Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Greyson returned to the ballroom with a quiet sense of relief.
The young lady he had assisted stood near a cluster of matrons, her gown repaired well enough that no one would think twice. She laughed at something said to her, composed once more, and spared the humiliation that might have followed her for years. The sight settled his mind.
Good, then.
The matter was finished. His attention turned at once to finding Hazel. The ballroom was the same glittering spectacle as before, yet something essential was missing.
Her.
He slowed near the edge of the room just as he caught sight of Chastity standing before their mother.
The girl’s posture was unusually composed.
Her mother’s expression, by contrast, was tight with concern.
Greyson watched as Chastity spoke. She seemed to be doing so briefly yet earnestly.
Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line.
She said something sharp, then something questioning. Chastity nodded once. Then again.
And then, without turning toward the dance area, without a backward glance, Chastity moved away, threading quickly through the guests and exiting through the main doors.
Greyson’s unease sharpened.
Something is wrong.
The certainty of it settled heavily in his chest, unwelcome and insistent. Hazel did not leave rooms quietly. She did not vanish without reason. And she would not abandon a ball without purpose.
Several moments later, Greyson approached Lady Belvington with all the composure expected of him, though it took more effort than he cared to admit.
“My lady,” he said, inclining his head politely, “might I trouble you with a question? I have been searching for my wife. Have you seen Hazel?”
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her fan before she answered.
“Yes… well.” She drew a measured breath. “It appears there was a small difficulty involving Chastity.”
Greyson’s brows knit. “A difficulty?”
“Nothing of true consequence,” she assured him quickly, though her tone suggested otherwise. “She danced rather too exclusively with a particular gentleman. I fear it invited comment.”
Greyson waited.
“As always,” Lady Belvington continued, with a faint, resigned sigh, “Hazel felt it was her responsibility to intervene. She took Chastity home to ensure the matter was settled before it could grow into something more… unfortunate.”
Greyson’s composure fractured, just barely.
“Home?” he repeated. “Our home?”
Lady Belvington blinked, clearly taken aback by the sharpness of his question. “No,” she said after a moment. “To our home. Belvington Manor. At least, that is what Chastity told me.”
The words struck harder than he expected.
Belvington, not Callbury.
“I see,” Greyson said quietly.
Lady Belvington seemed apologetic as she spoke. “I assumed you were aware, Your Grace. Hazel has always—”
“Yes,” he said, cutting in gently but firmly. “I am aware.” He inclined his head once more, a dismissal wrapped in courtesy. “Thank you for telling me.”
He turned away before she could say more, before she could remark upon Hazel’s habits or praise her sense of duty.
Each word would only sharpen the unease already settling into his soul.
Hazel had not merely stepped out. She had chosen to leave, to return to the place that had shaped her, rather than to the life she was meant to be building now.
And she had done so without a word to him.
Greyson went in search of a drink. He found one at the edge of the ballroom, accepted a glass of brandy, and stood very still as the amber liquid settled. The act was familiar and grounding. It was something to occupy his hands while his thoughts refused to be ordered.
Hazel had left without a single word.
He took a measured sip, felt the burn, welcomed it.
“Where is your lovely duchess?”
The words reached him just as he lowered the glass. Greyson turned slowly. Jasper was now standing before him. His brows were lifted in that perpetually mischievous and curious look until he took in Greyson’s expression. Whatever he saw there wiped the grin from his face with impressive speed.
“Good grief,” Jasper said at once. “Are you about to strike me, or should I merely step aside?”
Greyson’s jaw tightened. He said nothing.
Jasper straightened, and now, all levity was gone. “What’s happened? Is everything all right?”
Greyson looked away, back toward the crowd, toward the doors Hazel had passed through without him. “She’s gone,” he said shortly. “She left with her sister. Returned to her parents’ house.”
Jasper blinked. “Ah.” He considered this for a moment, then gave a small shrug. “Well, her sisters are fond of her, and likely missed her dreadfully. She’ll return tomorrow. No cause to look as though you’re preparing to challenge the entire ballroom to a duel.”
Greyson’s grip tightened around the glass. “Why did she not tell me herself?”
Jasper’s brows drew together. “She… left without a word?”
Greyson nodded once.
“That is unusual,” Jasper admitted. Then, after a pause, he added, more lightly. “Still, there may have been some urgency, old boy, something you are not yet aware of.”
Greyson exhaled slowly through his nose. He wanted to argue, to list the reasons Hazel would never leave without explanation and to insist that something about this felt wrong. But Jasper’s calm was contagious, if only slightly.
“Yes,” Greyson said at last. “Perhaps.”
Jasper clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Go home. Have another drink if you must. You will see her soon enough, and then you may ask her what troubled her.”
Greyson inclined his head, though the unease did not fully recede. “I will do precisely that.”
