Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
No wife. No heir. The Harrow line ends with me.
The words looped through Matilda’s mind, sharp and cold as a blade.
She stood just beyond the half-open door of the study, and she could feel the polished wood biting into her gloved palm as she steadied herself.
She hadn’t meant to linger. She had only gone back for her gloves, for heaven’s sake, but then she had heard his voice, something in the tone had made her pause.
Now she wished she hadn’t.
Jasper’s words, no… his vow still echoed in her ears. And his words were spoken so plainly, as if they meant nothing at all, as if he had not kissed her the day before as though the world had narrowed to the space between them.
No wife.
No heir.
No heart, she thought bitterly.
For a moment she could not move. The soft murmur of the men’s voices continued inside.
Robert’s protested gently and Jasper laughed dryly.
Only, she heard none of it. All she could hear was the hollow certainty beneath his calm.
He had not spoken of pain or fear as a man still bleeding from an old wound.
He had spoken as one who had buried the body and planted nothing in its place.
And she, this foolish, foolish woman, had hoped otherwise.
She had allowed herself to believe that the kiss meant something more than heat and impulse, that perhaps beneath his charm there was feeling, and beneath that feeling, room for love. She had even imagined that she might be the one to reach him and to prove him wrong.
Her breath caught, and she pressed a trembling hand against her lips.
Lady Isabelle’s cruel little words returned to her now, mocking in their precision.
He belongs to me. He just needs time to realize it.
No, Matilda thought faintly. He belongs to no one. Not even himself.
And yet, despite all reason, her heart hurt. It was not with anger, not even with humiliation, but with the quiet devastation of understanding. She loved him: utterly, hopelessly, and without defense. She had fallen for a man who had already sworn to love no one.
For a long moment she stood there, frozen in the stillness of the hall, her reflection wavering faintly in the glass of a framed portrait opposite her. She looked pale, ghostly, and far too composed.
Then, slowly, she drew in a breath.
Enough.
She turned away from the door and headed down the hallway. Her steps were steady, each one a small act of will. By the time she reached the staircase again, her expression had smoothed into the careful calm she knew so well.
Cordelia spotted her first as she approached the carriage. “There you are! We thought we’d have to send a search party. Did your gloves run off without you?”
Matilda managed a faint smile. “Something like that.”
Hazel peered from the carriage window, with one brow raised. “You look pale. You haven’t changed your mind about the gown, have you?”
“Of course not,” Matilda assured her as she stepped into the carriage.
Cordelia squeezed her hand as she settled beside her. “You’ll be the loveliest creature in the church. Just wait and see.”
Matilda smiled again and turned her face toward the window as the carriage began to roll forward. Outside, the sun shone bright over the estate, and the air was sweet with autumn roses. Inside, her heart felt very still.
If Jasper Everleigh had made himself a promise to end the Harrow line, she realized, she must make one, too: to end this.
Only, it was only the beginning of their time together as godparents, and she had to live through the day first. The bells of St. Aldwyn’s rang out across the crisp autumn air.
The baptism had drawn nearly everyone of consequence within twenty miles, including but not limited to family, friends, and acquaintances all eager to celebrate the new heir of Aberon.
Inside the church, the scent of wax and lilies hung delicately in the air. Evelyn stood radiant beside her husband, with her child cradled in her arms, while the vicar prepared the silver font. Matilda took her place opposite Jasper, each of them named as godparent to the infant.
It was Evelyn’s idea, of course. She had said it was only fitting that her sister and her husband’s closest friend should share the honor. Matilda had agreed readily enough when asked weeks before. How could she not? But standing there now, beside him, the irony stung.
She felt him before she saw him. The quiet weight of his presence enshrouded her and the warmth that seemed to follow him like an afterthought overwhelmed her.
When she finally dared t glance sideways, she saw the familiar line of his jaw.
He looked every inch the nobleman: composed, courteous, untouchable.
And she, heaven help her, had once imagined he could feel.
“Are you quite well?” came Jasper’s voice, pitched softly enough that only she could hear.
Her gaze remained fixed on the font. “Perfectly, Your Grace.”
