Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
“You cannot tell me that gown was meant to look like that,” Cordelia declared with her hands on her hips as she surveyed Matilda with wide, delighted eyes.
Matilda turned from the mirror, her lips curving faintly. “It wasn’t. I have just… adjusted it.”
“Adjusted?” Cordelia repeated, scandalized and thrilled all at once. “My dear, you’ve transformed it. It’s divine!”
Hazel was seated by the window with her usual calm, and smiled over the rim of her teacup. “Divine or not, it was hardly modest, as you intended. I still seem to recall you saying you how wanted to fade into the background.”
Matilda looked back at her reflection, at the soft shimmer of silver thread tracing the gown’s hem, at the way the pearls caught the light along her neckline.
She had spent hours repainting the fabric with a faint sheen of lavender and sewing the tiny sequins by candlelight.
The result was subtle at first glance, yet impossible to ignore once seen.
“It was meant to be simple,” she admitted. “But it… evolved.”
Cordelia clasped her hands. “Evolved into a masterpiece, you mean. Look at you! The Dowager Viscountess of Forth shall set the church ablaze.”
“Do stop,” Matilda murmured, though her cheeks warmed. “It’s only a gown.”
“Only a gown?” Cordelia gasped theatrically. “You sparkle like morning dew. You’ll have everyone staring and one man in particular losing his senses.”
Matilda tried to sound stern. “Cordelia.”
“His Grace of Harrow,” Cordelia continued unabashed. “You must have noticed how he looks at you. Hazel, tell her she’s blind.”
Hazel sighed, setting her cup down. “You are blind, Matilda,” she said with pragmatic ease. “Or pretending to be. Either way, the Duke’s attention is obvious to anyone with eyes.”
“Attention is not affection,” Matilda said softly.
Cordelia arched a brow. “Then he has a very intense way of studying wallpaper.”
That drew a reluctant laugh from her. “You two are impossible.”
“Unhelpfully honest, you mean,” Hazel corrected. “But you do look beautiful. Truly. We all agreed that you should allow yourself to be seen for once.”
Matilda’s smile faltered slightly as she adjusted a strand of hair. “I shall try.”
Cordelia fastened the delicate clasp of her necklace, a string of pearls that rested perfectly against the lavender sheen of the fabric. “There. Now you are perfect.”
The compliment stirred something tender and uncertain inside her.
For a fleeting moment, Matilda wished she could tell them everything: the kiss, the confusion, the way Jasper’s voice still echoed in her mind.
But she couldn’t. At least, not until she had spoken to him first. She could not trust what the kiss meant until she heard it from him.
That was when a sound from outside made them all turn toward the window. The crunch of wheels on gravel assured them that Evelyn and Robert had to be on their way to church already.
Hazel rose, smoothing her gloves. “Time to go, ladies. The baptism awaits.”
Cordelia caught Matilda’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Brace yourself, my dear. You’ll cause a sensation.”
“Oh, I’m not sure I want to anymore…”
“You will, whether you wish it or not.”
Matilda laughed softly, though her heart had begun to flutter in a most inconvenient way.
She glanced once more in the mirror. The woman who gazed back at her looked poised and elegant, while the soft light was glancing off her gown like sunlight through mist. But beneath the calm surface, hope and apprehension twisted together, impossible to tell apart.
“Very well,” she said at last. “Let us go.”
The corridor beyond her chamber hummed with the quiet bustle of servants, while Matilda, Cordelia, and Hazel moved together down the grand staircase.
“Evelyn will be radiant,” Cordelia said, half-skipping the last step. “She was glowing before the child was even in his christening gown.”
Hazel smiled. “And Robert looked ready to duel the vicar over the proper placement of the font.”
Matilda laughed softly. “That sounds like him. He takes fatherhood as seriously as diplomacy.”
“Which is why,” Cordelia said brightly, pausing as they stepped out into the sunlight, “you must take being an aunt just as seriously. I expect at least one dramatic godmotherly toast at the ball tonight.”
“Cordelia,” Hazel said dryly, “not everyone enjoys being the evening’s entertainment.”
“Everyone enjoys being admired,” Cordelia countered, giving Matilda a wink. “Even if they pretend not to.”
Matilda smiled, though her pulse fluttered as the waiting carriage came into view.
Two glossy bays pawed at the gravel, and the coachman stood ready.
The autumn sunlight was clear and warm, and the estate glittered with quiet expectation, just as the ladies did themselves.
Matilda placed one slippered foot on the step, then suddenly stilled.
“Oh, wait,” she said quickly.
Hazel glanced over. “What is it?”
“My gloves,” Matilda said, though it was not entirely true. “I left them in my room. You get settled in, I’ll only be a moment.”
Cordelia frowned. “Shall I send someone?”
“No need,” Matilda said, already turning back toward the house. “Truly, I shan’t be long.”
“Don’t make us late!” Cordelia called after her.
