Cordelia beamed. “I told you it had no chance!”
Jasper turned back to Greyson, utterly enjoying the scene. “My friend, you are taking this very well. Far better than the time your horse stepped on your boot and you declared war on footwear.”
Greyson stiffened. “That was years ago.”
“And westilltalk about it,” Jasper said proudly.
Hazel laughed outright this time. Greyson’s annoyance crumpled the moment he heard it.
Jasper noticed. Hedefinitelynoticed.
He stared between the two of them, then adopted an expression of knowing glee that made Greyson instantly wary. “Ah,” Jasper murmured. “So that is how it is.”
Hazel stepped half behind Greyson. “Do not encourage him,” she whispered through a chuckle.
Jasper pressed a hand to his chest as though wounded. “Hazel, how dare you? I am perfectlyencourageable.”
Evelyn laughed. “An understatement.”
Matilda nodded. “If Jasper had a motto, it would be more mischief, please.”
Cordelia added. “Or I see trouble, I follow.”
Jasper bowed dramatically. “Ladies, you flatter me.”
Greyson pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you here, Jasper?”
“Oh!” Jasper said brightly. “I came looking for my darling wife, of course. And imagine my delight to find you mid-catastrophe.”
“It was not a catastrophe,” Greyson muttered.
Jasper pointed at the floating hat. “Greyson. I can see the corpse.”
Hazel stifled another laugh, and against every instinct of dignity he possessed, Greyson felt his irritation soften once more.
He shook his head, exhaling. “It is just a hat.”
Jasper gasped as though betrayed. “You have changed.”
Cordelia clapped. “Yes! Hasn’t he? I noticed it too!”
Matilda smiled warmly. “It suits him.”
Hazel looked at Greyson, and it was in that gaze that Greyson realized with sudden clarity that he was happy. It was ridiculous and impossible, but true.
…and also, dangerous.
Hazel could not sleep that night.
She had tried, but her thoughts fluttered like restless birds, circling around the afternoon’s laughter, Greyson’s almost-smile, Jasper’s awful teasing, and the warm, ridiculous tug shefelt whenever she remembered Greyson’s expression as his hat drifted away like a noble martyr.
Stop thinking about him,she told herself sternly. But it didn’t help.
She turned over once, twice, and then a third time. There was no improvement in her ability to sleep. Finally, she sat up with a sigh.
If I cannot sleep, I might as well be useful.
She had finished reading the last book to Greyson’s mother yesterday. Hazel promised herself she would find a few new ones, something gentle but engaging, something that might coax the dowager back into conversation.
