An ugly asymmetrical scar now runs across Theodore Hawthorne's perfectly symmetrical features.

I have heard whispers and rumors about his new deformity. Lady Wortham claims it is a memento from his supposed 'accident,' an 'accident' involving a very angry Monsieur Chastain and a very sharp kitchen knife when Theodore was found in bed with the Monsieur's very naked wife.

Who knows if this rumor is true?

Either way, he is still very recognizable to me.

Theodore cuts a tall, lean figure in his dapper gray suit. His golden curls look soft and angelic beneath the hazy afternoon light. His eyes, blue like the sky and the sea, are deeply familiar to me.

In fact, this whole situation feels all too recognizable.

Déjà vu claws at me.

Self preservation hisses in my ear, urging me to get far, far away from this rake before a pair of unfriendly eyes catch us together—again.

This very labyrinth was where my late guardian, Mr. Fernsby, chanced upon us, all those years ago, unchaperoned, when Theodore had been in the throes of professing his love for me, vowing to marry me even against his family's wishes.

What a little fool I had been to believe in such empty promises.

Theodore was the reason why Mr. Fernsby forced my seventeen-year-old self to marry the fifty-year-old Mr. Winslow. Mr. Fernsby believed that my honor had been compromised and marriage to a proper gentleman was the only way to salvage it. In a way, one could argue that many of the misfortunes that have since befallen me all originated with Theodore's wretched proposal in this very labyrinth.

Without him, there would be no Widow of Winslow and Peak.

Admittedly, a part of my petty, shrewish heart shall always resent Theodore, I think, for being allowed to dilly-dally on his merry way with his head held high after our scandal while my reputation has gone to shambles. I suppose I should not be surprised. He is a man, after all, and I am but a woman. The expectations for our sexes are not the same. Alas, alas, social parameters bend and stretch for him but not so much for me.

Anxiously, I turn to leave, but Theodore—no, Mr. Hawthorne, for 'Theodore' feels and sounds too intimate—holds me back. His fingers tighten around my wrist as he pulls me further into the hedge maze, away from prying eyes.

"Wait, please, I know I am likely the last person on earth you wish to speak to right now, but I have something of the utmost importance to discuss with you. I-I believe we could help each other."

I glance down and frown at his offending digits around my wrist. "I have nothing I wish to discuss with you, Mr. Hawthorne. Now, unhand me, so that I may be on my way."

Theodore removes his hand from my person but blurts out in a hurried, rash breath, "I beg you, do not run from me. Grant me five minutes of your time. Please. I know I have been in the wrong for years. I am sorry for what I did to you. I only wish to make amends."

His blue eyes appear beseeching and earnest. The sincerity in his tone catches me off guard. Decades have passed since our hapless tryst as adolescents and not once has Theodore reached out to me to apologize.

My resolve softens as I eye him warily. "Five minutes, you say?"

He nods. "Five minutes."

Curiosity gets the better of me, and, foolishly, I choose not to leave because I want to hear what he has to share.

I keep my voice stern when I ask, "Very well. What do you want from me?"

He coughs, "I have heard, ah... rumors... about the state of your finances. You are in need of money, are you not?"

My gray eyes grow round with surprise.

His bluntness takes me aback. His knowledge about my private circumstances shocks me even more.

He has been residing overseas for years!

How did Theodore come to know about the state of my finances?

Did he speak to Lady Wortham, by chance?

Embarrassment pinkens my cheeks. "I do not think it appropriate for us to discuss matters pertaining to my personal fi—"

He does not let me finish, "Ah-ha! Your timid reaction confirms my suspicions. You are in need of money. I know you. You have not changed a whit over the years. Still an open book, I see. Well, you are in luck, for I am in desperate need of a governess."

A governess?

Why is he talking to me, then?

My brow furrows in confusion before it hits me—

Good God, is he trying to proposition me for employment?

Disbelief, disgruntlement, and disgrace flood my senses. I almost feel insulted. My situation may be more unfortunate than some, but it is not that dire!

Or is it?

Is that how Theodore perceives me now? A charity case?

I am suddenly at a loss.