He drained the glass and set it aside. As he turned toward the exit, he told himself that Hazel had simply been needed elsewhere, that tomorrow would bring explanation and that there was no cause for this tightness in his chest.
Yet as he stepped into the night and summoned his carriage, one thought would not be dismissed: Hazel had always told him when she was needed… but tonight, she had not.
“I shall remain for a few days.”
The words settled into the drawing room with surprising weight as Hazel spoke to her mother and sisters the following morning. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, pale and forgiving, illuminating the familiar space where she had spent so much of her life steadying others.
Her mother looked up at once. “Remain?”
“Yes,” Hazel confirmed. “After last evening, I think it best. There has been… excitement enough. It would not do for matters to be left unresolved, particularly where Chastity is concerned.”
At the sound of her name, Chastity stiffened slightly on the sofa, while Patience looked up from her embroidery with open interest.
Their mother’s face brightened at once. “Oh, how sensible of you,” she said, and her relief bloomed into satisfaction. “I was saying only this morning that we must be careful. One never knows how such things may be interpreted.”
Hazel inclined her head. “Precisely. A young lady dancing so exclusively, it invites speculation. It will be as well if we present a united, composed front for the next few days.”
Her mother rose at once, already animated. “I am so glad you agree. I have been quite beside myself, wondering how best to proceed. Of course, with you here, everything will be set to rights. It always is.”
Hazel felt the familiar sensation then, that quiet, invisible mantle being placed upon her shoulders… as before.
“I shall speak with Chastity,” Hazel continued evenly, glancing at her sister. “And perhaps with Mr. Langford, if it becomes necessary. We must ensure there are no… misunderstandings.”
Chastity shifted, with guilt flickering across her face. “Hazel, I did not mean—”
“I know,” Hazel said gently, turning toward her. “We shall discuss it later.”
Her mother smiled, clearly reassured now. “It is such a comfort to have you back,” she chimed in. “Things have felt quite unsettled since you married. One hardly knows what to do without you.”
The words were meant kindly. They still struck deep.
Hazel smiled in return. “I am happy to help.”
And as her sisters relaxed around her, as her mother began issuing quiet plans and expectations with renewed confidence, Hazel felt herself slipping into the same role she hoped she had left behind: the caretaker, the solution, the steady presence who stayed so that others might feel secure.
“I must inform my husband,” Hazel suddenly remembered. “It would not do for him to wonder.”
Her mother nodded at once. “Of course, how considerate of you.” Already, her attention was drifting elsewhere, as though the matter were settled the moment Hazel took responsibility for it.
Hazel excused herself without ceremony and went upstairs.
The moment the chamber door closed behind her, the composure she had so carefully maintained shattered.
She leaned back against the wood, pressing her palm to it as though it alone might keep her upright.
Her breath came unevenly, and the room blurred as the memory returned with merciless clarity.
Greyson on the terrace… his coat… the unknown woman wrapped in it, sheltered by his body, by his care…
It had been such a small thing, such a kind thing. And that, perhaps, was what hurt the most.
Hazel closed her eyes, her throat tightening painfully. She had mistaken his tenderness for something singular. She had allowed herself, against all reason, against every vow she had ever made, to believe that she was chosen.
A foolish, dangerous belief.
She scrubbed at her cheeks impatiently, straightened, and drew a steadying breath. This was what it had always meant to be, just a marriage of convenience. She had known better than to want more.
Hazel crossed the room and sat at the small writing table by the window. Her hands trembled only slightly as she took up her pen. After a moment’s hesitation, she began to write.
To His Grace, The Duke of Callbury,
I trust this letter finds you well. I wish to inform you that I have remained at Belvington Manor for a few days, in light of last evening’s events.
Chastity’s conduct at the ball has occasioned some concern, and it seemed prudent that I should stay to ensure the matter is resolved before any unnecessary speculation arises.
We have, I think, played our respective parts long enough that society may rest entirely assured of the solidity of our union. No one will question our marriage now, nor suspect it to have been anything other than real. In that regard, I hope you will agree that we have succeeded admirably.
With matters settled on that front, I see no reason for you to be further inconvenienced by my presence. You are free to resume your life as you wish, unencumbered by my duties or expectations. I shall attend to my family, as I always have. It is, after all, what I am best suited for.
I wish you every happiness.
Your sincerely,
The Duchess of Callbury
She set the pen down and stared at the page.
The letter was composed, polite and utterly reasonable.
It said nothing of the way her heart had broken at the sight of his coat around another woman’s shoulders, nothing of the dreams she had never meant to dream, or the future she had briefly, treacherously allowed herself to imagine.
Hazel folded the letter carefully.
If this was the end of wanting, then she would endure it, as she had endured everything else… with dignity.