Her hand slipped from his cheek only so she could take his hand instead.
“Not talking…” she whispered, searching for the words, “about pain… pushed us… away.”
Greyson turned back to her. “Truly?”
She nodded. “We did not… talk about hurt. So hurt… ruled our hearts… and minds.” Her eyes glistened, but she did not look away. “We both… loved Damian. And if we speak… of him… we keep… loving him. We honor… him.”
Greyson’s throat worked, thick with emotion. “Are you truly all right with that?”
Her answer came without hesitation.
“Yes.”
It was such a small word, but it contained tremendous release.
She lifted her other hand and cupped his cheek again, her touch light as a memory.
“I want… to remember,” she whispered. “With you.”
For years he had believed silence was the only way to protect her from sorrow, from memory, from the terrible weight of what had happened. He had never allowed himself to speak Damian’s name in her presence unless absolutely necessary. He thought he was shielding her, and in doing so, he almost lost her.
He met her gaze again. “Then we will remember him… together.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, but she smiled through it.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Together.”
Greyson drew her hand up and kissed it gently. She leaned her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes as the pear blossoms drifted above them in the morning breeze. And for the first time in years, he felt her truly beside him. Greyson rested his cheek lightly atop her head, letting the moment settle around them like sunlight.
Together, they would carry the pain, the love and the memory of the son and brother they had both lost. Because of Hazel.
Chapter Thirty
“Look at this one, Hazel!” Patience held up a bolt of soft rose-colored silk as though she had discovered treasure. “Isn’t it breathtaking?”
Hazel brushed her fingers over the fabric. “Very pretty, darling. Feminine and elegant. It would suit you perfectly.”
Chastity let out a dramatic sigh from where she was poring over lace. “Everything suits Patience perfectly. She’s sixteen and luminous.”
“I am seventeen,” Patience corrected smugly, “and luminous is an excellent word, thank you.”
Hazel laughed, guiding them toward a table covered in ribbons. “Now, remember to choose something that will last more than one season. You want quality, not just sparkle.”
Chastity groaned. “Hazel, my dear, sometimes a girl just wants sparkle.” Her comment made all three girls chuckle.
They spent several minutes comparing shades, debating trims, and discussing which modiste could be trusted with which fabric. Their chatter drew smiles from the shopkeeper and half the patrons nearby. Eventually, as often happened with sisters, the conversation drifted.
“So,” Patience began, leaning in close, “there is to be a musicale at Lady Kensworth’s next week.”
“And perhaps,” Chastity said lightly, “someone will look at me the way the Duke looks at Hazel.”
Hazel turned scarlet so fast she nearly dropped the ribbon in her hand. “Chastity!”
Patience clasped her hands to her chest. “Oh, it’s true! Hazel, he looks at you as though you hung the moon. It’s quite romantic.”
“Utterly romantic,” Chastity echoed.
“It isnotromantic,” Hazel said firmly, trying to sound dignified instead of flustered. “I am simply content in my marriage. And I wish the same contentment for both of you.”