For the sake of my pride, though, I hope I have misunderstood his intentions completely.

I struggle to make sense of Theodore's logic even while I find myself attacking the most obvious loophole in his argument.

"Why in the world would you—of all people—be in need of a governess? I imagine a man must obtain a wife and child, first and foremost, before employing a governess! As far as I know, you identify neither as a husband nor as a father..."

With a grimace, Theodore confirms, "You are not entirely wrong. I am still very much a bachelor, but I shall have you know, as of last month, I was brutally informed by my previous mistress that—"

He pauses, then, most likely, for effect. Theodore has always possessed a flair for theatrics, and I find myself leaning towards him, in spite of myself, for curiosity's sake.

In low, dramatic tones, Theodore continues in a whisper, "I am actually the father of not one, not two, but three children. Triplets. A boy and two girls. They turned five not too long ago."

My jaw drops in an unladylike manner.

Amidst all of his mucking around Europe, Theodore had somehow sired a set of illegitimate... triplets?

I do not know how to respond to such a bombshell.

So, I simply gape at him and stammer like an idiot, "Oh, my! Oh, my. Oh, my, my, my..."

"Indeed," he grumbles with a sullen pout. "I nearly fainted when she told me."

Even though I still hold some resentment against Theodore, my sympathies meander towards him. Begrudgingly. Once upon a time, I loved him, and he claimed to love me. My shrewish heart is not so petty as to wish him ill when he already looks crestfallen. It cannot be an easy adjustment to become a father of three overnight. I feel overwhelmed and shocked by the news, and the triplets are not even my children!

"This is why," Theodore presses on, "I need you."

I blink rapidly in dismay.

Perhaps I had not misunderstood his intent, after all?

Quietly, I demand, "Did you approach me today with the intention to offer employment?"

"Yes."

Oh, dear.

Me? A governess?

In truth, the idea is not unappealing to me. I am not particularly fond of children, but they are more tolerable to me than most men. For all his faults as my guardian, Mr. Fernsby did one thing right. He did not neglect my education in spite of my sex. I can read, I can write, I can speak French, and I can play a little pianoforte. As a governess, I believe my qualifications are acceptable.

In truth, I would much rather work than marry again, but I had not entertained the possibility of entering the labor force so soon. My savings are robust enough to tide me over for another year or two. The prospect of securing employment is a problem my present self planned to entrust to my future self.

Thus, I attempt to reject Theodore as politely as possible, "Thank you for the offer, but I am not interested—"

Theodore interrupts me again, "I feel terrible for what happened between us all those years ago. Let me make it up to you. Consider this offer a most heartfelt apology for the follies of our youth."

My mouth forms a small, irritated O.

It is confirmed, then. Theodore sees me as nothing more than a charity case.

How mortifying.

Even with my limited options as a female, I am sure that I can find other means of work. I could be a secretary. A maid. Or a governess for some other well-to-do household. I do not feel comfortable working for Theodore, given our spotty history together.

My pride takes a tumble as my mouth proceeds to rearrange its shape into a hard, flat line.

"Again, I thank you for the kind offer, but, regrettably, I must decline your... kindness. I believe your five minutes are up. I shall be on my way now."

I try to exit the labyrinth, but he blocks my path with his superior size and bulk.

He practically whines, "What is holding you back? Is it because of our past? Please do not let your grudge against me stand in the way of a good opportunity."

I bite back a scowl.

Am I truly that transparent?

Again, Theodore manages to read me like an open book.

My temper flares slightly, and I huff, "Can you blame me? My reputation is barely hanging on by a thread. If I tie myself to you in any shape, way, or form, all of London will speculate that I have become your mistress regardless of what my job actually entails."

"You will not be working for me, though."

Theodore's response bewilders me for the second time this afternoon.

My eyebrows lift skywards. "What?"

"You will be working for my elder brother."

Miraculously, he manages to astonish me a third time.

I squeak, "What?"

He explains, "My brother, Lord Maxwell Hawthorne, has agreed to adopt my children as his wards. His reputation is spotless. Sterling. Ridiculously boring. I believe he will be able to provide them with a much more promising future than me. Now, please, won't you reconsider my request?"