“It’s probably a sniffle,” Felicity said, looking back out at the ballroom floor. “Everyone seems to have one this week.”
Hyacinth didn’t contradict her. It would have been nice if it was just a sniffle.
“I know you are friendly with him,” Felicity continued. “I heard you sat together at both the Smythe-Smith musicale and the Pleinsworth poetry recitation.”
“It was a play,” Hyacinth said absently. “They changed it at the last moment.”
“Even worse. I would have thought you’d have managed to get out of attending at least one.”
“They weren’t so awful.”
“Because you were sitting next to Mr. St. Clair,” Felicity said with a sly smile.
“You are terrible,” Hyacinth said, refusing to look at her. If she did, Felicity was sure to see the truth in her eyes. Hyacinth was a good liar, but not that good, and not with Felicity.
And the worst of it was-she could hear herself in Felicity’s words. How many times had she teased Felicity in the very same way before Felicity had married? A dozen? More?
“You should dance with him,” Felicity said.
Hyacinth kept her eyes on the ballroom floor. “I can’t do anything if he does not ask.”
“Of course he’ll ask. You have only to stand on the other side of the room, where he is more likely to see you.”
“I’m not going to chase him.”
Felicity’s smile spread across her face. “You do like him! Oh, this is lovely! I have never seen-”
“I don’t like him,” Hyacinth cut in. And then, because she realized how juvenile that sounded, and that Felicity would never believe her, she added, “I merely think that perhaps I ought to see if I might like him.”
“Well, that’s more than you’ve ever said about any other gentleman,” Felicity pointed out. “And you have no need to chase him. He wouldn’t dare ignore you. You are the sister of his host, and besides, wouldn’t his grandmother take him to task if he didn’t ask you to dance?”
“Thank you for making me feel like such a prize.”
Felicity chuckled. “I have never seen you like this, and I must say, I’m enjoying it tremendously.”
“I’m glad one of us is,” Hyacinth grumbled, but her words were lost under the sharp sound of Felicity’s gasp.
“What is it?” Hyacinth asked.
Felicity tilted her head slightly to the left, motioning across the room. “His father,” she said in a low voice.
Hyacinth turned around sharply, not even trying to conceal her interest. Good heavens, Lord St. Clair was here. All of London knew that father and son did not speak, but invitations to parties were still issued to both. The St. Clair men seemed to have a remarkable talent for not appearing where the other might be, and so hostesses were generally spared the embarrassment of having them attend the same function.
But obviously, something had gone wrong this evening.
Did Gareth know his father was there? Hyacinth looked quickly back to the dance floor. He was laughing at something Miss Hotchkiss was saying. No, he didn’t know. Hyacinth had witnessed him with his father once. It had been from across the room, but there had been no mistaking the strained expression on his face.
Or the way both had stormed off to separate exits.
Hyacinth watched as Lord St. Clair glanced around the room. His eyes settled on his son, and his entire face hardened.
“What are you going to do?” Felicity whispered.
Do? Hyacinth’s lips parted as she glanced from Gareth to his father. Lord St. Clair, still unaware of her regard, turned on his heel and walked out, possibly in the direction of the card room.
But there was no guarantee he wouldn’t be back.
“You’re going to do something, aren’t you?” Felicity pressed. “You have to.”
Hyacinth was fairly certain that wasn’t true. She had never done anything before. But now it was different. Gareth was…Well, she supposed he was her friend, in a strange, unsettling sort of way. And she did need to speak with him. She’d spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon in her room, translating his grandmother’s diary. Surely he would wish to know what she had learned.
And if she managed to prevent an altercation in the process…Well, she was always happy to be the heroine of the day, even if no one but Felicity would be aware of it.
“I will ask him to dance,” Hyacinth announced.
“You will?” Felicity asked, eyes bugging out. Hyacinth was certainly known as An Original, but even she had never dared to ask a gentleman to dance.
“I shan’t make a big scene about it,” Hyacinth said. “No one will know but Mr. St. Clair. And you.”
“And whoever happens to be standing next to him. And whomever they tell, and whoever-”
“Do you know what is nice about friendships as longstanding as ours?” Hyacinth interrupted.
Felicity shook her head.
“You won’t take permanent offense when I turn my back and walk away.”
And then Hyacinth did just that.
But the drama of her exit was considerably diminished when she heard Felicity chuckle and say, “Good luck!”
Thirty seconds later. It doesn’t take very long to cross a ballroom, after all.
Gareth had always liked Jane Hotchkiss. Her sister was married to his cousin, and as a result they saw each other from time to time at Grandmother Danbury’s house. More importantly, he knew he could ask her to dance without her wondering if there was some sort of ulterior matrimonial purpose.
But on the other hand-she knew him well. Or at least well enough to know when he was acting out of character.
“What are you looking for?” she asked, as their quadrille was drawing to a close.
“Nothing,” he answered.
“Very well,” she said, her pale blond brows coming together in a slightly exasperated expression. “Who are you looking for, then? And don’t say no one, because you have been craning your neck throughout the dance.”
He swung his head around so that his gaze was firmly fixed on her face. “Jane,” he said, “your imagination knows no bounds.”
“Now I know you’re lying.”
She was right, of course. He’d been looking for Hyacinth Bridgerton since he had walked through the door twenty minutes earlier. He’d thought he caught sight of her before he’d stumbled upon Jane, but it had turned out to be one of her numerous sisters. All the Bridgertons looked devilishly alike. From across the room, they were practically indistinguishable.
As the orchestra played the last notes of their dance, Gareth took Jane’s arm and led her to the side of the room. “I would never lie to you, Jane,” he said, giving her a jaunty half smile.
“Of course you would,” she returned. “And anyway, it’s as obvious as day. Your eyes give you away. The only time they ever look serious is when you’re lying.”
“That can’t be-”
“It’s true,” she said. “Trust me. Oh, good evening, Miss Bridgerton.”
Gareth turned sharply to see Hyacinth, standing before them like a vision in blue silk. She looked especially lovely this evening. She’d done something different with her hair. He wasn’t sure what; he was rarely observant enough to notice such minutiae. But it was altered somehow. It must have framed her face differently, because something about her didn’t look quite the same.
Maybe it was her eyes. They looked determined, even for Hyacinth.
“Miss Hotchkiss,” Hyacinth said with a polite nod. “How lovely to see you again.”
Jane smiled warmly. “Lady Bridgerton always hosts such lovely parties. Please convey my regards.”
“I shall. Kate is just over there by the champagne,” Hyacinth said, referring to her sister-in-law, the current Lady Bridgerton. “In case you wished to tell her yourself.”