“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 ashort 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 tofeel.” 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 seeheragain.
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… hisvowstill 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,foolishwoman, had hoped otherwise.
