Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Greyson stood by the tall windows of his study, watching Hazel bent beside the gardener, inspecting a cluster of late-summer roses with earnest concentration.
He should have returned to his paperwork ten minutes ago. Instead, he watched her.
Hazel pointed at a wilted blossom, murmuring something he could not hear. Whatever she said made old Mr. Hollis throw his head back in laughter. It was a full, warm, unguarded sound, Greyson had not realized the man could still manage. Hazel laughed, too.
Even he himself smiled. Hazel could coax warmth from a stone.
He watched as she straightened, brushing dirt from her gloves. Mr. Hollis said something, scratching his chin, and Hazel responded with a gentle pat to his arm.
Greyson’s brows drew together. It had taken Hollis six years to look Greyson in the eye. Six years to learn the duke was not the sort to snap at an underling simply for existing. And yet Hazel had been here scarcely a month and the man was practically beaming at her like a doting uncle.
She made everything and everyone around her content. And he liked it more than he ought to.
She could make anyone smile, he thought to himself. Even Mother.
Greyson stiffened. Despite the impossible feat that Hazel had managed to performGreyson knew that affection, of any kind, was dangerous.
It was unpredictable. It weakened a man, and it weakened families.
He had seen the ruin it left in its wake, felt the aftermath carved into the bones of this very house.
He couldn’t allow softness to sway him. But Hazel… she defied such logic simply by being herself.
Greyson had barely taken a step back from the window when the study door swung open without so much as a knock.
“Greyson, old boy!” Jasper announced, striding in with all the subtlety of a parade. “I come bearing exceptionally good news, though I doubt you deserve it, considering you have not answered a single one of my notes this week—”
Greyson did not turn. He did not blink. He did not, in fact, hear a single word.
Hazel had paused by the rose archway, and sunlight turned her hair into warm copper. She lifted her skirts slightly to avoid a puddle, smiling as she did so.
Behind him, Jasper continued. “…and one could even argue that you have been positively reclusive, which is terribly rude behavior for a newly married man. One might think you would be reveling in social glory, but you… Greyson, are you listening to me?”
Greyson did not offer even a grunt of a greeting.
Jasper’s brows rose. He walked closer, leaned sideways a fraction, and followed the line of Greyson’s gaze straight through the window.
“Oh,” Jasper breathed, and there was a grin blooming. “Well, well.”
Greyson finally tore his eyes away from Hazel, only to scowl at Jasper, which did nothing to hide that he had been staring.
Jasper clasped his hands dramatically. “I must say, old friend, this is truly a historic moment. The great Duke of Callbury, felled by the sight of his own wife smiling at a rosebush.”
“I was not felled,” Greyson snapped.
“It certainly looked like it.”
“I was thinking.”
“About roses?”
“About the gardener,” Greyson said stiffly.
Jasper laughed outright. “Yes, that poor fellow is clearly the source of your sudden introspective paralysis.”
Greyson glowered. “You are insufferable.”
“Thank you,” Jasper said brightly. “But let us examine the facts, shall we? I entered the room. I spoke. I continued speaking. You did not respond. You did not blink. You did not breathe. The only conclusion is that your attention was entirely occupied by—”
“—not by Hazel,” Greyson lied with all the conviction of a man caught red-handed.
Jasper arched a brow. “Mhm. And I suppose you also stare out of windows for the pleasure of contemplating the weather?”
Greyson’s jaw clenched. “It rained earlier.”
“So, you were contemplating the weather?”
Greyson said nothing.
Jasper’s grin widened. “Greyson, my dear fellow, you have it so badly.”
“I have nothing,” Greyson growled. “Least of all whatever nonsense you are implying.”
“Nonsense?” Jasper echoed. “You were gazing at her as if you had forgotten the entire English language.”
Greyson turned sharply away from the window, stalking toward his desk with all the grace of a storm cloud. “I do not gaze.”
“You do. Quite prettily, in fact.”
Greyson froze mid-step. “Say that again, and I shall have you removed from this house.”
Jasper laughed, trailing after him. “It is not an insult. Merely an observation. Your lovely wife has that effect on people. Rather dangerous, actually.”
Greyson stiffened again.
Jasper narrowed his eyes. “Ah. There it is. You are worried.”
“Ridiculous.”
“Terrified, then?”
Greyson shot him a lethal look. “I fear nothing.”
“Except feelings,” Jasper said cheerfully. “And wives. And feelings about wives.”
Greyson sank into his chair with a frustrated exhale, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “She was helping the gardener.”
“And what a devastating activity that must be for your nerves.”
Greyson glared. “She was smiling.”
“Yes,” Jasper replied. “Hazel does that. It is shocking.”
Greyson ignored him, though tension lingered in every line of his body. “She… makes the household easier.” He paused as though the admission cost him something. “People respond to her.”
Jasper leaned against the writing table. “Including you.”
Greyson looked away sharply. “Do not start.”
Jasper held up his hands in surrender. “Very well. I shall not mention it again.”
“You will,” Greyson said darkly.
“Oh, absolutely,” Jasper agreed. “But not for the next five minutes, out of respect for your pride.”
Greyson let out a huff that might have been acceptance, or it might have been irritation. Jasper rarely bothered to distinguish between the two.
He turned back toward the window, though Hazel was no longer in sight. “Hazel went to see my mother.”
