artist?” she asked, her suspicion softening, if only slightly.

“Indeed. She sketches beautifully, though she would be mortified to hear me say so.” A flicker of something—fondness, touched with the faintest trace of regret—crossed his features. “There’s always been a streak of artistic sensibility in the family, I suppose. I have never had Eliza’s hand for drawing, but I’ve always had a certain fondness for artistic expression—much like my twin brother. Though, unlike me, he was inclined to seek… less conventional outlets for it, particularly in our younger years.”

He paused—a light, deliberate beat—and though Thalia could not have said exactly why, she sensed mischief in the spaces between his words.

“Our parents were never quite sure what to make of it,” he added, with a faintly wry smile. “And I daresay my brother the duke sees little merit in such eccentricities.”

Before Thalia could formulate a response to this unexpected revelation, a commotion arose from the garden outside her windows, the sound of raised voices drifting through the glass with enough urgency to draw her immediate attention. She could distinguish at least three different speakers, one of them clearly distressed, though the exact nature of their discussion remained unclear from her position within the study.

“If you will excuse me for a moment, Lord Jasper, it sounds as though some difficulty has arisen among my residents, and I must see what assistance they might require,” Thalia said, moving swiftly toward the French doors that opened onto the stone terrace overlooking her carefully tended gardens.

“Of course, and please allow me to accompany you, for perhaps I might be of some assistance in resolving whatever difficulty has presented itself,” Lord Jasper replied, following closely behind her.

It was in his evident haste to keep pace with her determined stride that disaster struck with the inevitable force of gravity itself. As Thalia stepped through the doorway onto the terrace, Lord Jasper somehow managed to catch his foot upon the edge of the Persian carpet that graced her study floor, stumbling forward with arms windmilling wildly in a desperate attempt to regain his balance, only to collide directly with the small side table that held the room’s oil lamp with its delicate glass chimney and carefully trimmed wick.

Time seemed to slow to the pace of honey dripping from a spoon as Thalia watched in horrified fascination while the lamp toppled from its secure perch, its glass chimney shattering against the polished wooden floor with a crash that seemed to echo through the sudden silence. The flame, freed from its protective cage like some malevolent spirit released from bondage, licked hungrily at the oil that spread across her favourite Persian rug with alarming speed, sending tendrils of smoke curling toward the plastered ceiling.

“Good grief!” Lord Jasper exclaimed, leaping forward with the obvious intention of stamping out the flames with his expertly polished boots—a gesture that would have been admirably heroic had it not resulted in spreading the burning oil even further across the expensive carpet in a pattern that resembled nothing so much as a small but enthusiastic bonfire.

Thalia, drawing upon reserves of composure that she had not known she possessed until this very moment, seized the water pitcher from her washstand and doused the flames in three swift, efficient movements that spoke of a practical nature hidden beneath her ladylike exterior. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air like an unwelcome guest, and a substantial portion of her favourite rug now bore permanent testament to Lord Jasper’s misguided rescue attempt.

They stood in the sudden silence that followed this domestic catastrophe, both breathing heavily from exertion and shock, surveying the damage with expressions that ranged from dismay to outright horror. 

Lord Jasper’s face had gone quite pale beneath his natural healthy colour, and his hands trembled slightly as he attempted to smooth his dishevelled hair back into some semblance of order.

“Lady Greaves,” he began, his voice hoarse with smoke and mortification, “I cannot begin to express how deeply sorry I am for this inexcusable accident, and I must insist upon making full recompense for all the damage I have caused—”

“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 man insisted 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.

Thalia hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Very well. But it’s grown too late in the day for such a thing now. Most of the residents have retired to their own pursuits, and the quiet is something I try not to disturb once it settles in.”

“Then allow me to stay the night,” he said, not boldly, but with a quiet firmness that suggested he was more accustomed to cooperation than refusal. “I’ll take whatever chamber is least inconvenient. I give you my word I’ll keep out of the way.”

Thalia arched a brow. “Are you always so quick to insert yourself into other people’s households, or am I to feel specially chosen?”

His mouth curved into something close to a grin, but he answered seriously. “I’ve never encountered a household quite like this one. That’s not flattery—it’s simple fact. And I don’t believe I’ll understand its value if I remain on the doorstep.”

She folded her arms, gaze narrowed slightly. “And if my brother were to arrive early? If he were to find you already installed under my roof, how would you suggest I explain your presence?”

“As a prospective patron,” he replied, without hesitation. “Interested in offering support to an artistic institution that aligns with his values—or challenges them, depending on the mood.”

She gave a soft huff of laughter, though she made no attempt to hide her scepticism. “You truly think yourself capable of charming Marcus Berrington?”

“I make no such claim,” he said easily. “But I’m not entirely without experience in navigating difficult personalities.”

Thalia turned back to the hearth, watching the fire flicker and settle lower in the grate. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet.

“I can offer you the east chamber. It is simple, but comfortable. The tour can follow once you have broken your fast in the morning and the day begins.”

Lord Jasper inclined his head. “More than generous, Lady Greaves. Thank you.”

She said nothing in return for a moment, and the silence settled between them—not uncomfortable, exactly, but watchful. Measured. As though both were aware they had stepped into uncertain territory, and neither quite knew what the next move should be.

Thalia, staring into the fire, found herself wondering—not for the first time that day—whether Lord Jasper’s presence would prove a brief distraction, a source of trouble, or something else entirely.

Outside, the last of the sun slipped behind the garden wall, and the house, already quiet, seemed to exhale into stillness.

Chapter Two

“I confess myself most curious, Lord Jasper, as to what manner of assessment you propose to conduct regarding an establishment whose purpose you claim to admire so greatly. There seems to be some contradiction between your professed interest in artistic patronage and the family business that brought you to Brighton in the first place.”

