A devious heart of gold.
“And don’t forget,” Hyacinth felt it was necessary to add, “that I said maybe.”
His brows came together. “Did you?”
“If I didn’t, then I meant to.”
He motioned magnanimously with his hand. “If there’s anything I can do.”
“Nothing,” she said firmly, horrifying visions of Gregory’s meddling floating through her mind. “Absolutely nothing. Please.”
“Surely a waste of my talents.”
“Gregory!”
“Well,” he said with an affected sigh, “you have my approval, at least.”
“Why?” Hyacinth asked suspiciously.
“It would be an excellent match,” he continued. “If nothing else, think of the children.”
She knew she’d regret it, but still she had to ask. “What children?”
He grinned. “The lovely lithping children you could have together. Garethhhh and Hyathinthhhh. Hyathinth and Gareth. And the thublime Thinclair tots.”
Hyacinth stared at him like he was an idiot.
Which he was, she was quite certain of it.
She shook her head. “How on earth Mother managed to give birth to seven perfectly normal children and one freak is beyond me.”
“Thith way to the nurthery.” Gregory laughed as she headed back into the room. “With the thcrumptious little Tharah and Thamuel Thinclair. Oh, yeth, and don’t forget wee little Thuthannah!”
Hyacinth shut the door in his face, but the wood wasn’t thick enough to block his parting shot.
“You’re such an easy mark, Hy.” And then: “Don’t forget to come down for tea.”
One hour later. Gareth is about to learn what it means to belong to a large family.
For better or for worthe.
“Miss Bridgerton is taking tea,” said the butler, once he’d allowed Gareth admittance to the front hall of Number Five.
Gareth followed the butler down the hall to same rose-and-cream sitting room in which he’d met Hyacinth the week before.
Good God, was it just one week? It felt a lifetime ago.
Ah, well. Skulking about, breaking the law, and very nearly ruining the reputation of a proper young lady did tend to age a man before his time.
The butler stepped into the room, intoned Gareth’s name, and moved to the side so that he could walk in.
“Mr. St. Clair!”
Gareth turned with surprise to face Hyacinth’s mother, who was sitting on a striped sofa, setting her teacup down in its saucer. He didn’t know why he was surprised to see Violet Bridgerton; it certainly stood to reason that she would be home at this time in the afternoon. But for whatever reason, he had only pictured Hyacinth on the way over.
“Lady Bridgerton,” he said, turning to her with a polite bow. “How lovely to see you.”
“Have you met my son?” she asked.
Son? Gareth hadn’t even realized anyone else was in the room.
“My brother Gregory,” came Hyacinth’s voice. She was sitting across from her mother, on a matching sofa. She tilted her head toward the window, where Gregory Bridgerton stood, assessing him with a scary little half smile.
The smirk of an older brother, Gareth realized. It was probably exactly how he would look if he’d had a younger sister to torture and protect.
“We’ve met,” Gregory said.
Gareth nodded. They had crossed paths from time to time about town and had, in fact, been students at Eton at the same time. But Gareth was several years older, so they had never known each other well. “Bridgerton,” Gareth murmured, giving the younger man a nod.
Gregory moved across the room and plopped himself down next to his sister. “It’s good to see you,” he said, directing his words at Gareth. “Hyacinth says you’re her special friend.”
“Gregory!” Hyacinth exclaimed. She turned quickly to Gareth. “I said no such thing.”
“I’m heartbroken,” Gareth said.
Hyacinth looked at him with a slightly peeved expression, then turned to her brother with a hissed, “Stop it.”
“Won’t you have tea, Mr. St. Clair?” Lady Bridgerton asked, glossing right over her children’s squabbling as if it wasn’t occurring right across from her. “It is a special blend of which I am particularly fond.”
“I would be delighted.” Gareth sat in the same chair he had chosen last time, mostly because it put the most room between him and Gregory, although in truth, he didn’t know which Bridgerton was most likely to accidentally spill scalding tea on his lap.
But it was an odd position. He was at the short end of the low, center table, and with all the Bridgertons on the sofas, it almost felt as if he were seated at its head.
“Milk?” Lady Bridgerton asked.
“Thank you,” Gareth replied. “No sugar, if you please.”
“Hyacinth takes hers with three,” Gregory said, reaching for a piece of shortbread.
“Why,” Hyacinth ground out, “would he care?”
“Well,” Gregory replied, taking a bite and chewing, “he is your special friend.”
“He’s not-” She turned to Gareth. “Ignore him.”
There was something rather annoying about being condescended to by a man of lesser years, but at the same time Gregory seemed to be doing an excellent job of vexing Hyacinth, an endeavor of which Gareth could only approve.
So he decided to stay out of it and instead turned back to Lady Bridgerton, who was, as it happened, the closest person to him, anyway. “And how are you this afternoon?” he asked.
Lady Bridgerton gave him a very small smile as she handed him his cup of tea. “Smart man,” she murmured.
“It’s self-preservation, really,” he said noncommittally.
“Don’t say that. They wouldn’t hurt you.”
“No, but I’m sure to be injured in the cross fire.”
Gareth heard a little gasp. When he looked over at Hyacinth, she was glaring daggers in his direction. Her brother was grinning.
“Sorry,” he said, mostly because he thought he should. He certainly didn’t mean it.
“You don’t come from a large family, do you, Mr. St. Clair?” Lady Bridgerton asked.
“No,” he said smoothly, taking a sip of his tea, which was of excellent quality. “Just myself and my brother.” He stopped, blinking against the rush of sadness that washed over him every time he thought of George, then finished with: “He passed on late last year.”
“Oh,” Lady Bridgerton said, her hand coming to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I’d forgotten completely. Please forgive me. And accept my deepest sympathies.”
Her apology was so artless, and her condolences so sincere, that Gareth almost felt the need to comfort her. He looked at her, right into her eyes, and he realized that she understood.
Most people hadn’t. His friends had all patted him awkwardly on the back and said they were sorry, but they hadn’t understood. Grandmother Danbury had, perhaps-she’d grieved for George, too. But that was somehow different, probably because he and his grandmother were so close. Lady Bridgerton was almost a stranger, and yet, she cared.
It was touching, and almost disconcerting. Gareth couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said something to him and meant it.
Except for Hyacinth, of course. She always meant what she said. But at the same time, she never laid herself bare, never made herself vulnerable.
He glanced over at her. She was sitting up straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching him with a curious expression.
He couldn’t fault her, he supposed. He was the exact same way.
“Thank you,” he said, turning back to Lady Bridgerton. “George was an exceptional brother, and the world is poorer for his loss.”
Lady Bridgerton was silent for a moment, and then, as if she could read his mind, she smiled and said, “But you do not wish to dwell on this now. We shall speak of something else.”