Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“It is true, then?”
Hazel looked up from where she sat by the window, the late afternoon light catching in the porcelain teacups arranged before them.
Matilda stood nearest, Cordelia hovered just behind her, barely containing her curiosity, while Evelyn watched from the sofa with the calm attentiveness of someone who had learned when to listen first.
Hazel inclined her head. “I am not returning to Callbury, not at present.”
Matilda hesitated. “Jasper said… well.” She smiled faintly, apologetic already. “Is it true you have separated from your husband?”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Jasper already knows?”
Matilda sighed. “You know Jasper. He cannot keep his mouth shut. It is his curse.” A pause, then she added fondly, “and his charm.”
Despite herself, Hazel felt her lips curve.
“Yes,” she said. “It is true.”
Cordelia gasped. “Oh!”
Evelyn leaned forward at once. “Hazel—”
Matilda lifted a hand gently. “May I ask why?”
Hazel studied her friend for a moment. “Does Jasper not know?”
Matilda shook her head. “No. And,” she hesitated, clearly choosing her words with care, “I do not believe your husband does either.”
The warmth Hazel had been clinging to vanished at once.
Her fingers tightened around her teacup. “He does not.”
Matilda frowned. “Hazel—”
“So,” Hazel said, rising abruptly, the chair legs scraping faintly against the floor, “he has not even troubled himself to wonder.”
Cordelia looked between them, alarmed. “That is not fair—”
“Is it not?” Hazel cut in. Her voice was sharp now, stripped of its earlier calm. “My absence, my silence, my decision to leave… it warrants no curiosity? No self-reflection? He does not ask why?”
Evelyn stood, moving closer. “Hazel, men are—”
“—not oblivious,” Hazel finished, fury flaring hot and sudden. “Not when they care.”
The truth of it struck deep and cruel. If Greyson did not know what he had done, if he had not even perceived the wound, then her feelings must have mattered very little indeed. He considered it a misunderstanding, perhaps, or momentary discomfort, easily overlooked.
Matilda’s voice softened. “Hazel… sometimes people do not see the harm they cause until it is named.”
Hazel laughed without humor. “Then perhaps it is fortunate for him that I have spared him the inconvenience.”
Matilda did not smile in return.
She studied Hazel for a long moment, her expression thoughtful rather than reproachful. “You kept calling it a marriage of convenience,” she reminded her gently. “As though repeating it might make it true.”
“It was true,” Hazel replied at once. “From the beginning. We were very clear with one another.”
Evelyn rose and moved closer, resting a hand on the back of Hazel’s chair. “Clear about what you intended,” she said softly. “Not about what you would feel.”
Cordelia shook her head. “Hazel, you cannot possibly believe this is all indifference. I have seen indifference. Greyson looks at you as though the rest of the room ceases to exist.”
Hazel turned away. Believing something like that was dangerous.
“You are mistaken.”
“Am I?” Matilda asked quietly. “Because Jasper has known Greyson since boyhood, and I have never seen him undone by anyone, not until you.”
Hazel’s voice sharpened. “That cannot be true.”
“Why not?” Evelyn asked. “Because it would require you to risk being wrong?”
Hazel’s hands clenched in her lap. “Because if it were true,” she said, carefully, “he would not have done what he did.”
Cordelia frowned. “What he did?”
Hazel did not answer directly. “I love him,” she said instead, the words falling with a painful honesty she could no longer contain. “And that is precisely why I must not believe he loves me in return.”
The room stilled.
“I have spent my life enduring,” Hazel continued.
“Enduring duty laid upon me without question, enduring hopes quietly surrendered and enduring the bitter knowledge that what I offered would never be returned in kind.” She lifted her gaze at last. “I have borne enough. I will not live upon scraps of affection, nor school my heart to patience any longer. If love is to be my undoing, it shall not be through endurance. I refuse to endure anything further.”
Matilda stepped closer. “Protecting yourself does not mean punishing yourself.”
“It means distance,” Hazel replied. “Which is exactly what we agreed upon at the beginning of this charade. Distance, practicality, no illusions.”
Evelyn’s voice was tender. “And if the agreement no longer fits the truth?”
Hazel shook her head. “Then the truth must be made to fit.”
Cordelia opened her mouth, then closed it again, as frustrated tears glinted in her eyes. “You are very brave,” she said finally. “And very stubborn.”
Hazel managed a small smile. “I have always been both.”