Lady Thalia Greaves stood beside the tall window of the morning room, her dark gaze fixed upon Lord Jasper Vexley with the sort of penetrating attention that had once caused seasoned diplomats to reconsider their carefully rehearsed positions. The early light filtered through gauzy curtains, casting pale shadows across her features and catching on the polished edge of the windowsill, which she gripped with more force than necessary. Whether her tension stemmed from the prospect of her brother’s arrival later that day or from the continued presence of her unexpected guest, she could not quite determine.

Lord Jasper paused in his examination of the watercolour paintings that adorned the morning room walls, his grey eyes meeting hers with an expression that seemed to war between honesty and discretion. “I fear I may have given you the wrong impression regarding my intentions, Lady Greaves. That’s entirely my doing—I am rarely at a loss for words, but your establishment has proven more unexpected than I anticipated.”

“Unexpected in what particular way, if I might inquire?” 

Thalia moved away from the window with measured steps, her black mourning dress rustling softly against the Aubusson carpet as she positioned herself near the fireplace where the morning’s cheerful blaze cast dancing shadows across the room’s elegant furnishings. 

“For I have learned to be somewhat wary of gentlemen who profess fascination with unconventional households,” she continued evenly, “particularly when such fascination coincides with mysterious family business requiring their presence in precisely the location where such households happen to exist.”

The accusation lingered in the air between them like smoke from a poorly trimmed candle, and Lord Jasper coloured slightly—whether from embarrassment or discomfort, she could not say.

“You have every right to question my motives,” he said after a pause. “And I won’t pretend that your caution is unwarranted. I imagine you’ve encountered your fair share of gentlemen whose interest in your work was motivated by something rather less noble than admiration.”

“Indeed I have, Lord Jasper. Which is precisely why I must ask whether your family’s business involves any assessment of properties in this part of Brighton—and whether such assessments might include establishments such as mine.”

Her voice remained calm, but it was the calm that preceded a storm. She saw with some satisfaction the way his gaze flickered—just briefly—at her directness. Most women of her acquaintance, she suspected, would have couched such inquiries in gentler phrasing. She had never been one for euphemism when clarity would serve her better.

“I can see,” Lord Jasper said after a pause, “that you are far too intelligent to be fobbed off with vague assurances or polite evasions.” A flicker of something passed through his expression—part discomfort, part reluctant admiration. “Very well, Lady Greaves. I shall endeavour to be as forthright as you deserve, though I cannot promise that my honesty will improve your opinion of either my character or my family’s intentions.”

“I find myself prepared to risk such disappointment in exchange for the truth, however unpalatable it might prove to be,” Thalia assured him with the sort of cool composure that had served her well during the more difficult moments of her marriage and widowhood alike.

Lord Jasper drew a deep breath and moved to stand before the mantelpiece, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture that suggested he was bracing himself for an unpleasant but necessary duty. 

“My family has indeed asked me to conduct assessments of several properties in the area, some of which are—shall we say—less conventional in nature. That said, I must emphasise that my original instructions were to observe and report rather than to interfere in any way with the daily operations of such places.”

“Original instructions?” Thalia seized upon the phrase with the precision of a barrister identifying a crucial point in testimony. “Am I to understand that your instructions have since changed—or that you have chosen to exceed the scope of your original mandate?”

“A bit of both, in truth,” he admitted, with a faintly rueful smile. “I had intended to carry out a brief inspection and file the sort of report that would satisfy familial expectations without causing undue disruption. But even from a short acquaintance with this place, I find that a purely detached approach may prove… more difficult than anticipated.”

“And what, precisely, have you seen that makes detachment such a challenge?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she truly wanted the answer. Compliments from handsome men, she knew, could prove far more hazardous to her peace of mind than criticism from her adversaries.

“I have observed enough to know that this is not what I expected,” he said after a pause. “The grounds, the quiet—yes—but also the people. There is a sense of order here, of intention. I will not pretend to understand how it all functions—that would be premature, and presumptuous—but I can already tell this is no vanity project.”

Thalia blinked, momentarily caught off balance by the measured sincerity in his voice. She had grown so accustomed to defending her work against those who viewed it as eccentric, naïve, or conveniently self-indulgent, that the absence of mockery left her momentarily adrift.

“You speak as if you’ve given this more thought than one would expect from a man on a fact-finding errand,” she said, unable to keep a faint note of disbelief from creeping into her voice.

“Perhaps I have,” he said, casting a glance toward the window, where a handful of residents were engaged in their morning pursuits. “My sister Eliza paints—quite seriously, in fact—but society insists on treating her talent as no more than a pleasant diversion. Drawing is expected of young ladies, of course, so long as it remains safely ornamental. The moment it becomes meaningful—or skilled enough to challenge that assumption—it’s politely discouraged. I suppose I hadn’t realised just how subtle, and persistent, that discouragement could be—until now.”

Before Thalia could formulate a reply, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the moment. Hopkins appeared in the doorway, his expression perfectly neutral—the sort that suggested he had overheard more than he intended to reveal.

“Forgive the intrusion, my lady,” he said with a small bow. “Miss Fairweather requests your assistance with a matter concerning her painting supplies, and Mr Whiston wishes to consult you regarding the arrangements for this afternoon’s reading in the library.”

“Of course, Hopkins. Please inform them that I shall attend to their concerns presently,” Thalia replied, seizing the welcome interruption as an opportunity to gather her thoughts. Lord Jasper’s admissions, while unexpectedly candid, required careful consideration—and no small degree of caution. She was not yet prepared to decide how much trust, if any, they merited.

Turning back to him with composed poise, she added, “Lord Jasper, perhaps you would care to accompany me on a tour of the establishment—since your family’s interests appear to require such… comprehensive observation?”

“I should be honoured,” he replied with obvious enthusiasm, though she detected a flicker of something that might have been apprehension in his eyes. “Though I hope you will not think me presumptuous if I express my desire to meet your residents and learn more about their individual circumstances and artistic pursuits.”

