“I could not say, Your Grace.”
The answer landed heavily. Greyson’s gaze lifted past the man’s shoulder, up the broad staircase, along the familiar line of windows above the entrance hall. For a brief, foolish moment, he thought he saw movement: a curtain stirring, a shadow withdrawing. But when he looked again, there was nothing; only glass and stillness.
Greyson exhaled slowly and returned his attention to the butler. “Then you will tell the Duchess that I came.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“Tell her,” Greyson urged carefully, “that I need to speak with her. That it is… important.”
The butler inclined his head solemnly. “I will give the message personally.”
Greyson nodded once, as though sealing the matter by sheer will. He turned away before hesitation could take hold, before the ache in his chest could betray him further. For the first time since he had set foot in his carriage that morning, Greyson felt the true measure of what he stood to lose.
Hopelessness brushed close, but it did not claim him.
Hazel did not move when the carriage began to roll away.
She stood half-hidden behind the curtain, with one hand braced against the window frame, watching the dark shape recede down the drive. The horses turned. The wheels caught the light once more, and then it was gone, swallowed by distance and morning haze.
Only then did she breathe.
“Is he gone?” Chastity’s voice came softly from behind her. Hazel did not turn.
“Yes.”
Patience stood near the door, unusually quiet. Her hands were folded together as though she were holding herself in place. She had seen enough to understand when silence was the kinder choice.
Chastity took a few tentative steps closer. “Hazel… are you certain this is right?”
Hazel let the curtain fall back into place and turned at last. Her face was pale, composed to the point of severity, as though she had arranged herself into something that could not easily be wounded.
“Yes,” she said. “I am.”
Chastity frowned. “You don’t look very certain.”
“That is because certainty is not comfort,” Hazel replied. “It is clarity.”
Patience spoke then. “You did not even allow him to speak to you.”
Hazel’s mouth tightened. “And what would that have accomplished?”
Chastity hesitated. “An explanation, perhaps.”
Hazel laughed softly, but it was without humor. “Explanations do not undo what has already been seen.”
“Youthinkyou saw—” Chastity began.
“I know what I saw,” Hazel cut in, more sharply than she intended. She softened her tone at once. “And more importantly, I know what I felt.”
She crossed the room slowly, as though each step required intention. “I allowed myself to believe in something that was never promised to me. I forgot who I am. I forgot what I swore I would never do.”
“And what was that?” Patience asked gently.
“To hope,” Hazel answered. “To want, to imagine a life in which I was chosen and not merely useful.”
Chastity’s eyes shone. “Hazel, that does not make you foolish.”
“It makes me careless,” Hazel replied. “And I cannot afford that, not ever again.”
