Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Dinner was served precisely at seven.
The table at Callbury House was long enough to seat twenty guests with comfort, but tonight only two places were set, one at each end, as propriety dictated.
Yet, Hazel barely tasted a bite. And Greyson seemed…
distracted. His posture was impeccable and his tone measured, but Hazel had spent enough time reading people, her sisters, her parents and half of society, to recognize a troubled mind when she saw one.
And Greyson’s mind was very, very troubled.
He kept looking at her with that strange, unreadable intensity that made Hazel feel as though she were sitting much closer to him than the length of the table allowed.
She dabbed her mouth with her napkin, trying to steady herself.
She had expected, perhaps even deserved, a certain severity from him. After all, she had rummaged through his private study like a thief and then invaded what she thought was his mistress’ home. The shame of it still prickled at her skin.
She should apologize. She should confess. She should explain how foolish she had been, how wrong, how—
No. She could not begin that conversation herself. What if she misunderstood? What if he didn’t even know she’d been there? It was best not to blunder into humiliation until absolutely necessary.
Still, she could not ignore the tension radiating from the other end of the table. She had always been unable to sit quietly while someone she cared about suffered, even when she wasn’t sure whether that someone cared back.
Finally, mustering her courage, Hazel looked up.
“You seem unsettled this evening,” she said softly. “Are you quite well?”
Greyson paused, his fork halfway to his plate. He looked at her fully then, without hiding his gaze.
“I am well,” he said slowly. “Nothing is wrong.”
Relief flickered through her, brief and foolish.
Then, he shifted in his chair. “But… something is different.”
Hazel blinked, her stomach fluttering with equal parts dread and anticipation.
Oh no. He knows.
He knew she had been in his study. He knew she had gone to the townhouse. He knew she had met his mother. He knew she had behaved like an absolute lunatic, driven by jealousy and heartbreak.
She lowered her eyes. “If I did anything to trouble you…” She hesitated. “You may tell me.”
She was ready for his disappointment. She was ready for his displeasure. She was ready for the moment he said: You had no right.
“You did not trouble me,” he suddenly told her. “In fact… quite the opposite.” Greyson set down his fork with deliberate care, not taking his eyes off of her. “How did you find out where my mother was?”
Hazel froze. There it was, the question she had been dreading; the same question she had foolishly hoped might never come.
Her cheeks warmed instantly. “I, well… I…” She cleared her throat, attempting to summon the composure of a duchess rather than the flustered creature she currently was. “It was… quite simple, really.”
One of his brows lifted.
She could not lie, but neither could she admit she had been tearing apart his study in a jealous frenzy. So, she chose… a strategic truth.
“I was in your study,” she began, trying very hard not to shrink into her chair, “looking for a particular book.”
Greyson’s expression did not change, but something in his eyes glinted as though he strongly doubted she had been pursuing literature at the time.
Hazel continued, forging ahead before she lost her nerve. “And I… happened to come across a letter… a lease, rather, for a townhouse in London.”
She forced a tiny laugh that sounded terribly like a squeak. “Quite a significant sum, actually.”
Greyson did not blink, but his entire posture sharpened. “And what,” he asked very quietly, “did you think that payment meant?”
Hazel flushed so deeply she feared she might spontaneously combust.
She inhaled, straightened her spine, and because it was the only way to get through this, she simply said it.
“I thought you had a mistress.”
Greyson stared at her.
Hazel rushed on before he could speak. “And I thought, well, if I did have to face her, I would prefer to do so sooner rather than later, because I cannot abide uncertainty, and I did not want rumors forming behind my back and if she were wicked, then that would be dreadful, of course, but if she were perfectly lovely then I suppose that would be even worse, because then I would feel rather horrid about hating her when she probably didn’t deserve it—”
“Hazel,” Greyson murmured.
“—and then I realized I’d have to march into that house and demand she tell me precisely how long the affair had gone on and whether you preferred her company, but of course I had absolutely no idea what one is meant to say when confronting a mistress, especially one I had never met—”
“Hazel,” he tried again, a bit more insistently this time.
“—and I hadn’t even thought what I would do if you were there as well because truly that would have been too awful for words and perhaps the most humiliating experience of my entire life and I’m still not entirely certain what I intended but—”
“Hazel.”
She stopped. Her face was burning. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. “Yes?”
He stared at her incredulously, then, to her profound astonishment, the corner of his lips curved—and there it was, a lovely, albeit stunned smile.
“You thought you were going to a mistress’ house,” he asked with disbelief, “to fight her?”
Hazel pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I didn’t say fight precisely. I simply meant that I… well, I would have confronted her… fiercely… possibly, if needed.”
Greyson let out a sound that was richer than anything she had ever heard from him.
“You,” he said, wonder softening every syllable, “marched across London prepared to battle a woman who does not exist.”
Hazel pointed her fork at him, mortified. “Do not mock me. I was being practical.”
He blinked. “Practical?”
“Yes,” she insisted, though her voice cracked, “because if you had a mistress, it was far better for me to know immediately. And if she needed… speaking to, I was prepared.”
Greyson’s smile widened. “Hazel,” he said softly, “you are remarkable.”
Her breath caught. His tone did entirely unhelpful things to her insides.
