Hazel hesitated. “He is… a very proper man.”
“That is one way of calling him terrifying,” Chastity whispered, earning a sharp look from their mother.
“Girls, do not be rude about your sister’s husband,” their mother said, though she herself looked curious. “But truly, Hazel, does he treat you well?”
Hazel startled slightly. That question was not one she often received.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “Better than I expected.”
Her mother hummed, sounding satisfied. “I suppose he would. A Duke must have standards, after all.”
And there it was, that old refrain: duty and appearances. Hazel had not realized how little she missed it until now.
Chastity launched into a tale about a disastrous embroidery lesson, and Patience added her own commentary, but Hazel found herself drifting. Their laughter felt the same, but the rhythm of the conversation tugged oddly at her. She ought to have felt at home. Shewantedto feel at home.
Yet every time she opened her mouth to contribute, the moment slipped. They seemed to move around her, past her, as though she were both present and somehow set apart.
That was when her mother cut into the chatter. “Hazel, you must speak with the housekeeper before you leave. She has been entirely lost without your guidance.”
“I am certain she will manage,” Hazel replied lightly.
Her mother blinked at her. “Manage? Hazel, but you know she has always relied on you.”
“Yes,” Hazel said, more carefully this time, “and perhaps that is precisely the problem.”
Hazel was barely aware that she had let it slip. But now, it was too late to take it back. Chastity frowned. Patience stared at her teacup. Their mother stiffened.
Then, she forced a smile. “I only mean that she is perfectly capable, and my absence may encourage her to trust her own judgment.”
Her mother pursed her lips. “I see. Marriage has changed you.”
The words struck harder than Hazel expected. “I do not believe it has.”
“Oh, nonsense,” her mother said. “You are speaking of yourself, thinking of yourself… oh, do not look at me like that. It is not a criticism. I am merely pointing it out.”
“It does sound very much like one,” Patience murmured.
But their mother was already waving her hand. “Well, change or not, Hazel, your sisters still need you. Patience is undecided about her wardrobe for Thursday’s dinner, and Chastity has managed to offend Mrs. Fairfax again?—”
“I did not offend her,” Chastity protested. “I merely suggested she might enjoy conversation if she tried participating in it!”
Hazel’s lips twitched despite herself. “Chastity, she is seventy-eight.”
“And?” Chastity said indignantly.
But Hazel felt that subtle shift inside her, like stepping into a room whose furniture had been rearranged. She loved them. She would always love them. Yet something in her no longer aligned the way it once had.
“Chastity,” she said gently, “you really must learn to show Mrs. Fairfax more respect.”
Chastity’s mouth fell open. “Respect? Hazel, she barely hears anything I say!”
“Precisely,” Hazel replied. “Which is why you ought not startle her with commentary about her conversational shortcomings. She is an elderly lady, one who has endured enough without being told totryparticipating.”
Patience let out a poorly disguised snort. Chastity glared at her, then back at Hazel. “Very well. I suppose I might try… slightly harder.”
Hazel folded her hands, straightening a little. “That would be a good beginning. But the truth is that both of you must do more than try slightly harder.”
Both sisters went very still. Their mother, who had been commenting on the neighbor’s hydrangeas, finally took notice.