Matilda waved a hand over her shoulder as she stepped back into the house. Inside, everything seemed suddenly still. The sunlight fell in golden patches through the high windows, painting the marble floor in soft light. Everything seemed to conspire to make this into a most beautiful day.
She wasn’t entirely sure why she had turned back. It wasn’t the gloves. She realized that the instant she crossed the threshold of her chamber again. They lay neatly folded upon the dressing table where she had left them, waiting with calm indifference.
No, she had needed a moment to steady herself.
She pressed her palms to the edge of the table, staring at her reflection in the mirror once more. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her eyes were somehow too bright. Beneath all the satin and pearl, her heart was beating like a trapped bird.
What would she say when she saw him?
She inhaled deeply, grabbed her gloves and headed out of her chamber.
“I suppose we should go soon, Harrow,” Robert said, glancing at the clock. “Evelyn will have my head if I keep the vicar waiting.”
He was gathering a few last papers from his writing table. His expression bore that familiar mixture of composure and good humor that Jasper had always found enviable.
Jasper smiled faintly. “You’re a brave man to risk her displeasure even in jest.”
Robert chuckled. “I’ve endured worse than a scolding from my wife.” He straightened, tucking the papers neatly into a case. “Though I must admit, being married to Evelyn has made bravery a much pleasanter thing.”
Jasper looked at him, studying the ease with which he said it. The quiet certainty in his voice and the unguarded warmth in his eyes were unmistakable.
“You’re a lucky man,” Jasper said quietly.
Robert gave him a curious look. “Lucky, perhaps. But not undeserving, I hope.”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult.” Jasper leaned one shoulder against the window frame. “Only…” He paused, choosing the words carefully. “Only that I’ve never seen a man so content to be caught.”
Robert chuckled. “And yet you speak as though it’s a tragedy.”
Jasper looked away, watching the light spill across the lawns beyond. “A tragedy? No. Simply… foreign.”
There was a short silence, broken only by the tick of the mantel clock. Robert shut his case and crossed to the sideboard to pour himself a small glass of water.
“You’ve said before that marriage is not for you,” he said mildly. “But I’ve never quite understood why. You speak with such contempt of it, and yet…” He tilted his head. “And yet I think you envy it.”
Jasper scoffed, though there was no malice in it. “Perhaps. Though envy and desire are not the same.”
“Then tell me,” Robert said, settling into the armchair opposite. “Why is it, Harrow? You have everything a man could want: title, fortune, a name that commands respect. Why choose to live as if you owed the world nothing and expected nothing in return?”
Jasper turned from the window. For a moment he said nothing. This was neither the time nor the place for such talk, yet he couldn’t stop himself. He trusted Robert and he wanted him to understand. Then, slowly, he crossed the room and sat across from him.
“My father,” he said at last. “That is why.”
Robert’s brow furrowed slightly, but he did not interrupt.
“You remember him, I think,” Jasper continued.
“The late Duke of Harrow was beloved by society, but feared by his household. To the world, he was a man of principle. To me…” He let out a short breath.
“He was a man who mistook cruelty for discipline. He believed strength was measured in obedience, and affection a weakness to be punished.”
Robert’s jaw tightened, but still he said nothing.
“When I was a boy,” Jasper went on, and his voice sounded more quieter now, almost as if the boy in him was still afraid of displeasing his father, “he made perfection my only acceptable condition. I was not to falter, not to question. He thought it love, I suppose, or duty. My mother died giving me life, and he meant to make the loss worthwhile.”
The words fell heavily upon him, like a slap he remembered so well.
“He taught me how to command, to endure, to conquer. But never how to feel.” Jasper looked down at his hands, at the faint pale scars that crossed his palms. “I swore to myself, when he died, that I would never be what he was. That I would never make another soul live under the weight of my own expectations.”
Robert sat back. “And so you swore off marriage.”
“Yes,” Jasper said simply. “No wife. No heir. The Harrow line ends with me. It’s the only mercy I can offer the world.”
Robert studied him for a long moment. “You think so little of yourself?”
“I think enough to know the danger of my blood.”
A silence followed. Outside, a carriage door closed, and laughter drifted faintly up from the drive.
At last, Robert said quietly. “You are not your father, Jasper.”
Jasper’s mouth curved, though there was no humor in it. “No. But I am his son. That is punishment enough.”
Robert looked as though he might argue, but Jasper rose before he could. He adjusted his cuff and the mask slipped neatly back into place.
“You should go,” Jasper said lightly. “Your wife will forgive you anything but lateness.”
Robert stood as well, but his gaze lingered, full of unspoken sympathy. “You could be happy, you know,” he said quietly. “If you’d only allow it.”
Jasper met his eyes, a flicker of something unreadable passing between them. Then he smiled a little too easily. “Happiness is for better men, Aberon. I’ve no business stealing it.”
He turned toward the window again. Outside, the carriages waited and the bells of the nearby church were beginning to sound in the distance.
Soon, they would go. And among the crowd, he would see her again.