“It concerns the tenants near the south orchard, the ones by the old stone bridge,” Grayson said. “Their irrigation channels are failing. If they are not repaired before the next planting, much of the crop will be lost. I have spoken with the steward, and he agrees. But the decision requires Aberon’s sanction.”
“Then tell Robert,” Jasper said at once, reaching lazily for his glass. “He is master here, not I.”
Grayson hesitated. “I might. But the truth is, Robert and I are not especially well acquainted. He is civil enough, of course, but we have had little occasion to speak beyond the necessary courtesies. I should not like to impose myself with a matter of such urgency when there are others he trusts more.” His eyes flicked meaningfully to Jasper.
Jasper arched a brow. “And so you would impose yourself on me instead?”
Grayson gave a thin smile. “You and he are friends. He will listen if it comes from you. I would feel far easier knowing the message carried by one whose counsel he values.”
Jasper considered this, tapping a finger idly against his glass. He disliked the feeling of being pressed into anyone’s service, least of all a man who was little more than an acquaintance. Yet the matter itself was hardly trivial, and Robert deserved to know.
At last he inclined his head. “Very well. I shall tell him. But do not imagine I will disguise the source. He will know it was you who raised the concern.”
“That is all I ask,” Grayson said with relief. “You have my thanks.”
When he left, Jasper remained where he was, staring into the amber liquid at the bottom of his glass. Tenant channels, harvests, Robert’s goodwill… it should have been a matter easily set aside.
Yet, for reasons he did not care to examine too closely, he found himself picturing a certain lady’s pale grey eyes. He imagined the cutting remark she might give, should she learn he had dismissed the tenants’ need out of laziness.
The thought made him curse under his breath. He would speak to Robert. And not for Grayson’s sake.
Later that morning, Jasper rapped his knuckles against the oak door of Robert’s study, then waited. All he could hear was silence. He frowned, tried the latch, and stepped inside, only to find the room empty.
“Damn,” he muttered, turning back into the hall.
He passed through the gallery, the dining room, even glanced toward the terrace, but there was no sign of Robert. He had nearly resigned himself to waiting when a faint murmur of voices reached him from the far parlor.
Crossing the corridor, he paused at the half-open door. He heard a woman’s gentle tone, followed by a softer one. He recognized it as Matilda’s immediately. And then, a sound he could not mistake: a baby’s faint coo.
He knocked once, more from habit than necessity, and pushed the door open.
The scene before him stopped him short. Evelyn sat upon the settee, smiling faintly, but it was Matilda who held the child. The babe was nestled in her arms, her pale grey eyes lowered with rare tenderness and her lips curved in the smallest, unguarded smile. One slim hand steadied the infant’s head with exquisite care, while the other gently traced circles upon the little bundle’s back.
Jasper froze, and the words caught in his throat. He had thought of her as fierce, guarded, even sharp-edged. Never had he imagined her softened like this, having her whole countenance transformed by something warmer than he had believed possible.
For one breathless instant, he could do nothing but look.
Evelyn’s bright eyes lifted as she noticed him. “Your Grace. Did you need something?”
The question jolted him back into himself. He straightened, his expression settling into its usual mask of indolence. “I was… ah… looking for Robert. Grayson charged me with a matter to put before him.”
Evelyn gestured toward the child in her sister’s arms. “Robert has stepped out with the steward. But you are welcome to sit with us until he returns.”
Jasper’s gaze flicked once more to Matilda. She had not looked up at him, but her cheek bent toward the baby’s crown in quiet affection. The sight unsettled him more than any sharp remark ever had.
He cleared his throat, suddenly restless. “I should not intrude.”
And yet, though his words said one thing, his feet made no move toward the door.
“Oh!” Evelyn exclaimed suddenly, rising from the settee. “I have just remembered, I promised to speak with Mrs. Alton about the baptismal arrangements. How fortunate that you are here, Your Grace.” She turned to her sister with an angelic smile. “Two godparents, together at last. You may mind your godchild for just a few moments.”
Matilda’s head snapped up, her grey eyes wide. “Evelyn! You cannot possibly?—”
Jasper, equally taken aback, held up a hand in protest. “Now, really, madam, I am hardly?—”
“Nonsense,” Evelyn said with a breezy wave, gathering her skirts. “You are perfectly capable. Between the two of you, the baby could not be in safer hands. I shall be but a moment.”
Before either of them could marshal further objection, Evelyn swept gracefully from the room, with the door clicking shut behind her. Silence descended, broken only by the baby’s soft coo and the quickened pace of Jasper’s own pulse.
