Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
The horse slowed as it reached them, and the Duke of Harrow swung down from the saddle with the kind of unstudied grace that only irritated Matilda further. He inclined his head in greeting.
“Ladies.”
His tone was polite, even perfectly so. But it was not teasing, not warm, not even faintly provoking.
It was merely courteous. He did not single her out with some insufferable remark, nor even spare her more than a glance as he addressed them all at once.
Matilda felt the strangest prickle of confusion at that.
Cordelia, predictably, all but glowed. “Did I not say a gallant knight would come to rescue us?”
Jasper ignored her flourish, his gaze sliding to the driver instead. “What happened?”
“Axle snapped, Your Grace,” the man replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not certain I can mend it on my own.”
Jasper gave a short nod. “Fine. I suppose I must save the day, then.” His voice was dry, yet not mocking. He looked past the ladies and gestured toward a small cluster of tree stumps near the roadside. “You may be more comfortable there than standing in the dust.”
Cordelia was the first to sweep forward, delighted to perch upon a stump as though it were a gilded chair. Evelyn followed more slowly, Hazel with a sigh of resignation.
“I prefer to stand,” Matilda said quickly, more sharply than she intended.
He did not even glance her way this time, simply gave a faint shrug as though her decision mattered not at all. That was what unsettled her most, the absence of any pointed remark, any playful barb. It was completely unlike him, unlike them.
What game are you playing, Duke? She thought to herself.
But then he bent to examine the broken wheel, and she forgot all thought of his silence.
For in rolling back his sleeves, he revealed the strong curve of forearms, the long line of muscle shifting beneath sun-browned skin.
His hands, though scarred and roughened, moved with surprising care as he tested the wood.
Matilda’s breath caught before she could stop it.
It was entirely ridiculous. She had never once thought of a man’s arms. And yet here she was, pulse quickening at the sight, wishing against every vow she had made, that he would say something provoking just so she could focus on irritation instead of this bewildering, breathless pull.
Cordelia’s cheerful voice cut through the stillness. “Your Grace, pray tell, where were you so early this morning?”
Matilda’s hand shot up instinctively in a half-scolding gesture, her grey eyes narrowing. Cordelia, really.
Hazel gasped audibly, her expression one of mild horror. “Cordelia!”
The other only shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “What? Are we going to stand here like frightened mice all the way through the morning?”
Evelyn rolled her eyes, but her tone was gentle and playful. “Do tell them, Jasper, or we’ll never hear the end of this.”
Matilda stiffened, certain some prank or teasing comment was imminent. She braced herself, yet Jasper did not so much as glance up from the wheel.
“I was in the village,” he said simply. “Ensuring the silver font for the baptism was delivered safely. It had gone astray.”
Matilda blinked. That was it. No flourish, no flourish-laced boast, no smirk. Just… practical information, like a gentleman attending to his duties.
Cordelia pursed her lips, then grinned. “Well, that is perfectly respectable. Though I should have expected nothing less from the Duke of Harrow.”
Hazel huffed softly, still scandalized by the interruption. “I do believe you are spoiling all sense of drama, Cordelia.”
Evelyn, meanwhile, turned her gaze to Matilda, catching the faint blush on her sister’s cheeks. She offered a small, knowing smile, and Matilda shifted uncomfortably, aware that Jasper’s silence, his focus on the wheel, left her both agitated and strangely breathless.
She could not quite reconcile the man before her, his usual commanding, dangerous presence and this polite, almost ordinary courtesy with which he now moved.
Jasper knelt beside the broken wheel, his hands moving with careful precision.
Muscles flexed under rolled-up sleeves, the scarred skin catching the morning sun as he tested the strength of the timber.
Each deliberate movement was controlled, almost meditative, and Matilda found herself unable to tear her eyes away.
He rolled a small section of the axle into place, tested it with a firm press of his shoulder. Even in this quiet, practical action, there was an undeniable command in the way he moved. She had never seen him simply work without jest, without pretense and it left her unsettled.
Cordelia chirped again, leaning forward eagerly. “Do you think he’s done soon, Matilda? I can hardly wait to see him conquer this mechanical marvel.”
