Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The laughter and applause of the ballroom faded behind her like the echo of some distant, meaningless dream.
She had no idea how she reached her chamber, but she did. She shut the door and leaned back against it. For an endless moment, she simply stood there, staring into the dimly lit room, just trying to breathe.
Honor.
She had heard that word so many times before. Her hands began to tremble as old memories pressed forward. Her husband’s voice full of false gentleness echoed through her mind.
You must understand, Matilda, appearances matter. This is what is right. What is honorable.
It was the same voice that had tricked her into believing he loved her. It was the same deceit that had convinced her she was cherished, even as he used her to wound her sister.
She remembered the dizzying rush of that betrayal, and then, the slow, subsequent dawning horror of realizing she had been a pawn in another man’s vanity. She had sworn never again to be misled, never again to mistake charm for care, to confuse a man’s will with affection.
And yet here she was, fooled once more by a different sort of man, a better liar perhaps, one who used silence instead of flattery.
Jasper Everleigh had not promised her anything, and somehow that made it worse. He had looked at her as if she mattered, kissed her as if she were the only woman in the world and now claimed the only way to make things right was to offer marriage as if it were reparation for a sin.
She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, swallowing hard against the tightness in her chest.
“Fool,” she whispered to herself. “You absolute fool.”
Crossing to the wardrobe, she opened it with more force than necessary and began pulling down gowns, then folding them with trembling fingers. The motion steadied her. If she packed, she would not think. And if she did not think, she would not feel.
She would leave tonight. She would return to London, to quiet, to distance and finally move on with her plan.
She would simply have to come up with a good reason for her sister to understand this sudden departure.
Cordelia and Hazel would protest, but they always meant well. They would forget her soon enough.
It was better this way. It always was.
The sound of the door opening behind her startled her so violently that she dropped the gown in her hands.
“Matilda?” Hazel’s calm, measured voice cut through the silence.
She closed the door gently and took in the scene: the open trunk, the gowns strewn across the bed, the Dowager Viscountess standing amid it all like a ghost.
“What on earth has happened?” Hazel asked softly, stepping closer.
Matilda drew a deep breath, her voice shaking despite herself. “Nothing that has not happened before.”
Hazel’s brow furrowed. “That isn’t an answer.”
Matilda sank down onto the edge of the bed. “I thought I was past it,” she said after a moment. “Past being so easily deceived. But I was wrong.”
Hazel said nothing, only waited.
The truth of the past several days came out pouring in one endless rush, and Matilda could scarcely breathe until she had said the last word.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the steady, painful thrum of her heart. “He meant to propose, Hazel. Not out of affection, but out of pity. Because he thought I might be damaged. And I suppose because he thought it his duty.”
Hazel exhaled slowly and came to sit beside her. “Oh, Matilda.”
Matilda shook her head. Her eyes were stinging though no tears fell. “I cannot endure it again. I cannot bear another man deciding what is best for me. I will not be manipulated into gratitude by a man who offers penance in the shape of marriage.”
Hazel was silent for a moment, then reached out, taking her hand gently. “You have every right to feel wronged. But running from him will not heal it.”
Matilda’s voice cracked. “I’m not running. I’m escaping.”
Hazel looked at her tenderly. “You said the same thing once, after your husband’s death.”
Matilda flinched, but Hazel’s tone remained calm. “You promised yourself you would learn to trust again, to choose rather than be chosen. And now you are choosing to hide.”
For a moment, Matilda could not speak. Then she whispered. “I am not strong enough for another lesson.”
Hazel squeezed her hand. “Then be angry. Be hurt. But do not mistake a wound for weakness. The fact that you feel at all proves you’ve already begun to heal.”
Matilda looked down at their joined hands. The words stung, though she knew Hazel meant them kindly.
“I only wanted to feel safe,” she said quietly. “To believe that for once, a man could see me and not try to save me.”
