Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Iapologize for the intrusion, but there is a letter for you, Your Grace.”
Greyson looked up from his writing table at once. The footman was standing in the doorway with a sealed envelope resting upon a silver tray. The sight of Hazel’s hand was recognizable even at a distance, and momentarily, it sent a sharp, inexplicable jolt through him.
“From the Duchess?” Greyson asked.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The footman hesitated, then added cautiously. “Her Grace’s carriage is also waiting below. She has requested that some of her belongings be packed and returned to her.”
The words did not immediately make sense.
Greyson rose so abruptly that his chair scraped against the floor. “Returned to her?”
“Yes, Your Grace, to Belvington Manor.”
For a moment, the study felt too small, as if it were suffocating him on all sides.
“Leave it,” Greyson said curtly, snatching the letter from the tray. “You may go.”
The footman bowed and withdrew with commendable speed. Greyson stood motionless, staring at the envelope as though it might accuse him if he opened it too quickly. Hazel had left without a word. Now she was removing herself, and she was doing it quietly and efficiently, as she did everything else.
Why?
He broke the seal and read. By the third reading, the calm courtesy of her words felt like a blade pressed between his ribs.
Played our respective parts… inconvenienced by my presence… free to resume your life as you wish…
His hand tightened on the page. She somehow still believed that their marriage was just a marriage of convenience, that everything he had done for her and with her had been nothing but an act.
Greyson turned away from his writing table, pacing the length of the room with sharp, restless strides.
However, he did not summon deliberation.
Instead, he summoned his coat. Within moments, his study was left abandoned.
The careful order of his world was disrupted without a second thought.
He jumped two stairs at a time, with resolve sharpening at every step.
If Hazel believed he wished to be free of her, then he would not allow that belief to stand, not for a single moment longer. And he would not write as she did. He would not wait. He would not permit what he believed had to be a misunderstanding to calcify into chaos.
“Have the carriage made ready,” he told the footman in the hall. “At once.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Greyson did not slow as he crossed the threshold into the morning air. The courtyard was empty. Hazel’s carriage was gone now. It had already departed, already carrying pieces of his life away from him. That thought struck like a blow.
His own carriage was brought round quickly. He climbed inside without assistance, rapping sharply on the roof.
“Belvington Manor,” he ordered. “And make haste.”
The horses immediately lurched forward, and streets unfolded then disappeared beneath him as his thoughts raced ahead.
He leaned back against the seat, forcing himself to breathe through the tightness in his chest. He thought of her letter, which was so controlled and so painfully reasonable.
He thought of the way she had excised herself from his life as though she were nothing more than an inconvenience, finally resolved.
The injustice of it burned, not because she left, but because she believed she had to.
The carriage rolled on, with the city thinning and the familiar route to Belvington unfolding like a reckoning long delayed. Greyson stared out the window, scarcely seeing the passing world.
He would explain whatever she needed to have explained. He would tell her everything that lay upon his heart. And they would be happy, as they had been so far… even more.
Several minutes later, Belvington Manor stood exactly as it always had.
It was imposing, familiar and suddenly forbidding.
Greyson mounted the steps two at a time and knocked without hesitation.
The door was opened almost at once by the butler, who stiffened visibly at the sight of him before recovering himself with practiced composure.
“Your Grace.”
“I wish to see the Duchess,” Greyson said. He did not soften it. “At once.”
The butler hesitated, regret already settling into his expression. “I am very sorry, Your Grace, but the ladies have stepped out.”
Greyson stilled. “Stepped out.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Lady Belvington and the young ladies departed not long ago.”
“When will they return?”
“I could not say, Your Grace.”
The answer landed heavily. Greyson’s gaze lifted past the man’s shoulder, up the broad staircase, along the familiar line of windows above the entrance hall.
For a brief, foolish moment, he thought he saw movement: a curtain stirring, a shadow withdrawing.
But when he looked again, there was nothing; only glass and stillness.
Greyson exhaled slowly and returned his attention to the butler. “Then you will tell the Duchess that I came.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Tell her,” Greyson urged carefully, “that I need to speak with her. That it is… important.”
The butler inclined his head solemnly. “I will give the message personally.”
Greyson nodded once, as though sealing the matter by sheer will. He turned away before hesitation could take hold, before the ache in his chest could betray him further. For the first time since he had set foot in his carriage that morning, Greyson felt the true measure of what he stood to lose.
Hopelessness brushed close, but it did not claim him.
Hazel did not move when the carriage began to roll away.
She stood half-hidden behind the curtain, with one hand braced against the window frame, watching the dark shape recede down the drive. The horses turned. The wheels caught the light once more, and then it was gone, swallowed by distance and morning haze.
Only then did she breathe.
“Is he gone?” Chastity’s voice came softly from behind her. Hazel did not turn.
“Yes.”
Patience stood near the door, unusually quiet. Her hands were folded together as though she were holding herself in place. She had seen enough to understand when silence was the kinder choice.
Chastity took a few tentative steps closer. “Hazel… are you certain this is right?”
Hazel let the curtain fall back into place and turned at last. Her face was pale, composed to the point of severity, as though she had arranged herself into something that could not easily be wounded.
“Yes,” she said. “I am.”
Chastity frowned. “You don’t look very certain.”
