Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
The carriage slowed. Greyson leaned forward instinctively as he glanced out the window. They were in front of his mother’s townhouse.
A cold spike of fear shot through him. “Hazel,” he said sharply, “is my mother all right?”
Hazel practically bounced in her seat, glowing with excitement that did absolutely nothing to calm him. “She is more than all right.”
What does that mean?
Greyson didn’t wait for the footman. He was out of the carriage in three strides. Hazel followed close behind, lifting her skirts as she hurried to keep pace. He reached the front doors just as Mrs. Atherton pulled them open, and her usually composed expression bloomed into a radiant smile.
“Oh, Your Grace,” she exclaimed, her hands fluttering. “So, you’ve heard! Your mother is—”
“No!” Hazel cut in, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste. She pointed both hands at Mrs. Atherton like an order. “Don’t tell him! I want him to see for himself.”
Mrs. Atherton clapped a hand over her mouth.
Greyson stared between them, pulse pounding. “See what?” His voice came out sharper than intended. “Hazel, if something is wrong—”
“It’s not wrong,” Hazel promised, taking his arm and practically vibrating with joy. “She’s, oh, Greyson, please, just go. Quickly.”
He was losing his mind.
“Hazel—”
“Trust me,” she whispered.
He froze. There it was, that word again, that request he never once imagined he would hear from her—or be willing to grant. He inhaled, then strode upstairs. He felt Hazel behind him. He pushed faster, up the first flight, then up the second. His mother’s hallway stretched ahead.
If something has happened… if Hazel’s smile was misplaced… if I’ve misunderstood…
He could not bear another loss, or another false dawn.
He reached the door, feeling his pulse thundering in his throat, and threw it open. That was the moment that he froze. His mother was sitting in her armchair by the window, with that same shawl wrapped around her willowy shoulders. Only now, there was a book open in her trembling hands.
And she was… reading.
Those were soft whispers, barely audible, but unmistakably words, threaded together, halting but steady. Her lips shaped each syllable with careful intention.
Greyson couldn’t breathe.
Hazel came up behind him but did not speak. She knew. She knew.
At the sound of the door, his mother paused. Slowly, she lifted her head. Her gaze rose past the words, past the page, and landed on him. Her eyes were focused, clear… present.
Greyson’s heart slammed against his ribs.
“Mother?” he whispered, the word cracking like a boy’s.
She blinked twice, then she closed the book on her lap and pushed herself up, not shakily, but with the determined grace he remembered from childhood. She crossed the room, and every step was a blow to the heart.
Greyson stood rooted, unable to move, unable to understand, unable to believe. She reached him and lifted a trembling hand to his cheek.
“Greyson, my darling boy…” Her voice was a thin, frail whisper, but it was real. “You look… so well.”
Greyson’s breath broke. He hadn’t realized he had been holding it. Her fingers brushed his jaw, memorizing the lines as if she had found him again after being lost at sea.
“I have missed you,” she whispered.
Something shattered inside him. He tried to speak, to answer her, to tell her how desperately he had missed her too, how he had prayed for this, begged for it in silence, bargained for it in his heart, but no sound came.
He opened his mouth. Nothing.
Her hand curled more firmly around his.
“Oh, my dear boy,” she breathed, as if soothing him, “don’t cry.”
He didn’t realize there were tears until her thumb brushed one away.
And then she said something else, a phrase she used to say when he was very small. “My Greyson.”
That broke him. He swallowed a sob, stepped forward, and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t do it carefully or tentatively, but with the fierce, desperate embrace of a man reclaiming something he had thought gone forever.
His mother gasped softly at the sudden closeness, but her hands rose and clutched his back.
He held her tighter, burying his face in her shoulder as the years of silence melted away.
She’s here.
She’s here.
She’s here.
He couldn’t stop repeating it, while behind him, Hazel pressed a hand to her mouth, while tears were streaming silently down her cheeks. Still, she did not interrupt.
Greyson held his mother as though time itself might steal her again if he let go, shaking with every breath.
