Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Her mother was silent. Also, she didn’t turn away. She stood very still, with her gaze fixed on the carpet as though the pattern there required careful study.
A prickle of unease crept over Hazel’s skin.
“Mother?” she asked softly. “Are you quite all right?”
Her mother drew a breath that trembled despite her obvious effort to steady it. “No,” she admitted. “No, I am not all right.”
Hazel’s heart lurched. She stepped forward at once. “What is it? Are you unwell? Should I send for—”
Her mother turned then, quickly, and caught Hazel’s hands in her own. Her grip was firm and anchoring.
“No,” she assured her. “It is not that.”
Hazel searched her face, alarmed by the emotion she saw there. “Then what—”
“I owe you an apology,” her mother interrupted her, the words halting but unmistakably sincere. “The greatest one I have ever owed anyone.” Her voice softened, breaking on the last word. “My dear, sweet child.”
Hazel froze.
“You…” She shook her head faintly. “Mother, I do not understand.”
“I am apologizing,” her mother continued, tightening her hold as though Hazel might pull away, “for taking your early womanhood and calling it duty. I apologize for leaning upon you because it was convenient and because you were capable, and never stopping to consider the cost.”
Hazel’s breath caught.
“I told myself it was natural,” her mother went on. “That you were the eldest, that you were steady, that you did not seem to mind. I never realized how much it burdened you. Or perhaps,” her mouth tightened as she spoke, “I did not wish to.”
Hazel felt something loosen in her chest that she had carried for so long she had mistaken it for part of herself.
“I do not feel that pressure anymore,” Hazel told her tenderly. “Not as I once did.”
Her mother seemed surprised by her reaction.
“I still love my sisters,” Hazel continued. “I will always help them, if and when they ask. But setting boundaries has not made me colder.” A small, fragile smile touched her lips. “It has made me freer and more able to love without resentment, more able to express it without losing myself.”
Her mother’s eyes shone.
“I thought I was raising you to be strong,” she whispered. “I see now that I asked you to be everything instead.”
Hazel squeezed her hands. “We did what we knew.”
For a moment, mother and daughter stood together in quiet understanding. There was no reproach and no defense left to make.
Then her mother drew Hazel into an embrace, which was awkward at first, unaccustomed, but unmistakably heartfelt.
“I am so proud of you,” she said into Hazel’s hair. “Not for what you have carried. But for what you have finally put down.”
Hazel closed her eyes, letting herself rest there.
The moment seemed filled with endless tenderness, when suddenly, the door burst open.
Chastity and Patience tumbled into the room in a most undignified heap, with their skirts tangling, their elbows colliding and expressing a startled oof as they both hit the carpet.
Hazel stared. So did her mother.
Chastity groaned. “I meant to catch myself.”
Patience, already attempting to rise with what little dignity remained, muttered. “You said the door was solid.”
“It was,” Chastity protested.
Hazel pressed a hand to her mouth and then laughed. It startled her at first, the sound bubbling up before she could stop it. Her mother joined her a moment later, a soft chuckle escaping her, followed by another, until both women were laughing helplessly at the ridiculous tableau before them.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” their mother said, wiping at her eyes. “Must you always announce yourselves so dramatically?”
Chastity scrambled to her feet. “We were not eavesdropping.”
Patience nodded solemnly. “We were… standing guard.”
“On the inside of the door?” Hazel asked, still laughing.
Chastity sighed. “In hindsight, poor placement.”
Their mother waved an amused hand. “Get up, both of you. If you intended to spy, you might at least have had the decency to remain upright.”
They obeyed, smoothing their gowns and exchanging sheepish looks.
Their mother regarded them for a moment more before she straightened with sudden resolve. “Well,” she said briskly, “this house has held quite enough emotion for one morning. I propose we all go out.”
Chastity’s eyes lit at once. “Out?”
“Yes,” her mother continued. “We shall purchase new bonnets. Every one of us.” She glanced pointedly at her daughters. “Heaven knows, you all appear in need of fresh air and perhaps a reminder that the world continues beyond these walls.”
Chastity clapped her hands at once. “Oh, splendid!”
Patience smiled more quietly, but with clear approval. “That would be pleasant.”
Hazel felt something warm unfurl in her chest at the sight of the simple joy in shared anticipation. “New bonnets do seem a sensible remedy,” she agreed.
Her mother smiled at her then, with a look that held gratitude as much as affection. “And you, my dear,” she added, “will come as yourself, not as anyone’s keeper.”
Hazel inclined her head. “I should like that.”