“Not presumptuous at all,” Thalia assured him as they moved toward the door, though privately she wondered whether his interest stemmed from genuine curiosity or from the thoroughness required by whatever report he would eventually submit to his family. “Indeed, I believe you will find their stories both inspiring and illuminating, for each has overcome considerable obstacles to pursue their creative calling.”

Their first destination was the conservatory, now converted into a light-filled studio for Miss Ivy Fairweather, whose deafness had never hindered her from cultivating a remarkable gift for capturing the subtle interplay of light and shadow in her landscapes. She was seated near the tall windows, her brush moving with steady assurance across the canvas—each stroke revealing not only natural ability but the discipline of focused, thoughtful practice.

As they approached, Thalia moved deliberately into the artist’s field of vision and waited until Ivy glanced up before speaking. “Miss Fairweather,” she said gently, “may I introduce Lord Jasper Vexley, who has expressed a sincere interest in learning more about our artistic community?”

Ivy turned from her work with a smile that lit her features with quiet delight, her dark eyes alive with the unmistakable brightness of someone wholly engaged in her craft. Upon noting the presence of a gentleman, her expression shifted to one of mild surprise, but she greeted him with a graceful curtsy that reflected both her natural poise and the refinement of her early upbringing.

“Miss Fairweather’s landscapes have begun to attract attention from collectors in London,” Thalia explained as Lord Jasper examined the painting currently in progress with obvious appreciation. “Her ability to capture the changing moods of the sea and countryside has earned praise from several critics who have had occasion to view her work.”

“The composition is remarkable,” Lord Jasper observed, moving closer to study the delicate brushwork that brought the coastal scene to vivid life. “The way you have rendered the light reflecting off the water creates such a sense of movement and vitality that one can almost hear the waves breaking against the shore.”

Though Ivy could not hear his words, the sincerity in his expression and the care with which he regarded her work needed no translation. Her cheeks coloured with quiet pride, and her smile held the unmistakable glow of someone whose efforts had been truly seen and valued.

“Miss Fairweather reads lips quite well,” Thalia explained, “though she finds it easier to follow conversations when speakers face her directly and speak with deliberate clarity rather than the rapid pace that characterises most social discourse.”

“I should very much like to learn more about your artistic training and the subjects that inspire your work,” Lord Jasper said to Ivy, turning to face her fully. His tone was measured and his diction deliberate, his effort to make himself understood both respectful and sincere. “Do you find that being deaf has influenced the way you perceive and interpret the world around you?”

Thalia glanced at him with renewed appreciation. Most visitors either ignored Ivy altogether or spoke about her as if she were not present, never thinking to engage her directly—let alone inquire about her perspective as an artist.

Ivy answered with a fluid series of gestures—graceful, precise—her expression animated with thought. Thalia, though far from fluent, had spent enough time observing the language to grasp the general sense of her reply.

“She says that not hearing has made her more attuned to visual details,” Thalia translated carefully. “That she often notices things others miss, simply because they rely so much on sound to understand their surroundings.”

“How fascinating,” Lord Jasper murmured, his gaze moving thoughtfully between Ivy and her painting. “I imagine such sensitivity offers a rare advantage in your work—though I suspect it must come with its share of frustrations in a world that too often assumes words are the only way to listen.”

His perceptive observation drew another flush of pleasure from Ivy, who nodded emphatically before returning to her easel with renewed enthusiasm, clearly encouraged by his understanding and interest in her work.

Their next stop was the library, where they found Mr Christopher—Kit—Whiston arranging chairs for the afternoon’s reading, his movements quick and efficient despite the slight tremor in his hands that spoke of nervous energy barely held in check. The young playwright looked up at their approach with an expression that mixed hope and wariness in equal measure, his eyes darting between Thalia and her companion with obvious curiosity about the stranger’s identity and purpose.

“Mr Whiston, I should like you to meet Lord Jasper Vexley, who has expressed interest in learning more about the artistic endeavours pursued by our residents,” Thalia performed the introduction with the sort of careful attention to social protocol that might help put the obviously nervous young man at ease.

“My lord,” Kit replied with a bow that revealed both proper training and current anxiety, his sandy hair falling across his forehead in a way that made him appear even younger than his twenty-four years. “I hope you will forgive the disarray, but I am preparing for this afternoon’s reading of excerpts from my latest work.”

“Not disarray at all,” Lord Jasper assured him. “Indeed, I find myself curious about the nature of your work and the reception it has received from audiences who have had the privilege of experiencing your dramatic presentations.”

“You are very kind to express interest, my lord, though I fear my recent efforts have met with somewhat mixed reception from critics who find my themes too controversial for standard taste,” Kit replied with a bitter laugh that spoke of disappointments and setbacks that had clearly taken their toll on his confidence.

“Controversial in what way, if I might inquire?” Lord Jasper asked, settling into one of the chairs that Kit had arranged with the sort of relaxed attention that encouraged confidential discourse. “For I have found that the most memorable artistic works are often those that challenge audiences to consider perspectives they might otherwise avoid.”

Thalia observed this exchange with amazement, for she had never witnessed a gentleman of Lord Jasper’s obvious standing display such genuine interest in the struggles and achievements of individuals whose social position would typically render them invisible to his notice. His questions revealed not only curiosity but also a sophisticated understanding of the challenges faced by artists attempting to pursue unusual themes and approaches.

“My most recent play examines the consequences of rigid social expectations upon individuals whose natures do not conform to accepted patterns,” Kit explained with increasing confidence as he recognised the sincerity of his questioner’s interest. “I have attempted to explore the ways in which society’s intolerance for difference can destroy lives and waste talents that might otherwise contribute significantly to the betterment of human understanding.”