There was a pause. “You are pale.”
“It is merely the light from the windows.”
He hesitated, then added quietly. “I feared I might have—”
“Pray do not trouble yourself,” she cut in, not giving him a single glance as if that could scorch her. “I am quite content.”
He said nothing more, and the vicar’s gentle voice filled the space where his words might have lingered. The child cooed softly, Evelyn smiled through tears, and the ceremony unfolded with gentle solemnity.
When it came time for the godparents to speak their vows, Jasper’s voice was deep and steady as he promised to guide and protect the child in spirit and honor. Then came her turn. Matilda’s own words emerged clear and calm, though her throat felt tight.
“I promise to watch over him with affection, and to aid him, as best I can, in the path of goodness and truth.”
Her tone did not waver, though she could feel Jasper’s eyes upon her.
After the blessing, the small party withdrew to the churchyard, where the air was bright and brisk.
Guests congratulated the new parents, exchanged compliments, and admired the infant’s rosy cheeks.
The Aberons had arranged for a celebration afterward which was a luncheon on the green, followed by a ball that evening.
Matilda found herself continually at Jasper’s side, bound there by the duties of their shared godparentage. It seemed every conversation, every polite introduction and every toast placed them within an arm’s reach.
“I do believe the vicar has quite forgiven you for your earlier skepticism,” Cordelia teased as she joined Matilda beneath the marquee where tables had been set with ribbons and pale flowers.
“I was not skeptical,” Matilda said lightly. “Merely curious about his theological precision.”
Hazel raised a brow. “You questioned him on doctrine during the christening.”
“It was a passing remark.”
“It was a correction,” Cordelia laughed. “And a very elegant one. You’ve grown dreadfully fearless, my dear.”
Matilda smiled faintly, but her attention drifted. Across the lawn, Jasper was speaking to Robert with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass of wine. He looked utterly at ease. She wondered how he did it.
He crossed to her a few minutes later, with the polite shadow of a smile on his lips.
“Lady Matilda,” he said, bowing slightly. “You were splendid during the ceremony.”
“Was I?” she asked without much interest. “Probably because for me, it was not a performance.”
“Everything you do becomes one,” he said before he could stop himself.
Her eyes flicked to his, with severity she seldom exuded. “Then I fear you mistake poise for artifice.”
Cordelia, ever perceptive, cleared her throat. “Well! I see our godparents are in fine spirits.”
Hazel shot her a warning glance, but Cordelia ignored it entirely. “I’m sure the two of you will lead the dancing tonight.”
“Unlikely,” Matilda said smoothly. “I do not intend to dance.”
Jasper tilted his head slightly. “A pity.”
“For whom?” she asked.
“For every man who hoped to ask,” he replied quietly.
Her expression did not soften. “Then they will have to console himself elsewhere.”
He said nothing after that. He merely inclined his head and stepped back as another guest approached her. But the look he gave her lingered long after he turned away. He appeared troubled, as if searching for an answer only she could give.
Focus, she reminded herself. To him, this has been nothing but a game.
The rest of the afternoon unfolded in polite merriment: laughter beneath the tent, the clinking of glasses, the distant notes of a string quartet.
To anyone watching, Lady Matilda Sterlington was every inch the graceful dowager, but beneath the veneer of serenity, her heart ached with every breath she took beside him.
She smiled when spoken to, accepted compliments on her gown, and even teased Cordelia once or twice, but she felt as though she moved through a dream. Every time Jasper’s voice carried across the garden, her pulse betrayed her.
When the luncheon ended and the guests began to disperse toward their carriages, a beaming Evelyn took her hand. “You were wonderful, dearest. You and His Grace make an excellent pair of godparents.”
Matilda returned the smile with practiced grace. “Then I am glad to have pleased you.”
But as Jasper approached once more to offer his arm, she felt her composure tremble. She accepted, simply because she had to. The touch of his hand against hers was barely there, yet it felt as though the air itself had shifted.
He said nothing. Neither did she.
They walked together toward the waiting carriage in silence, the distance between them full of everything that might have been said and everything that now never would be.