Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Jasper leaned back in the high-backed chair of Robert Firming’s study, with the rich scent of leather and polished wood surrounding him. Across the table, Robert was talking about the upcoming arrangements for the baptism, while Mason leaned casually against the mantelpiece.
“And then,” Robert said, lowering his voice, “we must ensure that the pews are arranged strictly according to precedence. Nothing worse than an insult unnoticed until the ceremony begins.”
Jasper tapped a finger against the armrest. “Ah, the eternal tyranny of order and hierarchy,” he remarked lightly. “Nothing like a well-placed insult to ruin one’s morning.”
Mason chuckled from where he leaned casually against the mantelpiece. “Or the perfect opportunity to exercise diplomacy. I daresay some gentlemen are made for it, others… less so.”
Robert frowned slightly. “I fail to see the humor in it, Jasper. This is a matter of decorum and propriety, not amusement.”
“Of course, of course,” Jasper replied, waving a hand. “I only meant that there is a certain… satisfaction in knowing that the world may be slightly unsettled by minor inconveniences. One need not always take it seriously.”
Mason smirked, shaking his head. “Leave it to Jasper Everleigh to find sport in proper precedence.”
Jasper inclined his head with mock gravitas. “I assure you, Mason, I am quite serious about the mischief, but the arrangements themselves? Entirely… instructive.”
Robert sighed, rubbing his temples. “Men and their games,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” Jasper said, leaning back with a faint grin. “Games, strategy, and occasionally a duel of wits, all far preferable to polite smiles and delicate sensibilities.”
Mason shifted his weight against the mantel, and now, there was a faintly mischievous glint in his eye. “Speaking of mischief, Jasper… pray tell, what is this peculiar animosity you seem to harbor for Lady Matilda?”
Jasper nearly choked on his sip of brandy. “Animosity? I assure you, Mason, that is a misrepresentation. I feel nothing of the sort.”
“Oh? Nothing at all?” Mason asked, leaning closer, voice low and teasing. “And yet, I have observed the way your eyes follow her, the way you seem… unsettled whenever she speaks. I call it animosity.”
Jasper set his glass down, exhaling slowly. “I am unsettled by many things, by disorder, incompetence, poorly tied roses… I do not think one lady deserves such a… label.”
Mason smirked knowingly. “Ah, but it is not merely any lady, is it? It is Matilda Sterlington, the quiet, proper, impossibly stubborn creature who manages to irritate you without effort. Surely even you cannot deny it.”
Robert’s brow arched. “Irritating? Infuriating? Surely you do not mean Matilda?”
Jasper’s lips curved into a faint, wry smile. “Precisely. I mean Matilda, and no other.”
Robert shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “I cannot imagine it. She is lively, charming, full of good humor and wit. She is the sort of lady any man would enjoy a conversation with, pleasant, lighthearted, and talkative. I see nothing infuriating in her.”
Jasper’s jaw tightened. “Nothing infuriating in her?” he repeated, incredulous. “That is… impossible. That cannot be Matilda Sterlington. You must mean some other lady entirely.”
Robert laughed. “No, I assure you, I mean her! She is engaging, amiable, and endlessly charming. I have watched her at gatherings. She speaks, she laughs, she draws others in with ease. You describe a different creature entirely.”
Jasper shook his head, disbelief giving way to a wry smirk.
“A different creature? Perhaps. But I assure you, Robert, the lady I contend with is formidable. She is sharp-eyed, judgmental, and capable of cutting a man to ribbons with a single glance. I have never met one like her. I cannot reconcile your description with the reality I endure.”
Robert raised an eyebrow. “Endure? Surely she does not treat you so harshly?”
“She does,” Jasper said, voice low, almost amazed at his own confession. “Every word, every gesture, every glance is measured to unsettle. To test. To provoke. And I… cannot ignore it. I am constantly on guard.”
Robert shook his head, laughing again. “Then we truly speak of two different ladies. One delights and charms; the other terrorizes a duke. It seems, Jasper, you are uniquely unfortunate or uniquely fortunate, depending on how you look at it.”
Jasper leaned back, smirking despite himself. “Unfortunate, perhaps.”
Mason chuckled. “And I suppose you survived the rose chore without decimating the beds?”
Jasper let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Barely. I pray that Robert’s wife does not conjure up any more joint tasks for me and Lady Matilda. I have had enough of teamwork for one lifetime.”
Robert raised an amused brow. “Do not count on it, Jasper. Evelyn is determined. By the date of the baptism, she wants every last person, every godparent, every family member, every guest to be amicable. Perfect harmony, she insists.”
Jasper’s eyes darkened with a mix of exasperation and reluctant respect. “Perfect harmony, is it? Then I suppose I must steel myself for whatever schemes she devises. Heaven forbid another rosebed challenge.”
Mason grinned. “Then we shall see how long your resolve lasts, cousin. Evelyn will have you dancing in step with Matilda before the two weeks are out, I suspect.”
Jasper gave a wry, half-amused glance toward the window, imagining Matilda on the grounds at Kenton.
“We shall see,” he murmured, though inwardly he could not deny that the thought both irritated and intrigued him far more than he liked to admit.
“The roses have never looked so splendid,” Evelyn said, pausing to inhale the scent of a particularly fragrant bloom.