“A worthy theme indeed,” Lord Jasper replied thoughtfully, “and one that requires considerable courage to address through dramatic presentation, for audiences often prefer entertainment that confirms their existing beliefs rather than challenging them to examine their prejudices and assumptions.”

The understanding evident in his response brought a look of such grateful surprise to Kit’s face that Thalia felt her own opinion of her unexpected guest undergoing yet another revision, for she had never encountered a gentleman who demonstrated such capacity for empathy with those whose circumstances differed dramatically from his own privileged experience.

Their final stop on the impromptu tour was the music room, where they found Miss Violet Ashworth seated at the pianoforte, her fingers moving across the keys with the sort of practised ease that spoke of years of professional training and performance. The former opera singer looked up at their approach with the sort of regal bearing that had once commanded attention on London’s most prestigious stages, though the lines around her eyes and the slight hoarseness in her speaking voice testified to the passage of time and the inevitable changes it had wrought upon her once-celebrated instrument.

“Miss Ashworth,” Thalia announced as they entered the elegantly appointed room, “I should like you to meet Lord Jasper Vexley, who has expressed considerable interest in learning about the artistic community we have established here at Seacliff Retreat.”

“Lord Jasper,” Violet replied with a curtsy that managed to convey both respect for his rank and awareness of her own former status as a celebrated performer, “I am honoured to make your acquaintance, though I confess I am curious about what brings a gentleman of your obvious consequence to our humble establishment.”

“The opportunity to witness firsthand the sort of artistic sanctuary that Lady Greaves has created,” Lord Jasper replied with obvious sincerity, “for I have heard remarkable things about the talents and achievements of the residents who have found refuge and encouragement within these walls.”

“You are most kind to express such interest,” Violet said with the sort of practised grace that had served her well during her years in the public eye, “though I fear my own contributions to our little community are somewhat diminished from what they once were during my performing days.”

“Perhaps you might honour us with a brief demonstration of your current abilities,” Lord Jasper suggested with the sort of courteous enthusiasm that managed to be encouraging without seeming condescending, “for I suspect that your experience and training continue to provide considerable value to those fortunate enough to learn from your instruction.”

Violet’s eyes brightened at his request, and she turned back to the pianoforte with obvious pleasure, her fingers finding the opening chords of an aria that had once brought audiences to their feet in appreciation. Though her voice no longer possessed the power and range that had made her famous, the emotion and technique that had marked her greatest performances remained evident in every phrase, creating a moment of such beauty that even Thalia found herself moved despite her familiarity with Violet’s abilities.

“Magnificent,” Lord Jasper murmured when the song concluded, his voice carrying genuine appreciation that brought a flush of pleasure to the former singer’s still-handsome features. “Your technical command is extraordinary, and the emotional depth of your interpretation suggests that time has enriched—rather than diminished—your artistry.”

“You are most generous, my lord,” Violet replied, a modest smile playing at her lips, though her quiet pleasure was unmistakable. “Yet I take greater satisfaction these days in passing on what knowledge I can to younger artists—lessons drawn from both triumph and adversity, which I trust may serve them well.”

As they made their way back toward the main part of the house, Thalia found herself struggling to reconcile her increasing appreciation for Lord Jasper’s sensitivity and understanding with her continuing suspicion regarding his family’s true intentions concerning her establishment. 

His genuine interest in her residents and their individual circumstances seemed to contradict the calculating assessment she had expected from someone conducting business on behalf of others, yet she could not entirely dismiss the possibility that such sympathy was merely a more refined kind of manipulation, polished and persuasive, designed to lower her guard.

“I confess myself impressed by all I have seen during our tour,” Lord Jasper said as they came to a pause in the entrance hall, his gaze lingering on the restored decorations that bore only minimal evidence of yesterday’s regrettable encounter with his person and the Chinese vases. “The quality of artistic work being produced here rivals anything I have observed in London’s most fashionable studios—and the sense of community and mutual support among your residents is a testament to your judgement in creating a space not only of industry, but of trust.”

“You seem surprised by what you have found,” Thalia observed, studying his expression for any hint of the reservations or criticisms she had learned to expect from visitors who arrived with preconceived notions about artistic communities and their supposedly irregular arrangements.

“I confess I am,” he replied, with a candour that caught her off guard. “I expected something quite different—something far less purposeful, far less carefully managed. What I have seen compels me to reconsider a number of assumptions I had formed about the viability—and propriety—of such unconventional households.”

“What manner of assumptions, if I might inquire?” Thalia asked, though she suspected she could predict the nature of his previous expectations based on her experience with other visitors who had arrived bearing similar prejudices and misconceptions.

“I had been led to believe,” Lord Jasper admitted, his tone tinged with self-reproach, “that such communities were often prone to disorder and moral laxity—that their residents were more inclined toward philosophical indulgence than meaningful work. Instead, I find individuals of real talent and commitment, guided by a lady whose administrative acumen and moral authority would be impressive in any setting—conventional or otherwise.”

His words struck her with unexpected force. She was so accustomed to defending her choices against criticism, suspicion, and polite dismissal that such wholehearted approval felt almost disorienting. It left her wondering whether his change of heart was sincere—or whether he simply possessed a talent for persuasion that exceeded even her well-honed defences.

“I am gratified that your observations have led you to revise your impressions,” she replied, her tone carefully neutral. “Though I confess I must ask how those revised impressions may affect the report you intend to submit to your family—given their business interests in this area.”

The question hung between them like a sword suspended by a thread, and she watched his expression closely for any sign that might reveal his true intentions or the extent of his family’s plans regarding establishments such as hers.

“That,” Lord Jasper said at last, his voice low and steady, “is a matter I shall have to consider very carefully. I find myself in the rather uncomfortable position of having undertaken obligations that may no longer align with my personal convictions—at least, not in the way I had once believed they would best serve the interests of all parties concerned.”