She rose, smoothing her skirts, restoring the careful composure she had honed over the years. “I will keep my distance,” she concluded. “Not to wound him, but to preserve myself.”
Her friends exchanged looks which were knowing, worried and utterly unconvinced. And as Hazel moved back toward the window, gazing out at the familiar grounds of her childhood, she held fast to the only certainty she trusted now: love, however real, was no reason to abandon self-protection.
“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”
Greyson sat rigidly opposite Jasper in the carriage, with his arms crossed and his jaw set as though bracing for impact rather than a short drive across London.
Jasper, by contrast, looked insufferably pleased with himself. “You say that as though it were unusual.”
“I say it because it is a mistake,” Greyson replied flatly. “I do not require a committee to tell me I have made a mess of my own life.”
“No,” Jasper said cheerfully, tapping his cane against the floor. “You require friends. There is a difference.”
Greyson shot him a glare. “You enjoy this far too much.”
“I enjoy you far too much,” Jasper corrected. “You are usually so controlled. Watching you unravel is refreshingly human.”
“If you repeat that aloud when we arrive,” Greyson warned, “I will throw you from the carriage.”
Jasper laughed. “Promises, promises.”
The carriage jolted slightly as they turned a corner. Greyson stared out the window, watching the familiar streets pass by without truly seeing them.
“I should be going to her,” he muttered.
“You tried,” Jasper reminded him more gently. “She was not there, which means the next step is strategy, not martyrdom.”
Greyson exhaled sharply. “I do not strategize my marriage.”
“And yet here we are,” Jasper pointed out. “On our way to my house, where Robert will smirk knowingly, and Mason will pretend this is all terribly sensible.”
Greyson closed his eyes. “This is humiliating.”
“It is marriage,” Jasper replied. “Humiliation is part of the contract.”
That was when Greyson felt the wheels of the carriage slow down.
“Ah,” Jasper said brightly. “We’ve arrived. Prepare yourself. The husbands’ council is now in session.”
Greyson straightened, feeling resignation warring with resolve. “If this ends with Robert saying I told you so—”
“It will,” Jasper said pleasantly.
Greyson groaned as the carriage came to a halt.
They exited the carriage and walked inside, straight toward Jasper’s study.
Inside, the men had already made themselves comfortable.
Mason sprawled comfortably near the fire, and Robert was seated with a glass of brandy and the expression of a man who had anticipated this entire debacle.
Then, Jasper clapped his hands together with enthusiasm.
“Gentlemen,” he announced, “thank you for answering my summons. We are gathered here today to save a marriage.”
Robert lifted his glass in mild salute. “I wondered how long it would take.”
Mason glanced up lazily. “I assumed someone had finally dueled Greyson and lost.”
Greyson scowled. “I am standing right here, you know.”
“Yes,” Jasper said brightly, “but emotionally you are dangling over a cliff, so do try to keep up.”
Greyson pinched the bridge of his nose. “I already regret this.”
“Too late,” Jasper replied, ushering him toward a chair. “Sit. Brood. Participate.”
Greyson sat, stiff-backed and unamused.
Jasper began pacing. “Now, the situation is thus: Hazel has removed herself, believes the marriage to be one of convenience, and is protecting her heart with admirable but infuriating resolve.”
Robert nodded thoughtfully. “Classic misunderstanding.”
Mason leaned back. “You could speak to her.”
Greyson shot him a look. “I have tried.”
“Yes, well,” Jasper said dismissively, “we are past rational conversation.”
Robert raised a brow. “We are?”
“Entirely,” Jasper declared. “This is love. Love does not respond to logic. It responds to spectacle.”
Greyson’s head snapped up. “No.”
“I propose,” Jasper continued undeterred, “a grand gesture.”
Mason frowned. “Define grand.”
“Oh, I have several ideas,” Jasper said cheerfully. “He could arrive at Belvington with flowers.”
Greyson relaxed a fraction. “That is not—”
“—while soaked in the rain,” Jasper added.
Greyson stiffened again.
“Or,” Jasper went on, warming to the task, “he could stand beneath her window and recite poetry.”
Mason winced. “Please don’t.”
Robert chuckled. “You’ve never recited poetry in your life, Greyson. She would know something was amiss immediately.”
Jasper snapped his fingers. “Yes! That’s perfect. It would be utterly unpredictable.”
“I will not embarrass her,” Greyson said firmly.
