“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 perfectlyrespectable. 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. Shehad 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 wereyougoing 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 wasthe 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?”