Before Thalia could pursue his cryptic reply, the sound of an approaching carriage turned both their gazes toward the windows. Her heart sank as she recognised the familiar equipage that signalled her brother’s long-dreaded arrival—at precisely the moment when her circumstances were already complicated by the presence of a guest whose true motives remained uncertain, despite his apparent sympathy for her endeavours.

“It would appear,” she said, her tone touched with resignation, “that the day is about to grow considerably more difficult. My brother has never been noted for his patience with explanations—or his tolerance for what he deems unnecessary complications to family business.”

“Then perhaps,” Lord Jasper replied, his smile tinged with both mischief and resolve, “it is fortunate that I have had the opportunity to observe your establishment firsthand and form my own conclusions. I suspect your brother’s visit may benefit from the testimony of an impartial witness—one who can attest to the excellent order and moral propriety of your household.”

As the carriage drew to a halt and a gentleman of evident consequence prepared to descend, his bearing marked by the ease of one accustomed to unquestioned obedience, Thalia found herself torn between dread and a fragile, unwelcome flicker of hope. Whether Lord Jasper’s offer would prove a salvation she had not dared to expect—or simply another entanglement in an already fraught day—remained to be seen.

Chapter Three

“Sister, I trust you have received my correspondence regarding the urgent necessity of my visit, for I find myself compelled to address certain disturbing reports that have reached my attention concerning the nature of your establishment and the rather questionable arrangements you have seen fit to implement in this remote corner of Brighton.”

Marcus Berrington descended from his carriage with the sort of ponderous dignity that he clearly believed befitted the Earl of Berendon, his pale eyes already scanning the facade of Seacliff Retreat with disapproval as he adjusted his perfectly tied cravat and smoothed the wrinkles from his travelling coat. His soft, rounded features—so unlike Thalia’s sharply defined countenance—were set in an expression of long-suffering patience, as though this journey were a grave burden undertaken for the sole purpose of preserving the family’s honour.

“Marcus,” Thalia said, her voice composed, her courtesy so coolly precise it verged on chill, “how very thoughtful of you to undertake such a journey solely to satisfy your curiosity about my domestic arrangements. I confess I am surprised that matters of such apparent triviality could demand your personal intervention—particularly when I imagine your own estate must provide ample occupation for your many administrative gifts.”

Her brother’s eyes narrowed at the implied criticism, though he maintained the condescending smile that had irritated her since childhood as he mounted the steps to the front entrance with measured tread. 

“Triviality? My dear sister, I fear you fail to appreciate the gravity of the situation that has prompted my presence here, for the reports reaching London regarding your so-called retreat have become increasingly alarming in their implications.”

“Reports from whom, might I inquire?” Thalia’s voice carried the sort of deceptive calm that had once made seasoned diplomats reconsider their carefully prepared strategies, though she suspected her brother’s obtuseness would render such subtlety entirely wasted upon his limited understanding.

“From sources whose reliability and social standing make their concerns impossible to dismiss as mere gossip or speculation,” Marcus replied with the pompous authority that he had cultivated since inheriting his position as heir, his gaze moving dismissively over the carefully maintained entrance hall before settling upon Lord Jasper with obvious suspicion and displeasure.

“I see,” Thalia murmured, though privately she wondered which of Brighton’s more conservative residents had taken it upon themselves to correspond with her brother regarding her activities, and what particular aspects of her establishment had prompted such concerned attention from distant observers.

“And who, might I ask, is this gentleman?” Marcus demanded, his tone suggesting that he found Lord Jasper’s presence both unexpected and highly inappropriate given the circumstances that had prompted his own visit to address his sister’s questionable judgment.

“Lord Jasper Vexley,” Thalia replied with careful emphasis upon his title and family name, “who has been kind enough to express interest in the artistic endeavours being pursued by my residents, and who has spent the morning observing the excellent work being produced under our roof.”

At the name, Marcus’s expression shifted—barely perceptible, but telling. The reflexive disapproval softened, recalibrated by the subtle arithmetic of social consequence. The Vexley name, after all, carried more weight than Marcus could comfortably dismiss.

“Lord Jasper,” he said, executing a bow that balanced respect with measured wariness, “I admit I am somewhat surprised to encounter a gentleman of your standing in such surroundings. Though I daresay even the most unconventional households may, on occasion, attract the attentions of those whose curiosity surpasses their caution.”

“Lord Berendon,” Lord Jasper replied with the sort of polite acknowledgement that revealed nothing of his own assessment of the man before him, though Thalia caught the slight tightening around his eyes that suggested he found her brother’s manner less than impressive. “I trust your journey from London proceeded without incident, and I hope you will forgive my presence during what I am certain must be a private family discussion of considerable importance.”

“Indeed it is,” Marcus replied with satisfaction at having his importance so readily acknowledged, “though perhaps your observations regarding my sister’s establishment might prove enlightening, for I confess myself eager to hear an objective assessment from someone whose social position lends credibility to his opinions on matters of propriety and moral conduct.”

Thalia felt her heart sink at the realisation that her brother intended to use Lord Jasper’s presence as an opportunity to gather ammunition for whatever campaign he had planned to dismantle her carefully constructed independence, though she could hardly object to such a strategy without appearing to doubt either her guest’s integrity or the merits of her own enterprise.

“Perhaps we might continue this conversation in the drawing room,” she suggested with the sort of gracious hospitality that masked her unease, “where we may be more comfortable while addressing whatever concerns have prompted your visit, Marcus.”

“An excellent suggestion,” her brother agreed with the sort of hearty enthusiasm that she had learned to distrust as a precursor to particularly unpalatable pronouncements, “for I have several matters of considerable urgency to discuss with you, and I believe Lord Jasper’s presence may prove most instructive in helping you understand the broader implications of your current… circumstances.”

As they made their way to the elegantly appointed drawing room, Thalia found herself wondering what particular accusations her brother had prepared, and whether Lord Jasper’s morning observations would provide sufficient evidence to counter whatever criticisms Marcus intended to level against her establishment and its residents.