“That is because certainty is not comfort,” Hazel replied. “It is clarity.”
Patience spoke then. “You did not even allow him to speak to you.”
Hazel’s mouth tightened. “And what would that have accomplished?”
Chastity hesitated. “An explanation, perhaps.”
Hazel laughed softly, but it was without humor. “Explanations do not undo what has already been seen.”
“You think you saw—” Chastity began.
“I know what I saw,” Hazel cut in, more sharply than she intended. She softened her tone at once. “And more importantly, I know what I felt.”
She crossed the room slowly, as though each step required intention. “I allowed myself to believe in something that was never promised to me. I forgot who I am. I forgot what I swore I would never do.”
“And what was that?” Patience asked gently.
“To hope,” Hazel answered. “To want, to imagine a life in which I was chosen and not merely useful.”
Chastity’s eyes shone. “Hazel, that does not make you foolish.”
“It makes me careless,” Hazel replied. “And I cannot afford that, not ever again.”
Patience exchanged a glance with Chastity. “But he came after you.”
Hazel closed her eyes briefly. “That does not change what happened.”
“But it might change what it meant,” Chastity insisted. “At least speak with him. Please, if only to be certain of what you claim now.”
Hazel opened her eyes and met her sister’s gaze. There was no anger there, only exhaustion.
“What for?” she asked quietly. “So he may tell me that I expected too much of a marriage that was never meant to be more than it was?”
She shook her head. “Words will not unmake that moment. They will only ask me to doubt myself, and I have done enough of that for a lifetime.”
The room fell silent.
At last, Patience spoke. “And if you are wrong?”
Hazel’s smile was small and sad. “Then I will bear it.”
She turned back toward the window, though she did not pull the curtain aside again. Suddenly, a familiar voice addressed her.
“Was that the Duke who knocked just now?”
Hazel stiffened before she turned. Her mother stood in the doorway, looking curiously from one daughter to the next. She had the look of a woman who had already half-constructed her conclusions and was merely waiting for confirmation.
“Yes,” Hazel said evenly.
Their mother’s brows rose. “Indeed?” She glanced toward the window, then back again. “And he did not stay for tea? Or even come in to greet us?”
Chastity and Patience both looked at Hazel at once.
Hazel drew a slow breath. “He was… somewhat upset.”
“Upset?” her mother echoed, clearly startled. “Over what, pray?”
Hazel folded her hands together, mirroring the calm she did not feel. “Over my decision to remain here for a few days. I explained that my sisters required my attention.”
Their mother’s expression was one of surprise first, then faint disapproval. “How odd. I had taken him for a very reasonable man. One who understood the importance of family.” She shook her head slightly. “Especially considering how devoted he is said to be to his own mother.”
Hazel swallowed heavily. “It is something I will sort out.”
Her mother studied her for a moment, as though weighing whether to press further. “Well,” she said at last, with a faint sigh, “I trust you will. A misunderstanding, no doubt. Marriage requires patience on both sides.”
“Yes,” Hazel replied softly. “It does.”
Their mother seemed satisfied with this and moved further into the room. But as Hazel caught her sisters’ questioning looks, she felt the familiar burden settle again.
I will sort it out.
She had said the words as she always did.
“Hazel,” her mother said, after a moment’s pause, “may I have a word with you? Alone.”
Hazel inclined her head at once. “Of course.”
Chastity hesitated, clearly reluctant. Patience rose more quietly, already gathering her gloves.
“We shall be just outside,” Chastity said, casting Hazel a searching look.
“I know,” Hazel replied, and meant thank you.
The sisters withdrew, with the door closing softly behind them. The room seemed to grow larger in their absence. Hazel felt too exposed, especially in the company of her mother.
Her mother crossed to the window and adjusted the curtain, though it required no adjustment. She remained there for a moment, with her back to Hazel, before speaking again.
“You have always been very capable,” she told Hazel. “Perhaps too capable.”
Hazel remained standing where she was. “I do what is needed.”
“Yes,” her mother said, turning now. “You always have.”
There was something careful in her tone, something Hazel did not quite trust.
“I am surprised,” her mother continued, “to hear that the Duke was displeased with you. He struck me as a man who would appreciate a wife willing to put family first.”
Hazel felt a familiar tightening behind her ribs. “I believe he does.”
“Then why leave so abruptly?” her mother pressed. “Why not come in? A few polite words would have sufficed.”
Hazel met her gaze steadily. “Perhaps he felt it best not to intrude.”
“Hm.” Her mother studied her, eyes sharp despite the mildness of her expression. “And did you feel it best that he did not?”
The question landed closer to the truth than Hazel liked.
“Yes,” she said after a moment. “I did.”
Her mother sighed, the sound touched with genuine concern now. “Marriage is an adjustment, Hazel. You cannot simply retreat here whenever matters become uncomfortable.”
Hazel swallowed. “I am not retreating.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Hazel looked past her mother, toward the familiar furnishings and the walls that had once felt like both refuge and cage. “I am making sure I do not disappear again.”
Her mother frowned. “Disappear?”
“I have spent my life arranging, soothing, correcting,” Hazel said quietly. “I became very good at it. So good that no one noticed when I stopped doing anything else.”
Hazel knew that this was not a matter of convenience. It was a matter of survival. And her mother still didn’t seem to understand that.