Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Jasper tightened the leather strap, painfully aware of her eyes upon him.
She had been watching him from the start, though she thought herself discreet. He had felt the weight of her gaze like the sun on his back, and it had taken every ounce of discipline not to turn, not to provoke, not to answer her scrutiny with one of his grins.
So he gave her what she had claimed she wanted: nothing at all. No attention. Only silence.
His focus remained on the wheel until her voice slipped unexpectedly into the conversation.
“I suppose,” Matilda said carefully, “there is some sense in what His Grace has said. If the girls had a task that required their full effort, it might indeed keep them from mischief.”
The words fell quiet, almost tentative, yet they carried something that struck him oddly, like a peace offering.
Jasper’s hands stilled on the axle. Slowly, he looked up.
Their eyes locked. Her pale grey gaze met his and for the briefest heartbeat, the world hushed around them.
There was nothing of the chatter of the others, of the creak of wood, even of the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
It was as though the moment belonged to them alone.
Then, just as swiftly, she pulled away. Her lashes dropped, her shoulders tightened, and she turned her attention back to Evelyn.
Jasper forced himself to look back at the wheel, his fingers tightening around the wood. Yet the ghost of that glance lingered, sharp and bright, sparking through him in a way that felt both unwelcome and exhilarating.
He rolled his sleeves another inch higher, set his jaw, and bent once more to the task. But beneath the steady rhythm of his work, he felt it, that strange, undeniable titillation of knowing Lady Matilda Sterlington had, for the first time, chosen not to fight him, but to stand with him.
Jasper gave the wheel one last firm shove, testing the strength of the brace he had rigged.
It held steady beneath the weight. He allowed himself a short nod of satisfaction before straightening to his full height.
His shirt was smudged with grease and dust, and his hands bore the marks of work no gentleman need ever undertake, but he did not mind.
The task had occupied him, but even more than that, it steadied him.
He brushed his palms together, turning back toward the waiting ladies.
“Well, it’s done,” he said simply.
Matilda spoke first, almost as if she were in a rush to beat anyone else to it. “Thank you.”
Her voice was quiet, but the sincerity in it struck him like a blow.
He could not resist. His lips curved, the tease escaping before he thought better of it. “I aim to please, my lady.”
She startled, color blooming high in her cheeks. For a moment, Jasper braced himself for the inevitable retort, for the sharp barb or the icy scoff. But none came. Instead, she simply blushed.
It suited her, he thought. The flush softened the severe lines she imagined upon herself, giving warmth to her pale grey eyes, light to her austere beauty. And for the first time, he noticed a faint scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
Lovely. Utterly, unexpectedly lovely.
Jasper flexed his fingers once more, wiping the worst of the grease from his palms.
“Would you like me to escort you back to the house?” he inquired.
It was the natural question, after all; four ladies stranded on the road, their carriage only just repaired.
But instead of agreement, a chorus of protest rose at once.
“Oh, we cannot possibly return yet!” Cordelia cried.
“We are bound for town,” Hazel said firmly.
“Yes,” Evelyn added with a smile, “there are items we must acquire for Matilda’s shawl.”
At this, the three of them broke into chuckles, exchanging knowing glances that left Jasper entirely in the dark.
Shawl? What on earth could be so urgent about a shawl?
He raised a brow but did not ask. Instead, he gave a short bow, all polished courtesy. “As you wish, ladies. A good day to you, then.”
He swung easily into the saddle, his horse shifting beneath him with a toss of its head. With one last nod, he turned and rode off at a steady pace, leaving behind their laughter and conspiratorial smiles.
Yet as the manor came into sight, Jasper realized he carried more than dust and grease back with him. He carried the image of Matilda’s blush, the freckles across her nose, and the strange, disarming warmth of her quiet thank you.
And though he told himself it was nothing, that she was nothing but vexation wrapped in grey muslin, the thought of her refused to leave him.
