Chastity squeezed back. “I will not be long.”
Hazel nodded, unable to trust her voice further. “I will wait for you,” she said. “In your carriage.”
She turned away before the tears could fall in earnest, before her sister could see how close she was to breaking. As she moved toward the front of the house, the music from the ballroom followed her, oblivious to her pain and unbearably cruel.
And for the first time in years, Hazel allowed herself to lean, just a little, on someone else’s strength.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Greyson returned to the ballroom with a quiet sense of relief.
The young lady he had assisted stood near a cluster of matrons, her gown repaired well enough that no one would think twice. She laughed at something said to her, composed once more, and spared the humiliation that might have followed her for years. The sight settled his mind.
Good, then.
The matter was finished. His attention turned at once to finding Hazel. The ballroom was the same glittering spectacle as before, yet something essential was missing.
Her.
He slowed near the edge of the room just as he caught sight of Chastity standing before their mother. The girl’s posture was unusually composed. Her mother’s expression, by contrast,was tight with concern. Greyson watched as Chastity spoke. She seemed to be doing so briefly yet earnestly. Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. She said something sharp, then something questioning. Chastity nodded once. Then again.
And then, without turning toward the dance area, without a backward glance, Chastity moved away, threading quickly through the guests and exiting through the main doors.
Greyson’s unease sharpened.
Something is wrong.
The certainty of it settled heavily in his chest, unwelcome and insistent. Hazel did not leave rooms quietly. She did not vanish without reason. And she would not abandon a ball without purpose.
Several moments later, Greyson approached Lady Belvington with all the composure expected of him, though it took more effort than he cared to admit.
“My lady,” he said, inclining his head politely, “might I trouble you with a question? I have been searching for my wife. Have you seen Hazel?”
She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her fan before she answered.
“Yes… well.” She drew a measured breath. “It appears there was a small difficulty involving Chastity.”
Greyson’s brows knit. “A difficulty?”
“Nothing of true consequence,” she assured him quickly, though her tone suggested otherwise. “She danced rather too exclusively with a particular gentleman. I fear it invited comment.”
Greyson waited.
“As always,” Lady Belvington continued, with a faint, resigned sigh, “Hazel felt it was her responsibility to intervene. She took Chastity home to ensure the matter was settled before it could grow into something more…unfortunate.”
Greyson’s composure fractured, just barely.
“Home?” he repeated. “Ourhome?”
Lady Belvington blinked, clearly taken aback by the sharpness of his question. “No,” she said after a moment. “Toourhome. Belvington Manor. At least, that is what Chastity told me.”
The words struck harder than he expected.
Belvington, not Callbury.
“I see,” Greyson said quietly.
Lady Belvington seemed apologetic as she spoke. “I assumed you were aware, Your Grace. Hazel has always?—”
