The sisters withdrew, with the door closing softly behind them. The room seemed to grow larger in their absence. Hazel felt too exposed, especially in the company of her mother.
Her mother crossed to the window and adjusted the curtain, though it required no adjustment. She remained there for a moment, with her back to Hazel, before speaking again.
“You have always been very capable,” she told Hazel. “Perhaps too capable.”
Hazel remained standing where she was. “I do what is needed.”
“Yes,” her mother said, turning now. “You always have.”
There was something careful in her tone, something Hazel did not quite trust.
“I am surprised,” her mother continued, “to hear that the Duke was displeased with you. He struck me as a man who would appreciate a wife willing to put family first.”
Hazel felt a familiar tightening behind her ribs. “I believe he does.”
“Then why leave so abruptly?” her mother pressed. “Why not come in? A few polite words would have sufficed.”
Hazel met her gaze steadily. “Perhaps he felt it best not to intrude.”
“Hm.” Her mother studied her, eyes sharp despite the mildness of her expression. “And didyoufeel it best that he did not?”
The question landed closer to the truth than Hazel liked.
“Yes,” she said after a moment. “I did.”
Her mother sighed, the sound touched with genuine concern now. “Marriage is an adjustment, Hazel. You cannot simply retreat here whenever matters become uncomfortable.”
Hazel swallowed. “I am not retreating.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Hazel looked past her mother, toward the familiar furnishings and the walls that had once felt like both refuge and cage. “I am making sure I do not disappear again.”
Her mother frowned. “Disappear?”
“I have spent my life arranging, soothing, correcting,” Hazel said quietly. “I became very good at it. So good that no one noticed when I stopped doing anything else.”
Hazel knew that this was not a matter of convenience. It was a matter of survival. And her mother still didn’t seem to understand that.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Her mother was silent. Also, she didn’t turn away. She stood very still, with her gaze fixed on the carpet as though the pattern there required careful study.
A prickle of unease crept over Hazel’s skin.
“Mother?” she asked softly. “Are you quite all right?”
Her mother drew a breath that trembled despite her obvious effort to steady it. “No,” she admitted. “No, I am not all right.”
Hazel’s heart lurched. She stepped forward at once. “What is it? Are you unwell? Should I send for?—”
Her mother turned then, quickly, and caught Hazel’s hands in her own. Her grip was firm and anchoring.
“No,” she assured her. “It is not that.”
Hazel searched her face, alarmed by the emotion she saw there. “Then what?—”
“I owe you an apology,” her mother interrupted her, the words halting but unmistakably sincere. “The greatest one I have ever owed anyone.” Her voice softened, breaking on the last word. “My dear, sweet child.”
