“No swans!” Hazel gasped.
Her mother clapped her hands. “Oh! Swans. Yes, Hazel, that is a wonderful idea.”
“I did not say?—”
“Two should suffice,” her mother mused. “Four, if we need symmetry.”
Greyson’s head snapped toward Hazel. “Swans?”
Hazel groaned quietly. “Please ignore everything you’ve heard.”
Her mother was already rifling through a stack of papers. “Now, Your Grace, I took the liberty of drafting a list of color themes. We have blush gold, rose marble, midnight pearl…”
Hazel stared down at her folded hands, letting her mother’s voice wash over her like crashing waves.
Lanterns. Orchestras. Swans. Fireworks.
She no longer had the energy to argue. Every time she tried, her mother swatted her objections away with cheerful determination. Hazel felt herself slipping into that old, familiar numbness, the one she wore whenever her family became a force of nature she simply could not stop.
She inhaled, then exhaled. Her spine sagged. Perhaps she could endure it. Perhaps she could endureanything.
It was in that quiet moment of surrender that she felt Greyson’s attention shift. And then, just as her mother launched into a speech about imported Italian marble pillars for the ceremony arch, he spoke.
“Lady Belvington, I must express my concern.”
Her mother looked startled. “Concern, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” he said with polite firmness. “Your ideas are… ambitious. Admirable, certainly. But they would not work.”
Hazel’s head snapped up.
Greyson continued in a tone that was calm and absolutely reasonable. “Lanterns in such volume would pose a fire hazard. A thirty-piece orchestra may overwhelm guests in an enclosed space. Fireworks could disturb the neighboring residences. And I fear the swans?—”
“Ah, yes, the swans,” Lady Belvington said delicately.
“They might become aggressive,” Greyson finished, completely serious. “Especially if startled by music or excited crowds.”
Chastity snorted. Patience choked on her tea.
Hazel’s mother blinked rapidly. “Aggressive?”
“Very,” Greyson said, nodding once as though this were an established fact. “I should not like our guests fighting off enraged waterfowl.”
Hazel pressed her lips together tightly, trying not to smile. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Greyson leaned slightly forward and continued in a respectful but unyielding manner. “However… a ball held after the ceremony would allow for many of your excellent ideas, on a scale better suited to safety and decorum.”
Lady Belvington brightened instantly. “A ball?”
“Yes,” Greyson said smoothly. “A small celebratory gathering after a modest ceremony. It would allow your vision to shine in the appropriate setting.”
Hazel stared at him. He had not dismissed her mother. He had redirected her logically and effectively, without her feeling as if her opinion did not matter. On the contrary, he showed her how important her input was, and he simply molded her vision into something that suited him. It was astonishing how easily he accomplished what she struggled to obtain with stubbornness.
Her mother clapped her hands. “A ball! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”
Hazel gave a tiny cough.
Lady Belvington continued. “Oh, that is perfect, Your Grace. A ceremony for family and close acquaintances, and then a ball with all the lanterns and music and… well, perhaps notallthe lanterns.”