“Mother…” he finally managed in a voice that was hoarse and broken. “I’ve missed you so much.”
She stroked his hair weakly. “I know.”
And Greyson, feeling his mother’s arms around him, feeling her voice, her presence and her recognition, closed his eyes and let the moment consume him.
Hazel walked beside Greyson down the townhouse steps, feeling her heart still unsteady from everything that had unfolded inside.
They had stayed with his mother for a short while, just enough to cherish the miracle without overwhelming her. Hazel had insisted they return tomorrow, and Greyson agreed at once, unable to take his eyes off his mother until the very last moment.
Now, as they crossed the short walkway toward the carriage, Hazel felt her pulse flutter. Greyson hadn’t said much since they left the room. She knew that wasn’t out of coldness, but simply because he was unable to process what he was feeling.
Suddenly, he stopped beside the carriage door. Hazel turned toward him, and his hand lifted, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that stole her breath. Before she could react or form a single thought, he leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to her forehead.
Hazel’s breath caught in her throat. Warmth spread through her from forehead to toes. Every coherent thought dissolved into a quiet, stunned hush.
Greyson lingered just a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then he drew back. His silver eyes were brighter than she had ever seen them.
“Hazel, I…” he murmured, “thank you.”
Her lips parted, but nothing came out.
He shook his head slightly, as if words were impossible to shape properly. “You are…” He glanced away, then back, searching her face for a long moment, “an absolute wonder.”
Hazel’s pulse stuttered.
“A miracle worker,” Greyson added in that voice that made something deep inside of her awaken, without any desire to go back to sleep.
Hazel felt her cheeks burn. She stared down at her hands, desperately fighting the smile tugging at her lips, and failing miserably.
“I… I only helped her a little,” she whispered.
“No,” Greyson said, stepping closer, his voice gentle but certain. “You truly brought her back to me this time.”
Hazel’s cheeks bloomed even hotter. All she could do was smile and hope he could not hear how fast her heart was beating.
Not waiting for her to respond, Greyson opened the carriage door for her. She stepped inside, unable to stop smiling. Greyson followed after her, and as the carriage door closed behind them, Hazel felt the world shift toward something new.
On their way home, Greyson stared out the window, lost in thought. Hazel didn’t need to guess what he was thinking of. She watched him from the corner of her eye, unable to look away. He seemed so different now, less made of stone and more of something warm.
Hazel pressed her hands together in her lap, gripping her gloves as if they might anchor her own swirling thoughts. She had not meant for this to happen. This closeness and warmth, and constant awareness of his presence, were not meant to happen.
This marriage had been meant to be simple.
A partnership, not a romance. A structure, not a heartache.
Hazel had agreed to it because she believed she had nothing left to give emotionally, not after years of raising her sisters, shielding them, carrying burdens that weren’t hers to bear. She had no room left for the chaos of affection.
And yet… Greyson’s forehead had rested against hers when he kissed her. He called her a wonder, a miracle.
Hazel felt her throat tighten. This is dangerous.
This warmth, this tenderness, this was how hearts broke. This was how expectations formed. This was how a woman woke up one morning, realizing she loved someone who did not love her back.
Greyson Thornhill had vowed long ago never to fall in love. He had said as much to Jasper, to the world, and in every guarded breath he took. Hazel knew he respected her, appreciated her, perhaps even admired her. But love? No. She must not make that mistake.
Hazel turned her gaze to the opposite window, pretending her heart was not thudding wildly.
I should pull away, she told herself. Create distance. Restore the boundaries.
But then she remembered the way he had looked at his mother, the way he had whispered her name as if it were a prayer, the way he held her hand on the way to the carriage, gripping it tighter when he realized what she had done for him.
Hazel closed her eyes, and the memory flooded her with warmth and ache.
Or… perhaps I should stop fighting this.
Maybe she could allow herself this softness, this possibility, this man. She didn’t know whether to run from her feelings or reach for them with both hands.
What she did know was that either choice would hurt: one from longing, one from fear.