by Julia Quinn
Either that, or he would torture her until the truth slipped out, anyway.
Gregory’s brows disappeared under the fringe of his hair, which, admittedly, was too long and constantly falling in his eyes. “Really?” he asked. “Well, that is news.”
“For your ears only,” Hyacinth warned, “and it’s not really news. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Still.”
“I mean this, Gregory,” Hyacinth said. “Don’t make me regret confiding in you.”
“Ye of little faith.”
He sounded far too flip for her comfort. Hands on hips, she said, “I only told you this because very occasionally you’re not a complete idiot and despite all common sense, I do love you.”
His face sobered, and she was reminded that despite her brother’s asinine (in her opinion) attempts to appear the jaunty wastrel, he was actually quite intelligent and in possession of a heart of gold.
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.”
Gareth looked at Hyacinth. She was holding herself still, but he could see her chest rise and fall in a long, impatient breath. She had worked on the translation, of that he had no doubt, and she surely wished to tell him what she’d learned.
Gareth carefully suppressed a smile. He was quite certain that Hyacinth would have feigned death if that would somehow have gotten them an interview alone.
“Lady Danbury speaks very highly of you,” Lady Bridgerton said.
Gareth turned back to her. “I am fortunate to be her grandson.”
“I have always liked your grandmother,” Lady Bridgerton said, sipping at her tea. “I know she scares half of London—”
“Oh, more than that,” Gareth said genially.
Lady Bridgerton chuckled. “So she would hope.”
“Indeed.”
“I, however, have always found her to be quite charming,” Lady Bridgerton said. “A breath of fresh air, really. And, of course, a very shrewd and sound judge of character.”
“I shall pass along your regards.”
“She speaks very highly of you,” Lady Bridgerton said.
She’d repeated herself. Gareth wasn’t sure if it was accidental or deliberate, but either way, she couldn’t have been more clear if she had taken him aside and offered him money to propose to her daughter.
Of course, she did not know that his father was not actually Lord St. Clair, or that he did not in fact know who his father was. As lovely and generous as Hyacinth’s mother was, Gareth rather doubted that she’d be working so hard to bring him up to scratch if she knew that he most probably carried the blood of a footman.
“My grandmother speaks highly of you as well,” Gareth said to Lady Bridgerton. “Which is quite a compliment, as she rarely speaks highly of anyone.”
“Except for Hyacinth,” Gregory Bridgerton put in.
Gareth turned. He’d almost forgotten the younger man was there. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “My grandmother adores your sister.”
Gregory turned to Hyacinth. “Do you still read to her each Wednesday?”
“Tuesday,” Hyacinth corrected.
“Oh. Thorry.”
Gareth blinked. Did Hyacinth’s brother have a lisp?
“Mr. St. Clair,” Hyacinth said, after what Gareth was quite certain was an elbow in her brother’s ribs.
“Yes?” he murmured, mostly just to be kind. She’d paused in her speech, and he had a feeling she’d uttered his name without first thinking of something to ask him.
“I understand that you are an accomplished swords-man,” she finally said.
He eyed her curiously. Where was she going with this? “I like to fence, yes,” he replied.
“I have always wanted to learn.”
“Good God,” Gregory grunted.
“I would be quite good at it,” she protested.
“I’m sure you would,” her brother replied, “which is why you should never be allowed within thirty feet of a sword.” He turned to Gareth. “She’s quite diabolical.”
“Yes, I’d noticed,” Gareth murmured, deciding that maybe there might be a bit more to Hyacinth’s brother than he had thought.
Gregory shrugged, reaching for a piece of shortbread. “It’s probably why we can’t seem to get her married off.”
“Gregory!” This came from Hyacinth, but that was only because Lady Bridgerton had excused herself and followed one of the footmen into the hall.
“It’s a compliment!” Gregory protested. “Haven’t you waited your entire life for me to agree that you’re smarter than any of the poor fools who have attempted to court you?”
“You might find it difficult to believe,” Hyacinth shot back, “but I haven’t been going to bed each night thinking to myself—Oh, I do wish my brother would offer me something that passes for a compliment in his twisted mind.”
Gareth choked on his tea.
Gregory turned to Gareth. “Do you see why I call her diabolical?”
“I refuse to comment,” Gareth said.
“Look who is here!” came Lady Bridgerton’s voice. And just in time, Gareth thought. Ten more seconds, and Hyacinth would have quite cheerfully murdered her brother.