She lifted her skirts slightly to step closer to the garden bed, careful not to crush any of the petals.
“Kenton is at its very best this time of year. I do hope Robert will approve of the arrangements.”
Matilda glanced over the meticulously tended beds, noting the neat rows and the gentle arch of trellises adorned with climbing roses. The sun caught on the petals, casting a rosy glow across the grounds.
“It is beautiful,” she said softly. “Though, I confess, the brightness makes one far too visible for comfort.”
Evelyn turned to her sister, suddenly changing the topic. “I am grateful you agreed to be godmother to my son, Matilda. Even with Jasper Everleigh as the godfather.”
Matilda’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile appearing. “Annoying, as always,” she admitted, letting a faint sigh escape. “But I would never refuse such an honor. Not for anything, not even to avoid him.”
Evelyn stepped closer, taking Matilda’s hand gently in hers. Her fingers were warm, familiar, and grounding.
“I know it is difficult, dear. I cannot imagine the thought of sharing the honor with him makes you entirely comfortable. But your presence… it means more than you may realize. To me, to the baby, and to all of us who care for you.”
Matilda felt a small, quiet warmth bloom in her chest. Her sister’s words were like sunlight slipping through a cloudy morning. “I only hope I do not make a fool of myself. I am… not accustomed to being surrounded by so much attention, or having responsibilities thrust upon me.”
“You need not worry about that,” Evelyn said gently, her thumb brushing along the back of Matilda’s hand. “You have always been remarkable, without meaning to be. Your strength, your wit, your care… it shines through, Matilda, whether you notice it or not. I wish you could see yourself as I do.”
Matilda’s throat tightened. She met her sister’s gaze and saw only tenderness, patience, and unwavering belief in her. For a long moment, the garden fell away and the rustle of leaves and distant birdcalls were all that remained.
She drew a slow breath. “Perhaps, one day,” she murmured, “I shall learn to believe it myself.”
Evelyn’s hand lingered over Matilda’s as they walked slowly along the garden path, with the late morning sun warming the petals around them.
After a pause, she spoke carefully. “Matilda… may I ask… are you still… certain about the nunnery?”
Matilda’s steps faltered for a moment, though she forced a calm composure. “I am,” she said simply, her grey eyes fixed on a particularly perfect rose bush. “I remain convinced that it is the path I must follow.”
Evelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, her hand tightening slightly around Matilda’s. A shadow crossed her expression, and there was the echo of a faintest tremor of heartbreak in her eyes.
“I see… I suppose I should not be surprised,” she said softly. “You have always sought your own course, Matilda, and I… I understand. Truly, I do. More than you might know.”
Matilda turned her gaze to her sister, noting the way Evelyn’s green eyes shimmered with both worry and unwavering affection.
“I do not make this choice lightly,” Matilda said gently. “But I cannot ignore the conviction I feel. It is… necessary, for me.”
Evelyn exhaled quietly, a sigh that seemed to carry both sorrow and acceptance. “Then I will not try to sway you, dear sister. I only wish for your happiness, whatever form it may take. If this is what you must do, then I shall support you.”
Matilda felt a lump rise in her throat at the kindness and trust in her sister’s words. She had feared judgment, disappointment, or even sorrowful pleading. Instead, she found patience and love.
“Thank you, Evelyn,” she said softly. “Your support… it means more than I can express. Truly.”
Evelyn’s smile was small but radiant, and she squeezed Matilda’s hand once more. “You shall always have me, Matilda. And I only ask one thing: promise me you will be happy, even in your solitude.”
Matilda nodded, and she felt a quiet determination settling over her. “I promise.”
That was when they saw a servant approaching, bowing low and clearing his throat politely. “If your Grace would forgive the interruption, the cook requests your assistance with the menu for the baptism luncheon.”
Evelyn’s lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Of course. I must return to the house, then. There is already much to attend to before the guests arrive.”
Matilda inclined her head, watching her sister step lightly back toward the estate. “I shall continue my walk down to the small pond,” she said. “The weather is too lovely to return indoors so soon.”
Evelyn’s smile lingered, warm and affectionate. “Very well, dear sister. Enjoy the peace while you may. And do mind yourself, Matilda.”
“I shall,” Matilda replied softly, as Evelyn disappeared from sight.
With a gentle sigh, Matilda set off along the gravel path that wound through the garden toward the pond.
The late morning sun sparkled on the dewy leaves, and a soft breeze stirred the petals of the flowers around her.
Birds sang high in the trees, and the occasional ripple of water echoed from the small pond ahead.
She allowed herself a moment to breathe in the tranquility, the kind of peace that felt almost forbidden in her usual life. Here, in the quiet of the gardens, there was no expectation, no tension, no rakes or whispered gossip only the simple, soothing rhythm of nature.
Matilda’s steps slowed as she neared the water, letting the gentle lapping against the banks fill the silence.
She reached down to touch the smooth surface with her fingertips, watching the tiny rings spread across the pond.
In that moment, she felt the rare luxury of being entirely alone and entirely herself.
Matilda lingered at the edge of the pond, her fingers tracing the gentle ripples, when a sudden shadow fell across the water.
She looked up and froze.