They gathered shawls and gloves, conversation already turning to colors and trimmings. Hazel moved among them, smiling, listening, offering opinions without absorbing responsibility, and for a few precious moments, the world felt almost… balanced.
Yet even as warmth settled around her, the ache remained. Greyson’s face rose unbidden in her mind. She pushed it down. She had chosen, and choices demanded endurance.
As they stepped out into the bright day together, Hazel drew a steady breath. She would walk forward.
Even if part of her heart remained, for now, painfully behind.
Greyson shut the door to his study with more force than strictly necessary.
“Ah, there you are,” Jasper said brightly, rising from the chair near the hearth. “I have been waiting for you for over an hour.”
Greyson did not slow. He crossed the room, set his gloves down with sharp precision, and turned a glare upon his friend. “Whatever madness you have come to share or inflict, I am not in the mood.”
Jasper blinked. “Good morning to you as well.”
“If you intend to jest,” Greyson continued flatly, “I suggest you do it elsewhere.”
Jasper lifted his hands in surrender. “Very well. No jesting. Only concern.” He studied Greyson more closely, the levity draining from his expression. “You look as though you have not slept or eaten. Or breathed properly, for that matter.”
“Hazel is not returning,” Greyson snapped.
Jasper frowned. “Returning where? Here?”
“Yes,” Greyson repeated, the word scraped raw now. “She will remain at her parents’ house indefinitely. She has sent for her belongings, along with a letter. And she has decided, without speaking to me, mind you, that our marriage has served its purpose.”
Jasper opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Ah.”
Greyson turned away, pacing like a caged animal. “I went to Belvington. I missed her by minutes. She would not see me.” His voice fractured despite his efforts. “She thinks I wanted this. That I wanted to be free of her.”
Jasper followed him with his gaze. “And you do not.”
Greyson stopped abruptly. “I love her.”
The admission fell heavily and unguarded into the room. Jasper went still.
“I love her,” Greyson repeated, more fiercely now, as though daring the truth to stand unchallenged.
“And I have no idea what to do. I have spent my life believing love was weakness, believing it destroyed everything it touched, and now I am undone by it.” He dragged a hand through his hair.
“I want her back, Jasper, more than I ever wanted anything in my entire life.”
Jasper exhaled slowly. “Well. That explains the snapping.”
Greyson shot him a look. “Do not make light of this.”
“I am not,” Jasper said quietly. “I am thinking.”
Greyson laughed harshly. “Think quickly, then. Because she has built an entire life around leaving quietly, and I fear she will succeed.”
Jasper crossed the room and rested a hand briefly on Greyson’s shoulder. “You are not accustomed to being the one left behind.”
“No,” Greyson said. “And I do not intend to become accustomed to it.”
Jasper’s mouth twitched in the beginnings of a smile he did not quite allow to form. “In that case,” he informed Greyson, “we need the whole gang.”
Greyson frowned. “The… gang?”
Jasper nodded decisively. “Robert. Mason. Myself.” He was already reaching for his coat. “I will gather them. We shall convene at my house this evening.”
Greyson’s frown deepened. “Absolutely not. I will not make a spectacle of myself.”
Jasper paused mid-motion, considering him. “A shame. Spectacles can be very effective.”
“I am serious,” Greyson said. “This is not some lighthearted misadventure. I will not be paraded before your drawing room like a problem to be solved.”
Jasper merely shrugged and reached the door. “All right, then.”
Greyson blinked. “All right?” he repeated incredulously. “I actually convinced you to change your mind and leave me alone in my misery?”
Jasper turned back with a grin that Greyson instantly distrusted. “Of course not.”
Greyson’s suspicion deepened. “Then what are you doing?”
Jasper opened the door wide. “We are all coming here.”
Greyson stared. “To my house?”
“Yes,” Jasper said cheerfully. “Your house, your study, your despair. Much more dramatic.”
Greyson pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are impossible.”
“And you,” Jasper replied lightly, “are in love and therefore unfit to make unilateral decisions.”
Greyson lowered his hand. “I do not require an audience.”
“You require perspective,” Jasper said, already halfway down the corridor. “And possibly a strategy that does not involve brooding until she forgets you entirely.”
Greyson exhaled sharply, torn between irritation and reluctant relief. “If you tell anyone I am grateful—”
“I will deny it vehemently,” Jasper called back.
Left alone for a moment, Greyson stared at the door, the study once more heavy with the echo of Hazel’s absence.
For the first time since she had left, he did not feel entirely alone in the fight to bring her back.
And that, however grudgingly, felt like a start.