The village shops were alive with noise and color by the time the carriage finally rolled into the square. Merchants called out their wares, ribbons fluttered in the breeze, and trays of buttons and beads glittered like treasure under the sun.
Cordelia practically flew from the carriage before it had even halted.
“Look at that! Oh, Matilda, that shade of sapphire would make you blaze brighter than the heavens!”
“Do not overwhelm her before she has even set foot on the cobbles,” Hazel said, though her lips twitched with amusement. She disembarked with the composed dignity of a queen, then promptly tugged Cordelia back by the sleeve when the latter nearly collided with a basket of bread rolls.
Evelyn looped her arm through Matilda’s as they entered the milliner’s shop. “Come, dearest. Today we spoil you.”
Matilda smiled faintly, but beneath it her heart gave a secret leap. She could not remember the last time she had looked upon silks and trims with such anticipation. The thought of altering her plain gown, of shaping it into something dazzling by her own hand, sent a quiet thrill through her chest.
Cordelia was already at work, scattering boxes of beads across the counter. “We need sparkle, silver, yes, but also color. Imagine a streak of midnight blue down the hem!”
Hazel arched a brow. “If we follow your suggestions, Cordelia, poor Matilda will end the night looking like a firework.”
“Better a firework than a shadow,” Cordelia returned without hesitation.
Evelyn held up a length of soft silver ribbon, her eyes shining. “This. It is subtle, but once embroidered it will gleam in the candlelight. Matilda, what do you think?”
Matilda touched the ribbon gently, feeling the cool silk slide between her fingers. Her lips curved, this time in genuine delight. “It will be perfect,” she said softly.
Hazel caught the look on her face and gave a small, approving nod.
And so it began. They pored over beads, argued over shades of thread, laughed over Cordelia’s insistence that feathers might be added.
“Absolutely not!” Hazel decreed.
Shoppers passing by turned to watch the little quartet of ladies, their laughter filling the narrow shop.
Matilda found herself laughing too, feeling her cheeks warm and her hands already itching to begin the work. She imagined the gown transformed. It would be grey still, but alive with silver and shimmer, a reflection of the woman she might be for one night.
Her friends chattered on, debating between pearls and crystals, but Matilda’s thoughts drifted elsewhere for the briefest moment. She pictured a certain duke, his blue eyes widening, that insufferably smug grin finally faltering.
The thought sent a spark racing through her, and she laughed again, this time at herself. How absurd to care what he thought. And yet, how sweet the idea of surprising him.
The laughter of her friends faded into the hum of the marketplace, and Matilda’s thoughts slipped elsewhere.
Against her will, an image returned to her mind: broad shoulders bent beneath the sun, hands steady on the wheel, sleeves rolled high to reveal arms corded with strength.
She remembered the moment he had lifted the carriage just enough to adjust the axle, his body taut with effort.
The memory sent heat through her, quick and sharp, leaving her breath uneven.
It maddened her.
How could she, who had sworn to feel nothing for any man, allow her mind to dwell on him?
On that man, of all people? The very one who tormented her with sly remarks and knowing smiles.
And yet she had wanted to watch him longer, to see the shift of muscle, the scarred hands turning deft and capable as he worked.
And now, standing in a shop filled with ribbons and beads, she longed for something she could scarcely name. She wanted him to see her in a gown she had made radiant, to look at her the way she had looked at him and to be driven mad by it.
The realization jolted her, a spark of fire where there should have been only cold resolve.
She pressed her palm against the bolt of silver ribbon Evelyn had handed her, grounding herself. She was still set on the convent. Still determined to choose a life apart from such dangerous whims. Nothing could change that.
And yet…
She wanted one night. Just one, to dazzle, to burn, to make Jasper Everleigh forget his composure and feel every bit as unsettled as she felt now.
For the first time in years, Matilda felt a true, bubbling excitement in her chest. This gown would be hers, every stitch, every bead, and it would not be the garment of a shadow.
It would be the gown of a woman daring, for once, to shine.