Matilda’s scolding glance nearly collided with Hazel’s exasperated sigh. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, half from irritation, half from the strange, unbidden thrill she could not name.
Jasper straightened abruptly, dusting his hands on his breeches, and then turned toward them.
“All right,” he said, voice clipped but carrying a note of exasperation. “You obviously want to talk, and you will not allow me to work in silence. So tell me, why were you going to town?”
Cordelia opened her mouth, ready to launch into a sparkling confession. “Oh! We needed threads and beads for Matilda’s—”
“Shawl!” Matilda cut her off, her cheeks tinged with pink. “For my shawl! It is torn, and I must fix it. That is why we were going to town. Nothing else.”
Cordelia’s eyes widened, and then softened as she realized her friend’s firm insistence on secrecy. She gave a small shrug, the mischievous sparkle in her gaze dimming to understanding.
Matilda, meanwhile, waited for the question she had secretly anticipated: surely he would remark, or at least ask, if it was the same shawl he had saved.
But he did not.
Instead, without a word, he turned back to the carriage, kneeling once more to examine the wheel. His hands moved with practiced precision, and Matilda felt a strange, disorienting sense of relief and something else entirely. Bewilderment, mostly.
Why was he not teasing? Not asking questions? Not pressing her for the smallest hint of her secret?
She felt herself lean a little closer to watch, though she did not dare speak.
The soft rhythm of his work filled the space between them, and once again, Matilda found herself noticing the careful strength in his hands, the sharp line of his shoulders, and the quiet, relentless focus he poured into a task that seemed impossibly mundane.
And she realized, with a mixture of astonishment and a little thrill, that this restraint paired with the absence of his usual provocation, was far more disarming than any barb or jest could have been.
Jasper shifted his weight, bracing the wheel into place with his shoulder as he tightened a leather strap. Then, quite suddenly, he spoke again.
“Lady Aberon,” he said, without looking up, “is everything prepared for the baptism? I remember you mentioned not being able to engage the choir on that particular day…”
Evelyn blinked, clearly taken aback by the unexpected question.
“Why—yes, I do believe so,” she said gently.
“The chapel will be dressed with flowers, and fortunately, we have arranged everything and the choir has been engaged. And Robert is… rather insistent that the font gleam brighter than the chandeliers, so it is very well that you went to fetch it.” A soft laugh escaped her.
Jasper gave a small nod, the faintest flicker of acknowledgment, still bent over his work. Only once or twice did he glance toward Evelyn as she spoke, as though ensuring he had heard correctly, before returning his attention to the stubborn axle.
Matilda’s brows drew together. Did he truly care for these details? She had never known him to linger over such domestic arrangements, and yet he asked with such evenness as though the matter did, in fact, concern him.
Still, she kept her silence. She would not grant him the satisfaction of voicing the question aloud.
Evelyn smoothed her skirts as though the thought had just come to her. “It will be such a lovely celebration, and I am so sorry that Hazel’s two sisters are unable to attend. They would have adored it.”
“Unable to attend?” Hazel scoffed. “Punished, you mean.”
That drew Jasper’s attention. He turned from the wheel, brows arched. “Punished? Why on earth would two young ladies be punished to such severity as missing a child’s baptism?”
Hazel folded her arms, clearly torn between exasperation and amusement. “Because they thought it clever to dye the pond swans bright pink.”
Cordelia clapped her hands together, her laughter ringing like bells. “No!”
Evelyn gasped, pressing her gloved fingers to her lips, though her shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. “Surely not the swans?”
“Oh yes,” Hazel said grimly. “My mother nearly fainted when she saw the poor creatures gliding about the water, looking as though they had bathed in rosewater. Apparently, my sisters found some concoction at the apothecary in town and decided to test its properties. They claimed they were only conducting a harmless experiment in aesthetics.”
Jasper straightened fully, arms crossing over his chest, and Matilda could not help but notice the ripple of strength along his sleeves. His mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but not disapproval either. “Pink swans,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. “Well. That is… inventive.”
