“He knows where I live.”
Violet sighed audibly. “You’re not making this easy for me.”
“I’m trying to embroider.” Hyacinth held up her handiwork as proof.
“You’re trying to avoid-” Her mother stopped, blinking. “I say, why does that flower have an ear?”
“It’s not an ear.” Hyacinth looked down. “And it’s not a flower.”
“Wasn’t it a flower yesterday?”
“I have a very creative mind,” Hyacinth ground out, giving the blasted flower another ear.
“That,” Violet said, “has never been in any doubt.”
Hyacinth looked down at the mess on the fabric. “It’s a tabby cat,” she announced. “I just need to give it a tail.”
Violet held silent for a moment, then said, “You can be very hard on people.”
Hyacinth’s head snapped up. “I’m your daughter!” she cried out.
“Of course,” Violet replied, looking somewhat shocked by the force of Hyacinth’s reaction. “But-”
“Why must you assume that whatever is the matter, it must be my fault?”
“I didn’t!”
“You did.” And Hyacinth thought of countless spats between the Bridgerton siblings. “You always do.”
Violet responded with a horrified gasp. “That is not true, Hyacinth. It’s just that I know you better than I do Mr. St. Clair, and-”
“-and therefore you know all of my faults?”
“Well…yes.” Violet appeared to be surprised by her own answer and hastened to add, “That is not to say that Mr. St. Clair is not in possession of foibles and faults of his own. It’s just that…Well, I’m just not acquainted with them.”
“They are large,” Hyacinth said bitterly, “and quite possibly insurmountable.”
“Oh, Hyacinth,” her mother said, and there was such concern in her voice that Hyacinth very nearly burst into tears right then and there. “Whatever can be the matter?”
Hyacinth looked away. She shouldn’t have said anything. Now her mother would be beside herself with worry, and Hyacinth would have to sit there, feeling terrible, wanting desperately to throw herself into her arms and be a child again.
When she was small, she had been convinced that her mother could solve any problem, make anything better with a soft word and a kiss on the forehead.
But she wasn’t a child any longer, and these weren’t a child’s problems.
And she couldn’t share them with her mother.
“Do you wish to cry off?” Violet asked, softly and very carefully.
Hyacinth gave her head a shake. She couldn’t back out of the marriage. But…
She looked away, surprised by the direction of her thoughts. Did she even want to back out of the marriage? If she had not given herself to Gareth, if they hadn’t made love, and there was nothing forcing her to remain in the betrothal, what would she do?
She had spent the last three days obsessing about that night, about that horrible moment when she’d heard Gareth’s father laughingly talk about how he had manipulated him into offering for her. She’d gone over every sentence in her head, every word she could remember, and yet she was only just now asking herself what had to be the most important question. The only question that mattered, really. And she realized-
She would stay.
She repeated it in her mind, needing time for the words to sink in.
She would stay.
She loved him. Was it really as simple as that?
“I don’t wish to cry off,” she said, even though she’d already shaken her head. Some things needed to be said aloud.
“Then you will have to help him,” Violet said. “With whatever it is that troubles him, it will be up to you to help him.”
Hyacinth nodded slowly, too lost in her thoughts to offer a more meaningful reply. Could she help him? Was it possible? She had known him barely a month; he’d had a lifetime to build this hatred with his father.
He might not want help, or perhaps more likely-he might not realize that he needed it. Men never did.
“I believe he cares for you,” her mother said. “I truly believe that he does.”
“I know he does,” Hyacinth said sadly. But not as much as he hated his father.
And when he’d gone down on one knee and asked her to spend the rest of her life with him, to take his name and bear him children, it hadn’t been because of her.
What did that say about him?
She sighed, feeling very weary.
“This isn’t like you,” her mother said.
Hyacinth looked up.
“To be so quiet,” Violet clarified, “to wait.”
“To wait?” Hyacinth echoed.
“For him. I assume that is what you’re doing, waiting for him to call upon you and beg your forgiveness for whatever it is he has done.”
“I-” She stopped. That was exactly what she’d been doing. She hadn’t even realized it. And it was probably part of the reason she was feeling so miserable. She’d placed her fate and her happiness in the hands of another, and she hated it.
“Why don’t you send him a letter?” Violet suggested. “Request that he pay you a visit. He is a gentleman, and you are his fiancée. He would never refuse.”
“No,” Hyacinth murmured, “he wouldn’t. But”-she looked up, her eyes begging for advice-“what would I say?”
It was a silly question. Violet didn’t even know what the problem was, so how could she know the solution? And yet, somehow, as always, she managed to say exactly the right thing.
“Say whatever is in your heart,” Violet said. Her lips twisted wryly. “And if that doesn’t work, I suggest that you take a book and knock him over the head with it.”
Hyacinth blinked, then blinked again. “I beg your pardon.”
“I didn’t say that,” Violet said quickly.
Hyacinth felt herself smile. “I’m rather certain you did.”
“Do you think?” Violet murmured, concealing her own smile with her teacup.
“A large book,” Hyacinth queried, “or small?”
“Large, I think, don’t you?”
Hyacinth nodded. “Have we The Complete Works of Shakespeare in the library?”
Violet’s lips twitched. “I believe that we do.”
Something began to bubble in Hyacinth’s chest. Something very close to laughter. And it felt so good to feel it again.
“I love you, Mother,” she said, suddenly consumed by the need to say it aloud. “I just wanted you to know that.”
“I know, darling,” Violet said, and her eyes were shining brightly. “I love you, too.”
Hyacinth nodded. She’d never stopped to think how precious that was-to have the love of a parent. It was something Gareth had never had. Heaven only knew what his childhood had been like. He had never spoken of it, and Hyacinth was ashamed to realize that she’d never asked.
She’d never even noticed the omission.
Maybe, just maybe, he deserved a little understanding on her part.
He would still have to beg her forgiveness; she wasn’t that full of kindness and charity.
But she could try to understand, and she could love him, and maybe, if she tried with everything she had, she could fill that void within him.
Whatever it was he needed, maybe she could be it.
And maybe that would be all that mattered.
But in the meantime, Hyacinth was going to have to expend a bit of energy to bring about her happy ending. And she had a feeling that a note wasn’t going to be sufficient.
It was time to be brazen, time to be bold.
Time to beard the lion in his den, to-
“I say, Hyacinth,” came her mother’s voice, “are you quite all right?”
She shook her head, even as she said, “I’m perfectly well. Just thinking like a fool, that’s all.”
A fool in love.
Chapter 18
Later that afternoon, in the small study in Gareth’s very small suite of apartments. Our hero has come to the conclusion that he must take action.