Hazel felt the familiar sensation then, that quiet, invisible mantle being placed upon her shoulders… as before.
“I shall speak with Chastity,” Hazel continued evenly, glancing at her sister. “And perhaps with Mr. Langford, if it becomes necessary. We must ensure there are no… misunderstandings.”
Chastity shifted, with guilt flickering across her face. “Hazel, I did not mean?—”
“I know,” Hazel said gently, turning toward her. “We shall discuss it later.”
Her mother smiled, clearly reassured now. “It is such a comfort to have you back,” she chimed in. “Things have felt quite unsettled since you married. One hardly knows what to do without you.”
The words were meant kindly. They still struck deep.
Hazel smiled in return. “I am happy to help.”
And as her sisters relaxed around her, as her mother began issuing quiet plans and expectations with renewed confidence, Hazel felt herself slipping into the same role she hoped she had left behind: the caretaker, the solution, the steady presence who stayed so that others might feel secure.
“I must inform my husband,” Hazel suddenly remembered. “It would not do for him to wonder.”
Her mother nodded at once. “Of course, how considerate of you.” Already, her attention was drifting elsewhere, as though the matter were settled the moment Hazel took responsibility for it.
Hazel excused herself without ceremony and went upstairs. The moment the chamber door closed behind her, the composure she had so carefully maintained shattered. She leaned back against the wood, pressing her palm to it as though it alone might keep her upright. Her breath came unevenly, and the room blurred as the memory returned with merciless clarity.
Greyson on the terrace… his coat… the unknown woman wrapped in it, sheltered by his body, by his care…
It had been such a small thing, such akindthing. And that, perhaps, was what hurt the most.
Hazel closed her eyes, her throat tightening painfully. She had mistaken his tenderness for something singular. She had allowed herself, against all reason, against every vow she had ever made, to believe that she was chosen.
A foolish, dangerous belief.
She scrubbed at her cheeks impatiently, straightened, and drew a steadying breath. This was what it had always meant to be, just a marriage of convenience. She had known better than to want more.
Hazel crossed the room and sat at the small writing table by the window. Her hands trembled only slightly as she took up her pen. After a moment’s hesitation, she began to write.
To His Grace, The Duke of Callbury,
I trust this letter finds you well. I wish to inform you that I have remained at Belvington Manor for a few days, in light of last evening’s events. Chastity’s conduct at the ball has occasioned some concern, and it seemed prudent that I should stay to ensure the matter is resolved before any unnecessary speculation arises.
We have, I think, played our respective parts long enough that society may rest entirely assured of the solidity of our union. No one will question our marriage now, nor suspect it to have been anything other than real. In that regard, I hope you will agree that we have succeeded admirably.
With matters settled on that front, I see no reason for you to be further inconvenienced by my presence. You are free to resume your life as you wish, unencumbered by my duties or expectations. I shall attend to my family, as I always have. It is, after all, what I am best suited for.
I wish you every happiness.
Your sincerely,
The Duchess of Callbury
She set the pen down and stared at the page. The letter was composed, polite and utterly reasonable. It said nothing of the way her heart had broken at the sight of his coat around another woman’s shoulders, nothing of the dreams she had never meant to dream, or the future she had briefly, treacherously allowed herself to imagine.
Hazel folded the letter carefully.
If this was the end of wanting, then she would endure it, as she had endured everything else… with dignity.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Iapologize for the intrusion, but there is a letter for you, Your Grace.”
Greyson looked up from his writing table at once. The footman was standing in the doorway with a sealed envelope resting upon a silver tray. The sight of Hazel’s hand was recognizable even at a distance, and momentarily, it sent a sharp, inexplicable jolt through him.