“Very noble,” Jasper agreed. “Fine, new approach. He writes her a letter so heartfelt she cannot help but read it twice.”
Robert nodded approvingly. “That might work.”
“And then he follows it,” Jasper continued, “by appearing in person before she has time to fortify herself.”
Greyson hesitated.
Mason leaned forward now, serious beneath the humor. “You cannot convince her of anything if you speak like a duke negotiating terms. You must speak as a man who is afraid of losing his wife.”
Greyson straightened slowly. “I am afraid of losing her.”
Robert’s smirk softened. “Then say that.”
Jasper grinned. “Loudly, passionately… possibly in public.”
Greyson glared at him. “I will not shout my feelings across Mayfair.”
“Pity,” Jasper sighed. “I had hoped for drama.”
Greyson shot him a warning look. “You will not get it.”
“Oh, I think I might,” Jasper said thoughtfully, resuming his pacing. “For instance, what if you arranged for every bell in London to ring at once? Nothing says devotion like coordinated chaos.”
Mason stared at him. “You are unwell.”
Robert snorted into his glass. “That would start a riot.”
“Exactly!” Jasper said, delighted. “Memorable.”
“I am not inciting civil unrest to save my marriage,” Greyson said flatly.
“Fine, fine.” Jasper waved a hand. “Then you could commission a painting of her, larger than life, hung in the Royal Academy.”
Mason groaned. “You would immortalize her embarrassment.”
Robert shook his head. “This is escalating.”
Jasper turned on them all, affronted. “You are all utterly lacking in imagination.”
Greyson folded his arms. “You are mad.”
“Yes,” Mason agreed. “Completely.”
Robert raised his glass again. “Certifiably.”
Jasper placed a hand to his chest, pretending to be scandalized. “I am romantic.”
He looked between them, on the verge of bursting into a chuckle. “And I feel very sorry for your wives if you would not ring bells, defy decorum, or embarrass yourselves thoroughly to prove your love.”
Mason smiled faintly. “Cordelia would set the bells ringing herself.”
Robert chuckled. “Evelyn would forbid me from ever attempting it.”
“And I would personally confiscate your boots before you rang a single bell,” Matilda’s voice cut in, which made everyone’s head turn.
Matilda Everleigh stood in the doorway, with one brow lifted in quiet judgment. She took in the room: the scattered glasses, the conspiring husbands, the air thick with male certainty. Then, she sighed.
“Honestly,” she continued, stepping fully inside, “if my husband so much as considered public poetry, I would lock him in his study until sense returned.”
Jasper beamed. He crossed the room in three long strides, slipped an arm around her waist, and kissed her cheek with unabashed affection. “You wound me, my love.”
She tilted her head toward him. “You’ll survive.”
Mason smiled openly now. Robert hid his amusement poorly.
Matilda looked at all of them in turn. “I am in awe,” she said plainly, “that any of you are actually married.”
Jasper clutched his chest. “Cruel.”
“Truthful,” she corrected. “You speak of spectacle and chaos as though love were a performance.” Her eyes settled on Greyson. “It is not.”
Greyson straightened.
“If you wish to keep any of your wives,” Matilda went on, “then be honest, communicate, hold nothing back.” She gestured lightly. “No strategies, no theatrics and no gallant suffering in silence.”
Jasper opened his mouth. She shot him a look. He closed it again.
“Say what you feel,” she finished. “Say it plainly. Say it first. Women are not puzzles to be solved, we are partners to be trusted.”
Robert nodded slowly. “She has a point.”
Mason added. “Cordelia would agree… loudly.”
Jasper sighed theatrically, resting his chin on Matilda’s shoulder. “Very well. We shall abandon chaos… temporarily.”
Matilda patted his hand absently, her gaze returning to Greyson. “She loves you,” she revealed. “That much is clear.”
Greyson’s jaw tightened. “And I love her.”
“Then go to her,” Matilda said. “Not as a duke, not as a man defending himself. But as a husband who chooses his wife, without conditions.”
Greyson held her gaze, then inclined his head once. “I will. Hazel doesn’t need convincing. She needs certainty.”
Jasper grinned triumphantly. “See? My gathering was entirely necessary.”
Matilda arched a brow. “You are on probation.”
Greyson allowed himself a breath as he already headed out the door. Behind him, Jasper was still smiling.
“Oh,” he said. “This is going to be excellent.”