“Now then,” Marcus began the moment they were seated, his voice carrying the sort of ominous satisfaction that suggested he relished the opportunity to deliver unwelcome news, “I suppose you are curious about the specific nature of the reports that have reached my attention regarding your activities here in Brighton.”

“I confess to some mild interest,” Thalia replied with the sort of studied indifference that she hoped might discourage him from prolonging his obviously rehearsed presentation of her supposed failings and their consequences for family reputation.

“Mild interest?” Marcus laughed with genuine amusement at what he clearly viewed as her inadequate appreciation for the seriousness of her situation. “My dear sister, I fear you will find your interest considerably heightened when you learn that Lord Templeton himself has expressed concerns about the propriety of your household arrangements and their potential impact upon the moral character of the surrounding community.”

“Lord Templeton?” Thalia repeated with carefully controlled surprise, for she had not anticipated that her brother’s interference would involve the participation of peers whose social influence could pose genuine threats to her independence and the continued operation of her retreat.

“Indeed, for his lordship has taken considerable interest in the welfare of Brighton’s more respectable residents, and he has expressed particular concern about the example being set by ladies of independent habits who choose to live in what he terms ‘irregular arrangements’ with individuals whose backgrounds and moral character remain largely unknown to proper society,” Marcus continued with obvious satisfaction at the effect his words were producing upon his sister’s composure.

Lord Jasper shifted slightly in his chair, and Thalia caught the sharp look he directed toward her brother as the implications of this revelation became clear, though he maintained the sort of polite silence that social protocol demanded during family discussions of such a delicate nature.

“I see,” Thalia said carefully, her mind racing through the potential consequences of having attracted the disapproval of someone whose social position and political connections could make her life considerably more difficult if he chose to pursue his concerns through official channels.

“Furthermore,” Marcus continued with the relentless determination of someone who had prepared his case thoroughly and intended to present every piece of evidence that might support his conclusions, “Lord Templeton has graciously proposed a remedy for the unfortunate circumstances your poor judgment has produced—for he is of the view that a lady of your station requires the guidance and protection only marriage to a gentleman of appropriate rank and character can supply.”

“Marriage?” The word escaped Thalia’s lips before she could prevent it, and she felt the colour drain from her face as the full implications of her brother’s announcement settled upon her like a suffocating blanket.

“Indeed, for his lordship has graciously consented to consider an alliance with our family, despite the somewhat irregular circumstances that have characterised your recent behaviour,” Marcus announced with the sort of triumphant satisfaction that suggested he viewed this development as a masterstroke of diplomatic negotiation. “Mr Templeton, his youngest son, is a gentleman of excellent character and considerable fortune, and he has expressed willingness to overlook your current eccentricities in exchange for a suitable dowry and your immediate withdrawal from this inappropriate establishment.”

“Mr Templeton,” Thalia repeated in a voice that sounded hollow even to her own ears, for she remembered the gentleman in question as a dull, pompous individual whose conversation never strayed beyond the subjects of his hunting expeditions and his collection of antique firearms, and whose idea of intellectual discourse involved lengthy monologues on the seasonal management of game preserves.

“A most suitable match,” Marcus declared with obvious satisfaction at what he clearly viewed as a brilliant solution to the problem of his sister’s independence, “for he possesses sufficient fortune to maintain you in appropriate comfort while his steady character will provide the stability and guidance that your recent behaviour suggests you require.”

“And what of my establishment here?” Thalia asked quietly, though she suspected she already knew the answer to her question and dreaded having her fears confirmed through her brother’s gleeful explanation of his carefully laid plans.

“Naturally, such inappropriate arrangements would cease immediately upon your marriage, for no respectable husband could be expected to tolerate his wife’s involvement in such questionable endeavours,” Marcus replied with the sort of casual dismissal that revealed his complete indifference to the years of work and planning that had gone into creating the sanctuary she had built for her residents.

“I see,” Thalia murmured, her voice betraying none of the despair that threatened to overwhelm her as she contemplated the destruction of everything she had worked to achieve, along with the abandonment of the individuals who depended upon her establishment for both shelter and encouragement in their artistic pursuits.

“I trust you appreciate the generosity of Mr Templeton’s offer,” Marcus continued, clearly expecting some expression of gratitude for what he saw as a chance to redeem herself, “for not every gentleman would be so magnanimous as to overlook the reputational damage you may have incurred through your association with persons of questionable character and uncertain morality.”

Lord Jasper cleared his throat with the sort of polite attention that indicated he wished to contribute something to the conversation, and both siblings turned toward him with expressions that reflected their very different expectations regarding what perspective he might offer on the situation that had been so thoroughly outlined by Marcus’s comprehensive presentation.

“If I might venture an observation,” Lord Jasper began with careful diplomacy, “I fear there may be some misunderstanding regarding the nature of Lady Greaves’s establishment and the character of the individuals who reside here under her care and guidance.”

“Misunderstanding?” Marcus’s eyebrows rose with the sort of sceptical attention that suggested he found it unlikely that a gentleman of Lord Jasper’s sophistication could be deceived by whatever false impressions his sister might have attempted to create regarding her questionable household arrangements.

“Indeed, for I have spent the morning observing the daily activities of the residents and examining samples of the artistic work being produced under Lady Greaves’s supervision,” Lord Jasper explained. “I can state with complete confidence that this establishment represents everything that is admirable about artistic patronage and charitable endeavour, conducted with a level of moral propriety and administrative excellence that would be remarkable in any context.”

Marcus blinked with surprise at this unexpected defence of his sister’s enterprise, clearly unprepared for testimony that contradicted the negative reports that had formed the foundation of his carefully constructed case against her independence and judgment.