Hazel’s voice softened. “Perhaps he was trying not to hurt you.”
Matilda gave a bitter smile. “Then he has failed most admirably.”
She rose then, pulling away gently, and turned back to her trunk. “I’m leaving as soon as I pack,” she announced. “There’s nothing left for me here.”
Hazel stood for a long moment in silence, watching as Matilda folded another gown and laid it neatly in the trunk.
“You are truly going, then? To the nunnery?”
Matilda didn’t look up. “Yes.”
Hazel crossed her arms. “I thought you would eventually change your mind, that you were merely weary of life when you said it.”
“I was weary,” Matilda agreed. “And I am still.” She folded a shawl and smoothed it into place with careful precision. “But the more I think on it, the more sense it makes. Peace, purpose, simplicity. No games, no expectations.”
“No love,” Hazel murmured.
Matilda’s hand stilled for the briefest moment. “Love is not for everyone.”
Hazel’s brow softened. “Nor is solitude.”
Matilda gave a faint, almost wistful smile.
“Oh, my dear Hazel. You make it sound like punishment. I assure you, it will be a mercy. I have lived my life at the mercy of others’ choices.
My husband’s, my family’s, even my own foolish hopes.
The nunnery will be quiet and predictable.
I might finally learn to stop wanting things I am not meant to have. ”
Hazel sighed, then crossed the room to help her, lifting a folded muslin gown and tucking it carefully beside the others. “It is not my place to stop you,” she said after a moment. “But I will say this much: peace earned through hiding is rarely the kind that lasts.”
Matilda managed a smile. “Then perhaps I shall settle for the temporary sort. It will do.”
Hazel thought about it for a moment, then she voiced her concerns. “What will you tell Evelyn?”
Matilda hesitated, then sighed. “That an urgent letter came from London. A matter concerning my late husband’s estate. She will not question it, Evelyn never doubts what she hopes not to see.”
Hazel’s mouth tightened, though she nodded. “And Cordelia?”
“She will dramatize it, then forgive me,” Matilda said, almost smiling. “She will think me romantic or tragic, whichever suits her mood. But she will not pry.”
Hazel folded her hands. “And him?”
The question hung heavy in the air.
Matilda didn’t answer at once. She closed the trunk with a quiet click, resting her palm upon the smooth wood.
“He will not come to me,” she said finally. “He said he meant to be honorable. Men like him always mistake distance for virtue.”
Hazel looked at her with something close to sorrow. “And if he does come?”
Matilda’s lips trembled before she caught herself. “Then I would still go,” she said softly. “Because I could not bear to watch him do the right thing for the wrong reason.”
Hazel’s expression gentled. She reached out and took Matilda’s hand, giving it a firm, brief squeeze. “You are braver than you think,” she told her.
Matilda shook her head, feeling her composure slipping for just a moment. “No. Only tired.”
Hazel brushed a faint bit of dust from her gown. “Then rest tonight. I’ll send word for a carriage at dawn. You can be on your way before anyone wakes.”
Matilda shook her head. “No, I will go as soon as I have spoken with Evelyn. And Hazel… thank you.”
Hazel looked as if she were about to cry. “You needn’t thank me. Just promise you’ll write.”
Matilda hesitated. “If I can.”
Hazel gave a rueful little smile. “Then at least pray for me. I imagine you’ll have time enough for that.”
That earned her a genuine laugh. “I will. Every day.”
Hazel leaned forward and kissed her cheek, a rare show of affection, then turned toward the door. “Matilda… if you change your mind…”
“I won’t.”
Hazel nodded. “Then God go with you, my dear.”
When the door closed behind her, the silence returned. Matilda sat for a moment on the edge of the bed, listening to the far away sounds of music and laughter. They already seemed to come from a world that no longer belonged to her.
She rose, extinguished the last candle, and stood for a moment in the dark, with her hand resting on the closed trunk.
She would leave and never look back.