“I promise to watch over him with affection, and to aid him, as best I can, in the path of goodness and truth.”
Her tone did not waver, though she could feel Jasper’s eyes upon her.
After the blessing, the small party withdrew to the churchyard, where the air was bright and brisk. Guests congratulated the new parents, exchanged compliments, and admired the infant’s rosy cheeks. The Aberons had arranged for a celebration afterward which was a luncheon on the green, followed by a ball that evening.
Matilda found herself continually at Jasper’s side, bound there by the duties of their shared godparentage. It seemed every conversation, every polite introduction and every toast placed them within an arm’s reach.
“I do believe the vicar has quite forgiven you for your earlier skepticism,” Cordelia teased as she joined Matilda beneath the marquee where tables had been set with ribbons and pale flowers.
“I was not skeptical,” Matilda said lightly. “Merely curious about his theological precision.”
Hazel raised a brow. “You questioned him on doctrine during the christening.”
“It was a passing remark.”
“It was a correction,” Cordelia laughed. “And a very elegant one. You’ve grown dreadfully fearless, my dear.”
Matilda smiled faintly, but her attention drifted. Across the lawn, Jasper was speaking to Robert with one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass of wine. He looked utterly at ease. She wondered how he did it.
He crossed to her a few minutes later, with the polite shadow of a smile on his lips.
“Lady Matilda,” he said, bowing slightly. “You were splendid during the ceremony.”
“Was I?” she asked without much interest. “Probably because for me, it was not a performance.”
“Everything you do becomes one,” he said before he could stop himself.
Her eyes flicked to his, with severity she seldom exuded. “Then I fear you mistake poise for artifice.”
Cordelia, ever perceptive, cleared her throat. “Well! I see our godparents are in fine spirits.”
Hazel shot her a warning glance, but Cordelia ignored it entirely. “I’m sure the two of you will lead the dancing tonight.”
“Unlikely,” Matilda said smoothly. “I do not intend to dance.”
Jasper tilted his head slightly. “A pity.”
“For whom?” she asked.
“For every man who hoped to ask,” he replied quietly.
Her expression did not soften. “Then they will have to console himself elsewhere.”
He said nothing after that. He merely inclined his head and stepped back as another guest approached her. But the look he gave her lingered long after he turned away. He appeared troubled, as if searching for an answer only she could give.
Focus,she reminded herself.To him, this has been nothing but a game.
The rest of the afternoon unfolded in polite merriment: laughter beneath the tent, the clinking of glasses, the distant notes of a string quartet. To anyone watching, Lady Matilda Sterlingtonwas every inch the graceful dowager, but beneath the veneer of serenity, her heart ached with every breath she took beside him.
She smiled when spoken to, accepted compliments on her gown, and even teased Cordelia once or twice, but she felt as though she moved through a dream. Every time Jasper’s voice carried across the garden, her pulse betrayed her.
When the luncheon ended and the guests began to disperse toward their carriages, a beaming Evelyn took her hand. “You were wonderful, dearest. You and His Grace make an excellent pair of godparents.”
Matilda returned the smile with practiced grace. “Then I am glad to have pleased you.”
But as Jasper approached once more to offer his arm, she felt her composure tremble. She accepted, simply because she had to. The touch of his hand against hers was barely there, yet it felt as though the air itself had shifted.
He said nothing. Neither did she.