“You find nothing irregular about ungoverned ladies presiding over households that include male residents?” he asked, with a pointedness that implied any man of sound judgement would acknowledge the inherent impropriety of such arrangements—whatever veneer of respectability might be employed to conceal their true nature.

“I find an establishment governed by the highest standards of decorum,” Lord Jasper replied, his voice calm, unwavering. “A place of purpose, in which individuals of genuine talent are offered sanctuary and encouragement. What I have witnessed here today is not disorder, but discipline—directed by a hostess whose character and judgement are beyond reproach.”

Thalia felt the familiar weight of defence lift—if only slightly—as his words settled in the space between them. Gratitude rose in her throat with sudden force, though she willed her expression to remain composed. She had grown too accustomed to opposition to expect understanding, let alone such a public, unprompted defence.

“I confess myself surprised by your assessment,” Marcus said with discomfort at having his assumptions challenged by someone whose social position made it impossible to dismiss his opinions as the misguided sympathy of someone easily deceived by feminine manipulation, “though I wonder if a single morning’s observation provides sufficient foundation for such comprehensive conclusions regarding the long-term viability and propriety of such unusual arrangements.”

“Perhaps not,” Lord Jasper acknowledged with the sort of gracious concession that allowed Marcus to preserve some dignity while maintaining his own position, “though I would suggest that any evaluation of Lady Greaves’s establishment should take into account the tangible evidence of success that I have witnessed today, rather than relying solely upon the speculation and prejudice that seem to characterise the reports you have received from distant observers.”

“Speculation and prejudice?” Marcus’s colour rose at the implied criticism of his sources and their motives, though he appeared uncertain how to respond to such a direct challenge from someone whose rank and social connections made it inadvisable to express open disagreement with his assessment.

“I speak only of my own observations,” Lord Jasper replied with diplomatic tact, “though I would venture to suggest that firsthand experience provides a more reliable foundation for judgment than secondhand reports from individuals who may lack sufficient familiarity with the actual circumstances they presume to evaluate.”

The challenge hung in the air between the two gentlemen like smoke from a poorly managed fire, and Thalia found herself holding her breath as she waited to see how her brother would respond to such a carefully worded but unmistakable criticism of his entire approach to addressing what he viewed as the problem of her independence.

“Nevertheless,” Marcus said with the sort of stubborn determination that had characterised his approach to family disagreements since childhood, “I remain convinced that the current arrangements are unsuitable for a lady of my sister’s station, and I believe that marriage to Mr Templeton represents the most appropriate solution to the difficulties that her current circumstances have created.”

“Have you consulted Lady Greaves regarding her own preferences in this matter?” Lord Jasper inquired with the sort of deceptive mildness that often preceded devastating revelations of logical inconsistency in an opponent’s position.

“Consulted her?” Marcus laughed with genuine amusement at what he clearly viewed as an absurd suggestion. “My dear Lord Jasper, surely you understand that ladies of breeding are rarely the best judges of their own interests in matters of such consequence, for their natural sensibilities and limited experience of the world make them prone to romantic notions that may conflict with practical necessity.”

“I see,” Lord Jasper murmured, his tone suggesting that he found Marcus’s perspective both enlightening and somewhat disturbing, though he maintained the sort of polite attention that encouraged further elaboration of such revealing attitudes.

“Indeed,” Marcus continued, with the complacent satisfaction of a man convinced of the unassailable logic of his own position, “for it is painfully clear that my sister’s judgment has deteriorated since she has been left to her own devices. I am persuaded that the influence of a sensible husband will restore the stability and proper perspective her present independence has unfortunately eroded.”

Thalia felt her anger rise with the slow, searing inevitability of molten iron poured into a mould—controlled, but impossible to contain. She held her expression steady, her posture serene, even as his words struck with the brutal familiarity of a well-worn insult.

How many times had she endured such condescension—draped in civility, delivered with affection—as though it were a kindness to dismiss her intellect, her vision, her autonomy? Her late husband had spoken in much the same manner: fond, indulgent, and utterly assured that her highest calling was to ornament his life without ever challenging it.

“Marcus,” she said with the sort of carefully controlled precision that served as both warning and final opportunity for him to reconsider his approach, “I fear you have failed to appreciate several important aspects of my current situation that may affect your assessment of what would constitute appropriate solutions to problems that exist primarily in your own imagination.”

“Problems in my imagination?” Marcus’s voice rose, affronted, as though the very suggestion of exaggeration were a personal insult. “My dear sister, I have received detailed accounts from multiple sources regarding the questionable nature of this enterprise and the damage it threatens to inflict upon our family’s name.”

Thalia tilted her head slightly—a measured movement, not of curiosity but of quiet exasperation—as she repeated the question he had so notably avoided answering the first time.

“Detailed accounts from whom, precisely?”

She spoke with the same unflinching directness that had served her well in confronting evasive men who cloaked their motives in generalities and unsubstantiated claims.

Marcus shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearly reluctant to identify his sources of information in a manner that might allow their credibility and motives to be examined more closely. 

“From individuals whose social standing and moral character lend considerable weight to their observations,” he replied at last, stiffly. “Though naturally, discretion forbids me from revealing their identities without due regard for their privacy and safety.”

“Safety?” Lord Jasper’s eyebrows rose with explicit interest in this unexpected revelation. “Are you suggesting that expressing concerns about Lady Greaves’s establishment involves some element of personal risk to those who choose to do so?”

“Not physical risk, naturally,” Marcus replied with irritation at having his dramatic language subjected to such literal interpretation, “but social risk, for there are those who might view criticism of my sister’s arrangements as interference in matters that should remain private family concerns.”

“I confess myself curious about the specific nature of these alleged concerns,” Thalia said with deceptive calm, “for I have endeavoured to maintain the highest standards of propriety and moral conduct in all aspects of my establishment’s operation, and I find it difficult to imagine what legitimate criticisms could be levelled against such careful attention to respectability and proper behaviour.”