Jasper nodded easily. “Yes, I know, you told me this,” he amended with a faint grin.
Greyson said nothing for a heartbeat. Then, very quietly, he continued. “But do you know what happened there?”
Something in his tone made Jasper straighten. “No,” he said slowly. “Should I?”
Greyson’s silver eyes shifted toward him, and there was an unusual openness flickering there before he looked away again. “Because of Hazel… my mother came back to me.”
Jasper blinked. “I… beg your pardon?”
Greyson’s jaw worked as though the words had to fight their way free. “If only for a moment,” he said. “She… recognized me, Jasper.”
Jasper stared, with his lips parting in astonishment. For once, he had no ready quip.
“She looked directly at me. Not through me, not past me, but at me.” He exhaled, the memory striking him again with unexpected force. “And it was my mother, not the shadow she has become.”
Jasper moved closer. “Greyson… that is remarkable.”
Greyson nodded once. It was a clipped movement, but his eyes betrayed him. “I have Hazel to thank for that.”
Jasper let out a low whistle. “Good God.”
Greyson braced one hand against the edge of the writing table. “I do not understand how she does it. She barely raised her voice. She simply sat beside my mother and read to her in that quiet way of hers… and suddenly my mother was…” He broke off, looking away again. “Present.”
Jasper allowed only a single moment before he was back to his usual self. “So, you are telling me that Hazel has done more for you in a few weeks than most people have accomplished in your entire life.”
Greyson shot him a half-glare for the sentimentality.
Jasper raised both hands. “I mean that as praise, not insult.”
Greyson looked back toward the window, toward the garden Hazel had filled with laughter minutes prior. “I owe her more than I can say.”
Jasper held his gaze, understanding something crucial had shifted.
“Then perhaps,” he said quietly, “it is time to stop being afraid of what she makes you feel.”
Greyson gave him a look that was equal parts stubbornness and unease. It was the look of a man being pushed toward a truth he was not ready to claim.
“We will not discuss feelings,” Greyson said.
Jasper smiled. “But Greyson, old boy… we already are.”
Greyson growled under his breath, but Jasper only laughed in that warm, amused sound of a friend who knew precisely how to push, and precisely when to stop.
“I told her,” Hazel announced the moment she entered Matilda’s drawing room. “I told my mother I would no longer be responsible for my sisters.”
Evelyn’s teacup clattered against its saucer. “You what?”
Matilda nearly dropped the embroidery she was threading. “You confronted Lady Belvington?”
Cordelia gasped in a manner entirely disproportionate to the news, clutching her heart. “Why, Hazel, you brave, magnificent creature!”
Hazel shrugged, though her pulse still fluttered with the remnants of the morning’s storm. “It was long overdue.”
Evelyn set her teacup down very slowly, as if steady enough handling might keep the universe from tilting. “Hazel, forgive me, but… you have been trying to say that for years. What changed?”
Hazel blinked. “I did.”
Matilda leaned forward. “Tell us everything.”
Hazel took a breath, and for once it didn’t feel heavy. “I told Mama exactly how I felt, that I had carried responsibilities that were not meant for a child, that I had been treated as a third parent, and that I could not, and would not, continue managing every aspect of my sisters’ lives.”
Cordelia slapped her hands together. “Yes! Yes! Finally, someone says what every eldest sister dreams of saying!”
Evelyn looked halfway between scandalized and impressed. “And she just… let you leave afterward?”
“She refused to walk me out,” Hazel said wryly.
Cordelia snorted. “Petty.”
“Expected,” Matilda corrected gently. “But Hazel… my goodness. How do you feel?”
Hazel paused. The truth rose in her chest like a warm tide.
“Lighter,” she explained. “Much lighter. As if someone untied a knot I had been carrying for years without realizing it.”
Her friends exchanged glowing smiles.
“A transformation,” Evelyn declared.
“A glorious rebellion,” Cordelia added.
“A healthy boundary,” Matilda finished, because someone in their group had to be sensible, and it didn’t have to be Hazel anymore.
Hazel herself laughed. “All of that and now, I find I want something I haven’t wanted in a very long time.”
The three duchesses leaned in eagerly.
“Peace?” Evelyn whispered.
“Rest?” Matilda guessed.
“A scandal?” Cordelia gasped.
“Fun,” Hazel said simply.
Cordelia clapped again. “Even better!”
Matilda laughed. “And what form shall this newfound fun take?”
Hazel looked toward the window, where the sun flashed off the glass like an invitation. “A ride through Hyde Park? The four of us? No chaperones, no obligations, no responsibilities, just… fresh air and freedom.”
Cordelia nearly squealed. “Yes!”
Evelyn gave a rare, delighted grin. “I have not been on a spontaneous ride in months.”
Matilda nodded with elegant certainty. “Then it is decided. We ride.”
Hazel stood, feeling the spark of joy in her chest. “I only need to return home and change.”
Cordelia waved a hand. “Go, go! Find something scandalously comfortable.”
“Cordelia,” Evelyn scolded lightly, “riding attire is not scandalous.”
“It can be,” Cordelia muttered under her breath.
Hazel laughed again. “I shall be back within the hour.”
As she swept from the room, she felt almost… weightless. Here she was doing something solely because she wanted to. And the world, shockingly enough, had not ended.