Chapter 3 #2
Greyson’s answer was delivered with such blunt honesty that she actually stepped back.
“Because every duke needs a wife,” he said simply, “and I am honestly indifferent to who it is.”
Hazel stared at him. Her mouth fell open. Her mind blanked. Of all the arrogant, cold, absolutely insulting and utterly ducal things to say…
“You…” she sputtered, “you are indifferent.”
He nodded once. “As long as she is suitable,” he clarified, “and you are. Very.”
Hazel made a noise that was not quite human. Inside the carriage, her sisters looked out the window with wide, fascinated eyes. And Hazel Thorne, usually the most grounded woman in any room, felt the earth shift beneath her feet.
She had expected arrogance. She had expected intimidation. She had not expected his truth in such a sharp and unadorned manner that it felt like a blade pressed to her pride.
She clenched her teeth, willing the pressure in her chest to stay down, forcing her breath to remain steady. She would not cry, not in front of him.
“This…” She swallowed, voice trembling despite her efforts. “This was not supposed to be how my life went.”
He looked at her, but didn’t say anything.
“I was supposed to help marry off my sisters,” Hazel continued, words spilling out before she could stop them.
“And then finally, I was to be free. I have spent my whole life caring for others, managing chaos and solving problems. And when they were settled, I was to live as I pleased. I was to have freedom for once in my life.”
Her eyes stung. Her breath hitched.
“And now…” She covered her face with one hand, choking on the humiliation of admitting it. “Now I will have to be a wife in every sense of the word.”
Greyson frowned. Then unexpectedly, he stepped closer and tilted her chin up with a single gloved finger, forcing her to face him. Hazel stiffened.
One tear escaped anyway. He brushed it away with the pad of his thumb.
“You misunderstand me,” he said softly, more gently than she had ever imagined him capable of. “I thought this would be obvious, but apparently it bears repeating.”
She swallowed, barely breathing.
“This will be only a marriage of convenience,” he continued. “A piece of paper. Nothing more.”
Hazel’s breath shuddered out of her. Relief washed through her so swiftly that she trembled from the release of it. His touch, still light beneath her chin, sent an unexpected shiver through her skin.
She stepped back quickly, as though distance could erase the sensation.
“Well,” she whispered, “that… that makes it easier.”
It did. It absolutely did. It also hurt in a way she could not name.
The duke bowed slightly, in that precise and proper fashion. “You need not worry about anything, Miss Thorne. I will settle everything.”
Hazel’s stomach tightened. That, she realized with a cold certainty, was exactly what frightened her; handing control of anything, let alone her life, to someone else, to a man, to… him.
But she said nothing. She watched in silence as Greyson Thornhill, tall and steady and frighteningly sure of himself, turned and walked back toward the house, toward whatever plans he was already arranging for her future.
Hazel climbed into the carriage without a word. The moment she shut the door behind her, Chastity and Patience sprang forward like two tightly wound springs finally released.
“Hazel!” Chastity squeaked. “Did he… did we hear that correctly?”
Patience grabbed Hazel’s arm. “He proposed! You’re to marry the Duke of Callbury! The Duke of Callbury, Hazel! Tell us we misheard!”
Hazel stared straight ahead.
“You did not mishear,” she said quietly.
Her sisters exchanged wide-eyed looks of fear, shock, and a tiny spark of excitement flashed across their faces. Then the barrage began again.
“But, Hazel, do you want to?”
“What about Bath?”
“What about us?”
“What about your freedom?”
“What about everything you always said?”
Hazel didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. They had all heard every word spoken beneath the lanterns. They heard every sentence, every impossible arrangement laid bare.
Outside, the estate blurred as the carriage wheels rolled forward, taking her away from the house, from the party, from any hope she had of being forgotten by morning.
After a long while, Patience whispered. “Well… at least it is only a marriage of convenience.”
Chastity nodded vigorously. “Yes. Exactly. No expectations, no romantic nonsense. And to a duke, Hazel! That must count for something. Surely it is better than being a spinster.”
Hazel did not reply.
Convenience.
She almost laughed. She had heard that word before in stories whispered behind fans, in quiet lamentations among wives at tea tables, in the regrets of women who once believed they were entering safe, unemotional arrangements.
She had heard of men who claimed they wanted an unattached union, nothing more than partnership, civility, shared rooms in name only.
And she had heard how those vows broke. Sometimes the men changed their minds.
They decided they wanted affection, warmth, and love.
Sometimes they demanded heirs, even when they had promised otherwise. Sometimes they simply changed.
And women were left powerless, trapped in a life they had not chosen, bound by law and society, their names no longer their own.
Hazel wrapped her coat tighter around her shoulders. She would not be one of them.
No matter what, she vowed silently, feeling the resolve sinking deep into her bones, I will never be his.