Marcus drew himself up with the pompous dignity that had grated on her nerves since childhood, clearly preparing to deliver what he regarded as a devastating indictment—one, no doubt, rehearsed during his journey.

“Very well,” he said with a note of grim satisfaction. “Since you insist upon hearing the specific charges brought to my attention, I shall endeavour to explain the situation with the clarity and precision it demands.”

He paused—rather theatrically, Thalia thought—before launching into what was evidently a carefully ordered litany of grievances.

“First,” he began, in the deliberate tone of a man cataloguing offences, “you have chosen to reside in a household that accommodates unmarried men and women under the same roof. Such an arrangement, regardless of your intentions, creates an undeniable appearance of impropriety, one that reflects poorly not only upon your own reputation but upon that of our entire family.”

“Second, you have associated yourself with individuals of uncertain background and questionable suitability. Among them, a young woman whose deafness, I am told, has left her without the moral instruction necessary to navigate society properly, and a man whose theatrical occupation implies a disposition ill-suited to respectable company.”

Thalia felt her anger flare at this casual dismissal of her residents’ worth and character, though she forced herself to remain silent in order to hear the full extent of her brother’s criticism before formulating her response to such prejudiced and ignorant observations.

“Third,” Marcus went on, now visibly pleased with the momentum of his case, “you have declined the protection and guidance of male relatives who bear both the responsibility and the right to oversee your conduct—particularly in circumstances as unconventional as these.”

“And finally,” he concluded, with the air of delivering a final blow, “you have persisted in these arrangements despite repeated admonitions, thereby demonstrating a wilfulness and disregard for proper feminine conduct that risks bringing lasting disrepute to our family name.”

The silence that followed this comprehensive indictment seemed to stretch for an eternity, though in reality it lasted only long enough for Thalia to organise her thoughts and prepare a response that would address each of her brother’s accusations with the sort of devastating precision that such ignorant presumption richly deserved.

“I see,” she said finally, her voice carrying the sort of arctic calm that had once made seasoned diplomats reconsider their carefully prepared strategies, “and I suppose you have also prepared a detailed plan for correcting these alleged deficiencies in my character and judgment?”

“Indeed I have,” Marcus replied with unmistakable satisfaction. “I believe that an immediate betrothal to Mr Templeton, followed by the orderly dissolution of this unfortunate establishment and your return to a more conventional mode of living, will do much to restore the family’s reputation.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Thalia said, her tone deceptively mild, “to arrange the entirety of my future without the inconvenience of consulting me on the matter. I find myself curious—what timeline have you proposed for the execution of these… comprehensive reforms?”

“The sooner the better,” Marcus declared, clearly relishing his role as the architect of her redemption. “I have already informed Mr Templeton that you will be prepared to receive his formal proposal within the fortnight. I assured him that any minor complications regarding your current arrangements could be swiftly resolved once the betrothal is made public.”

“Within the fortnight?” Thalia repeated, her tone measured, her diction so precise it might have cut glass. It was the voice of a woman who could not quite believe the scale of what was being proposed—or perhaps, the arrogance with which it had been delivered.

“Indeed,” Marcus said, positively beaming. “There is little advantage in prolonging such an awkward situation when a solution has so conveniently presented itself. Lord Templeton has been most generous in his willingness to overlook your recent eccentricities, in favour of the advantages such an alliance would bring.”

Lord Jasper cleared his throat with the sort of polite deliberation that signalled a wish to speak, and both siblings turned toward him—Thalia with guarded curiosity, Marcus with the confidence of a man expecting his position to be reinforced.

“If I might offer an observation,” Lord Jasper began, his tone impeccably diplomatic, “I wonder whether Lord Berendon has fully considered the broader implications of dissolving an establishment that offers critical support to individuals whose artistic gifts might otherwise go undeveloped for want of guidance and patronage.”

“Implications?” Marcus gave a short laugh, full of dismissive amusement. “My dear Lord Jasper, surely you see that the comfort and reputation of a lady of breeding must take precedence over the convenience of a handful of eccentrics whose talents—however charming—cannot justify the irregularities their presence entails.”

“I fear I must disagree with your priorities,” Lord Jasper replied, his voice composed yet resolute. “Having seen the work being produced under Lady Greaves’s direction, I would argue that to dismantle such a place would be a genuine loss—not only to those within it, but to the wider artistic community, and, indeed, to society itself.”

Marcus blinked, clearly caught off guard by such resistance from a quarter he could neither patronise nor dismiss. Lord Jasper, it seemed, was not content to serve as a polite spectator.

“Moreover,” he continued, his tone sharpening ever so slightly, “I would suggest that any gentleman contemplating marriage to Lady Greaves would do well to value her accomplishments, rather than demand their abandonment. Such a condition speaks more to a failure to understand her character than to any concern for propriety.”

The words struck with startling force. Thalia turned to him, astonished—not only by his defence of her work, but by the simple conviction with which he had asserted her right to it.

“I fear you misunderstand the nature of proper feminine conduct,” Marcus replied with the sort of stiff dignity that suggested he found such criticism both unexpected and highly inappropriate. “A lady’s role lies in the cultivation of domestic harmony and adherence to social decorum—not in championing the interests of persons of uncertain background and questionable merit.”

“On the contrary,” Lord Jasper said, the quiet steel in his voice unmistakable, “I believe I understand precisely the difference between propriety and constraint. Lady Greaves has achieved something admirable here—not despite her position, but because of the intelligence and determination with which she has exercised it. To suppress such qualities would be to waste potential that might otherwise enrich us all.”

The silence that followed was dense with unspoken thoughts. Thalia’s heart beat fast—not with fear, but with something perilously close to hope. That Lord Jasper would stand with her was unexpected. That he might continue to do so, despite the consequences, was something she scarcely dared to imagine.