The truth of the past several days came out pouring in one endless rush, and Matilda could scarcely breathe until she had said the last word.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the steady, painful thrum of her heart. “He meant to propose, Hazel. Not out of affection, but out of pity. Because he thought I might bedamaged. And I suppose because he thought it his duty.”
Hazel exhaled slowly and came to sit beside her. “Oh, Matilda.”
Matilda shook her head. Her eyes were stinging though no tears fell. “I cannot endure it again. I cannot bear another man deciding what is best for me. I will not be manipulated into gratitude by a man who offers penance in the shape of marriage.”
Hazel was silent for a moment, then reached out, taking her hand gently. “You have every right to feel wronged. But running from him will not heal it.”
Matilda’s voice cracked. “I’m not running. I’m escaping.”
Hazel looked at her tenderly. “You said the same thing once, after your husband’s death.”
Matilda flinched, but Hazel’s tone remained calm. “You promised yourself you would learn to trust again, to choose rather than be chosen. And now you are choosing to hide.”
For a moment, Matilda could not speak. Then she whispered. “I am not strong enough for another lesson.”
Hazel squeezed her hand. “Then be angry. Be hurt. But do not mistake a wound for weakness. The fact that you feel at all proves you’ve already begun to heal.”
Matilda looked down at their joined hands. The words stung, though she knew Hazel meant them kindly.
“I only wanted to feel safe,” she said quietly. “To believe that for once, a man could see me and not try to save me.”
Hazel’s voice softened. “Perhaps he was trying not to hurt you.”
Matilda gave a bitter smile. “Then he has failed most admirably.”
She rose then, pulling away gently, and turned back to her trunk. “I’m leaving as soon as I pack,” she announced. “There’s nothing left for me here.”
Hazel stood for a long moment in silence, watching as Matilda folded another gown and laid it neatly in the trunk.
“You are truly going, then? To the nunnery?”
Matilda didn’t look up. “Yes.”
Hazel crossed her arms. “I thought you would eventually change your mind, that you were merely weary of life when you said it.”
“Iwasweary,” Matilda agreed. “And I am still.” She folded a shawl and smoothed it into place with careful precision. “But the more I think on it, the more sense it makes. Peace, purpose, simplicity. No games, no expectations.”
“No love,” Hazel murmured.
Matilda’s hand stilled for the briefest moment. “Love is not for everyone.”
Hazel’s brow softened. “Nor is solitude.”
Matilda gave a faint, almost wistful smile. “Oh, my dear Hazel. You make it sound like punishment. I assure you, it will be a mercy. I have lived my life at the mercy of others’ choices. My husband’s, my family’s, even my own foolish hopes. The nunnery will be quiet and predictable. I might finally learn to stop wanting things I am not meant to have.”
Hazel sighed, then crossed the room to help her, lifting a folded muslin gown and tucking it carefully beside the others. “It is not my place to stop you,” she said after a moment. “But I will say this much: peace earned through hiding is rarely the kind that lasts.”
Matilda managed a smile. “Then perhaps I shall settle for the temporary sort. It will do.”
Hazel thought about it for a moment, then she voiced her concerns. “What will you tell Evelyn?”
Matilda hesitated, then sighed. “That an urgent letter came from London. A matter concerning my late husband’s estate. She will not question it, Evelyn never doubts what she hopes not to see.”
Hazel’s mouth tightened, though she nodded. “And Cordelia?”
“She will dramatize it, then forgive me,” Matilda said, almost smiling. “She will think me romantic or tragic, whichever suits her mood. But she will not pry.”