Gareth turned to the doorway and immediately rose to his feet. Behind Lady Bridgerton stood one of Hyacinth’s older sisters, the one who had married a duke. Or at least he thought that was the one. They all looked vexingly alike, and he couldn’t be sure.
“Daphne!” Hyacinth said. “Come sit by me.”
“There’s no room next to you,” Daphne said, blinking in confusion.
“There will be,” Hyacinth said with cheerful venom, “as soon as Gregory gets up.”
Gregory made a great show of offering his seat to his older sister.
“Children,” Lady Bridgerton said with a sigh as she retook her seat. “I am never quite certain if I’m glad I had them.”
But no one could ever have mistaken the humor in her voice for anything other than love. Gareth found himself rather charmed. Hyacinth’s brother was a bit of a pest, or at least he was when Hyacinth was in the vicinity, and the few times he’d heard more than two Bridgertons in the same conversation, they had talked all over each other and rarely resisted the impulse to trade sly jibes.
But they loved each other. Beneath the noise, it was startlingly clear.
“It is good to see you, your grace,” Gareth said to the young duchess, once she’d seated herself next to Hyacinth.
“Please, call me Daphne,” she said with a sunny smile. “There is no need to be so formal if you are a friend of Hyacinth’s. Besides,” she said, taking a cup and pouring herself some tea, “I cannot feel like a duchess in my mother’s sitting room.”
“What do you feel like, then?”
“Hmmm.” She took a sip of her tea. “Just Daphne Bridgerton, I suppose. It’s difficult to shed the surname in this clan. In spirit, that is.”
“I hope that is a compliment,” Lady Bridgerton remarked.
Daphne just smiled at her mother. “I shall never escape you, I’m afraid.” She turned to Gareth. “There is nothing like one’s family to make one feel like one has never grown up.”
Gareth thought about his recent encounter with the baron and said, with perhaps more feeling than he ought to make verbal, “I know precisely what you mean.”
“Yes,” the duchess said, “I expect you do.”
Gareth said nothing. His estrangement from the baron was certainly common enough knowledge, even if the reason for it was not.
“How are the children, Daphne?” Lady Bridgerton asked.
“Mischievous as always. David wants a puppy, preferably one that will grow to the size of a small pony, and Caroline is desperate to return to Benedict’s.” She sipped at her tea and turned to Gareth. “My daughter spent three weeks with my brother and his family last month. He has been giving her drawing lessons.”
“He is an accomplished artist, is he not?”
“Two paintings in the National Gallery,” Lady Bridgerton said, beaming with pride.
“He rarely comes to town, though,” Hyacinth said.
“He and his wife prefer the quiet of the country,” her mother said. But there was a very faint edge to her voice. A firmness meant to indicate that she did not wish to discuss the matter any further.
At least not in front of Gareth.
Gareth tried to recall if he had ever heard some sort of scandal attached to Benedict Bridgerton. He didn’t think so, but then again, Gareth was at least a decade his junior, and if there was something untoward in his past, it would probably have occurred before Gareth had moved to town.
He glanced over at Hyacinth to see her reaction to her mother’s words. It hadn’t been a scolding, not exactly, but it was clear that she’d wanted to stop Hyacinth from speaking further.
But if Hyacinth took offense, she wasn’t showing it. She turned her attention to the window and was staring out, her brows pulled slightly together as she blinked.
“Is it warm out of doors?” she asked, turning to her sister. “It looks sunny.”
“It is quite,” Daphne said, sipping her tea. “I walked over from Hastings House.”
“I should love to go for a walk,” Hyacinth announced.
It took Gareth only a second to recognize his cue. “I would be delighted to escort you, Miss Bridgerton.”
“Would you?” Hyacinth said with a dazzling smile.
“I was out this morning,” Lady Bridgerton said. “The crocuses are in bloom in the park. A bit past the Guard House.”
Gareth almost smiled. The Guard House was at the far end of Hyde Park. It would take half the afternoon to get there and back.
He rose to his feet and offered her his arm. “Shall we see the crocuses then?”
“That would be delightful.” Hyacinth stood. “I just need to fetch my maid to accompany us.”
Gregory pushed himself off the windowsill, upon which he’d been leaning. “Perhaps I’ll come along, too,” he said.
Hyacinth threw him a glare.
“Or perhaps I won’t,” he murmured.
“I need you here, in any case,” Lady Bridgerton said.
“Really?” Gregory smiled innocently. “Why?”
“Because I do,” she ground out.
Gareth turned to Gregory. “Your sister will be safe with me,” he said. “I give you my vow.”