She looked down hastily, staring at her plate as though it could save her. “Well,” she muttered, “I am very relieved she was not a mistress.”
Greyson leaned forward slightly. “As am I.”
Hazel felt the words settle deep inside her. And for one dizzy, impossible moment, she wondered whether the reason he was looking at her so intently… was not because she had made a fool of herself, but because he cared far more than a man in a mere marriage of convenience should.
Greyson watched Hazel closely. She was truly trying to appear unaffected by her own confession.
She lifted her chin a little higher, folded her napkin with unnecessary precision, and added almost breezily. “Well, it is not as though I minded terribly. The concern was only for my reputation, of course.”
But Greyson saw through it at once. He noticed the faint tremble in her fingers and the pink in her cheeks that had not faded since she’d begun her rambling confession.
She had minded. And the knowledge struck him deeper than intended.
“Hazel,” he said quietly, “I would never disgrace you like that.”
He thought she would fling herself into another monologue of trying to deflect the truth, but she did not. Instead, she smiled, looking unearthly beautiful.
“Well… it was merely a hypothetical concern,” she still insisted. “Naturally. I did not assume you… cared what I thought.”
He did not answer, for the simple reason that he cared far more than he ought to for a marriage of convenience.. But, before he could find the right words, Hazel spoke again. This time, she did it unexpectedly, bravely, and with a gentleness that made something inside him twist.
“What happened to her?” she blurted. “To your mother, I mean. To make her… the way she is now?”
Greyson went still. It had been ages since someone had asked that question, and so directly.
Hazel’s eyes widened, as though she realized too late the audacity of her question. “I apologize,” she said quickly. “I did not mean to pry. If you would rather not respond, I completely under—”
“No,” Greyson said.
Her gaze snapped to his.
He swallowed once, surprised by the force of his own certainty. “No. You have not crossed a line.”
Hazel’s brows knitted softly. There was such earnestness in her eyes that he found he could not look away. He drew in a slow breath.
“She was… not always like this,” he began. His voice felt heavy, as though the air itself thickened around the words. “My mother used to laugh. She loved dancing. And she adored my brother.” He paused, swallowing. “We all did.”
Hazel said nothing. She only listened, utterly still. So, he continued.
“It began with my brother’s courtship. He fell in love with a young woman… but their families did not suit. Her father married her to another man. Wealthier and older, which was, as you can imagine, a more advantageous match.”
Hazel’s eyes softened with sorrow. Greyson looked down at his plate, though he saw nothing.
“My brother could not accept it. He wrote letters—pleaded, begged for a way to have her. There was none.” His voice tightened. “One night, he went riding near the river. He never returned.”
Hazel’s breath hitched.
Greyson forced himself to continue. “They said it was an accident. His horse slipped.” He shook his head. “But we found a letter in his coat. The last one he ever wrote. It was a farewell.”
He exhaled slowly, feeling as though his breath were made of cut glass.
“And your mother…” she whispered.
“My mother,” he said hoarsely, “never returned from that night either. At least not fully. She blamed herself. She blamed the world. And she blamed love.” His hand curled against the table. “She faded, quietly and completely, until she was… what you saw, what she has been for years.”
Hazel pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes shimmering with sympathy, she tried valiantly to control.
“The grief hollowed her. And my father… he grew harsh. He could not forgive my brother for what he did. I could not forgive him for how he treated her afterward.” His jaw tightened. “So, I tried to be the son she needed, steady and reliable, never foolish enough to fall apart over someone.”
Hazel remained silent for a long moment after he finished speaking.
He wondered if the weight of it was too much for her.
Then she stood. Greyson’s breath stilled as she rounded the table.
She did not hesitate. She came directly to him and sat in the empty chair at his side.
Before he could question it, she reached for his hand.
Her fingers slipped into his with a warmth so startling and so gentle that he nearly forgot how to breathe.
“Greyson…” Her voice was soft, and yet it seemed to strike straight through the hardened walls he’d carried all his life. “Your mother loves you with all her heart. I am certain of it.”
Greyson’s throat tightened. The very idea of his mother, proud of him, loving him despite everything, was almost too much to bear. He let out a faint, humorless breath that might have been a laugh.
“I wish it were so,” he murmured.
Hazel squeezed his hand.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Hazel blinked. “For what?”
“For today.” He paused. “For being there.”
Hazel’s lips parted, and he could see surprise flickering across her face. She seemed… unprepared for gratitude, as though it had seldom been offered.
“I… it was nothing, truly.”
“It was not nothing.”
She flushed, dropping her gaze to where their hands were joined. She made a small, awkward attempt to pull back, but he tightened his fingers instinctively, refusing to let her retreat.
“You cared for her,” Greyson continued. “You showed her kindness. You brought her peace, even for a moment.” He swallowed. “You gave my mother more today than anyone has in years.”
Hazel swallowed too, visibly unsettled. She looked almost… lost, as though she did not know where to place his gratitude.
“You deserve to be thanked,” he said gently. “You deserve to be appreciated.”
Hazel’s breath trembled. She looked away, blinking far too rapidly.
“I don’t know what to say,” she murmured.
Greyson offered the faintest smile. “Then say nothing.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, feeling a quiet longing he had no business entertaining, for he had told her his truth, and in turn, she had offered him comfort.