Hazel rolled her eyes heavenward. “It is reckless. They are confined at home until further notice.”
Cordelia was nearly doubled over with glee. “Oh, come now, Hazel dear. They are a delightful duo!”
“Delightful,” Hazel muttered. “They will be the death of me.”
Through it all, Jasper’s gaze lingered on Hazel with something like quiet amusement. He seemed genuinely interested. He didn’t seem to be feigning, nor playing, but actually listening. And once again, Matilda found herself bewildered by the absence of his usual arrogance.
Jasper tilted his head, still holding the wheel in place with one strong hand. “And tell me, Lady Hazel, are such antics customary for your sisters? Or is pinking swans a singular accomplishment?”
Hazel gave a weary sigh. “Customary, I’m afraid. They are twins, three years younger than I, and they are always up to no good. My mother despairs of them.”
Cordelia leaned forward eagerly. “Do tell us one more!”
Hazel pinched the bridge of her nose but obliged. “Very well. Last spring, they somehow smuggled a pair of baby goats into the parlor, dressed them in ribbons and insisted they were honorary guests at my mother’s tea.”
Cordelia shrieked with laughter, nearly toppling from her stump. Evelyn covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling. Even Matilda, despite herself, gave in to a laugh that bubbled up, warm and genuine, shaking free some of the heaviness that clung to her chest.
She glanced toward Jasper. He was not laughing; not quite. But a smile curved his lips, slow and faint, softening the sharpness of his features, as though the image of mischievous twins and ribboned goats amused him in some private way.
Hazel exhaled, pressing her fingers to her brow. “Truly, I do not know what to do with them anymore. My parents are at their wits’ end, and I am no better. The twins leave chaos in their wake wherever they go.”
Jasper’s hands stilled. He leaned back on his heels, considering.
It was not the expression of a rake or a man idly passing time, but of someone weighing the matter with quiet seriousness.
He remained that way for a moment, the sun catching in his hair, the dust of the road clinging to his boots. Then he spoke.
“Twins, both unruly, always scheming, and never content unless the household revolves around them.” He looked up at Hazel, his blue eyes steady. “What they want is attention. Every antic, every scandal, it is simply a way to claim it.”
Hazel blinked. “Attention?”
He nodded. “If you starve them of it, they will only invent louder ways to demand it. If you scold them, you only confirm they’ve won.
Punishment alone won’t do. But if you give them responsibility, real responsibility, they will either rise to it or falter.
And in either case, they will learn the difference between mischief and consequence. ”
Silence followed. The wheel, the broken axle, the dust and sun, all seemed to fade as his words hung in the air.
Evelyn was the first to stir. “That is… remarkably sensible.”
Hazel’s brows rose high, skepticism giving way to reluctant admiration. “And practical.” She gave a short laugh, shaking her head. “I confess, Your Grace, I had not thought of it in that light.”
Cordelia leaned forward eagerly. “Yes! Give them goats to mind, or perhaps a garden patch, or a dozen ducklings! Something they cannot neglect without disaster. Oh, how clever.”
Even Evelyn chuckled at Cordelia’s enthusiasm, but her eyes, like Hazel’s, drifted back to Jasper with unmistakable surprise.
Matilda, though, could scarcely breathe. She had expected jest, some sly remark to make Hazel bristle and Cordelia laugh. She had expected him to sneer, to mock, to turn their troubles into amusement. Never this, never reason, never measured advice given without flourish or vanity.
She felt her chest tighten, a faint, unwelcome ache stirring beneath her ribs.
How easily he shifts, she thought. How easily he becomes something I do not expect.
The others laughed now, feeling the tension broken by Cordelia’s vivid imaginings of goats in ribbons and ducklings parading through drawing rooms. Matilda’s own laugh escaped before she could stop it, soft and genuine. She pressed a hand to her lips, startled by the sound.
And in that moment, she risked another glance at Jasper.
He was smiling in a way that was warming his features, sending her heart into an unsteady rhythm.
It bewildered her. It unsettled her. And most dangerously of all, it made her want to see that smile again.