Chapter Thirteen.

Garet waited in his chamber, seated on the edge of his bed. The day's importance hung heavy in the air, tonight marked the grand finale of the Cotswold Harvest Festival, culminating in the much-anticipated masked ball. Yet, his thoughts strayed elsewhere. A knock interrupted his reverie.

"Come in," he called, already aware of who it would be.

The door creaked open, and Hazel entered hesitantly. The faint scent of wildflowers and lavender reached him, evoking the essence of meadows after a morning rain, fresh, earthy, and undeniably captivating.

"Greetings, my lord," Hazel curtsied, her voice soft yet steady. "I am here to prepare your bath."

Garet, however, was not ready to let her go about her task just yet. "Stop," he commanded gently, gesturing toward the small table and chairs by the window. "Sit with me first."

Hazel hesitated, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "My lord, I don't think that will be necessary. I... I..." She stumbled over her words, unsure of how to refuse him.

"You don't wish to stay?" Garet asked, his tone calm, almost soothing. "I promise no harm will come to you, nor will I behave improperly."

For reasons she could not explain, his assurance settled her nerves. She made her way to the chair he pulled out for her and sat down carefully, her hands clasped in her lap.

"So, Hazel," Garet began, leaning forward slightly, "how have you been? I hear you'll be returning home today."

She stared at him, momentarily lost in thought, his deep voice echoing in her mind.

"Hazel?" he called again, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Hazel?" He leaned forward and lightly touched her hand, snapping her out of her trance.

"Oh, my apologies, my lord," she said quickly, flustered. "Forgive my... my absent-mindedness."

"It's quite all right," he said, smiling faintly. "So, will you be leaving for home today?"

"Yes, my lord," she replied, lowering her gaze to her hands.

"That's good to hear. Tell me, what is your family like?"

"It's just my mother and me now," Hazel replied, her voice tinged with sadness. "My father passed away some years ago."

"I am sorry for your loss," Garet said sincerely.

"Thank you, my lord," she said, offering a small smile.

"And your mother? What does she do for a living?"

"She weaves, sells linen and dresses at the market," Hazel replied.

"An admirable trade," Garet remarked. "I imagine you help her when you're not working here?"

"Yes, my lord, I do."

"When we are together, Hazel, you can call me Garet," he said suddenly, his tone softening. "Let's leave formalities aside. I wish for us to be friends."

Hazel's eyes widened. "I, my lord, I mean, Garet... I don't think that's proper."

"Proper or not, I would like it," he said, leaning back in his chair.

Hesitantly, she said, "Garet."

He smiled at the sound of his name on her lips. "That's more like it. So, we're friends now, yes?" He extended his hand, waiting for her to shake it.

Hazel hesitated but finally took his hand, smiling "Yes, Garet. I would be honored to be your friend."

"Your smile is beautiful," he said quietly, watching her closely. "You should smile more often."

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed yet secretly pleased.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics. Hazel asked Garet about his life abroad, his training, and the advancements he had seen.

"Oh, Garet," she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "Your skills are incredible! So swift and precise... Where did you learn them?"

"I trained abroad," he replied, smiling at her enthusiasm. "Life there is different, more modern. There are new tools, technologies, and practices. But even there, it's rare to see a woman as bold as you training in such things. It's quite admirable."

Hazel blushed again. "I'll take that as a compliment, Garet."

She grew quiet for a moment before asking, "What about your family? Your mother, specifically? You haven't mentioned her."

"I don't know much about her," Garet admitted. "She left when I was five. I don't remember much."

"I'm so sorry," Hazel said, her voice soft with sympathy. "It must have been lonely growing up without her."

"It was," Garet replied simply.

Their conversation continued, drifting from one topic to another. Hazel found herself laughing and talking more than she had in years. For once, she felt free to be herself.

After some time, she realized she had overstayed. Rising from her seat, she said, "I should go now. My mother will be waiting for me."

"I understand," Garet said, though he was reluctant to let her leave. "Before you go, could you leave me your address? I'd like to visit you someday, to talk as friends."

Hazel hesitated briefly before nodding. She took a piece of parchment from the desk and carefully wrote down her address.

"Thank you," Garet said.

Hazel smiled. "Goodbye, Garet. And thank you for this lovely conversation."

"Goodbye, Hazel," he said, watching her leave.

As the door closed behind her, Garet sighed. He could still feel her presence, her laughter lingering in the room. He had never felt this way before, and he wasn't sure what it meant. All he knew was that he didn't want this to be the last time he saw her.

Hazel returned to the servants' quarters, gathering her belongings and the food supplies given to her by the household. She noticed the whispers and glances from the other maids but chose to ignore them.

"Well, Hazel," Emily said, approaching her with a grin. "I hear Lord Garet has taken a liking to you."

"That's not true," Hazel said firmly.

"Then why were you in his chamber for so long?" Helen asked.

"We were just talking," Hazel replied, though her cheeks betrayed her with a faint blush.

"Whatever it is," Emily said, "we're rooting for you. Imagine Lord Garet and Hazel!"

Helen rolled her eyes. "Be careful, Hazel. Whatever his intentions, don't let your guard down."

"I won't," Hazel promised, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

As she left for home, she thought of her mother and how much she must have missed her. This year, she would celebrate her birthday quietly, as she always did. The memory of her father's passing on this day years ago weighed on her. She resolved to visit his grave with her mother, bringing flowers to honor his memory.

For now, she focused on returning home, her heart conflicted but filled with a strange warmth she had never known.