“Touché, Miss Bridgerton,” he said, but she didn’t particularly feel she’d won the point.
Hyacinth saw her maid waiting by the door, so she extricated her hand from Mr. St. Clair’s elbow and crossed the foyer. “Until tomorrow, Mr. St. Clair,” she said.
And as the door shut behind her, she could have sworn she heard him reply, “Arrivederci.”
Hyacinth arrives home.
Her mother has been waiting for her.
This is not good.
“Charlotte Stokehurst,” Violet Bridgerton announced, “is getting married.”
“Today?” Hyacinth queried, taking off her gloves.
Her mother gave her a look. “She has become engaged. Her mother told me this morning.”
Hyacinth looked around. “Were you waiting for me in the hall?”
“To the Earl of Renton,” Violet added. “Renton.”
“Have we any tea?” Hyacinth asked. “I walked all the way home, and I’m thirsty.”
“Renton!” Violet exclaimed, looking about ready to throw up her hands in despair. “Did you hear me?”
“Renton,” Hyacinth said obligingly. “He has fat ankles.”
“He’s—” Violet stopped short. “Why were you looking at his ankles?”
“I couldn’t very well miss them,” Hyacinth replied. She handed her reticule—which contained the Italian diary—to a maid. “Would you take this to my room, please?”
Violet waited until the maid scurried off. “I have tea in the drawing room, and there is nothing wrong with Renton’s ankles.”
Hyacinth shrugged. “If you like the puffy sort.”
“Hyacinth!”
Hyacinth sighed tiredly, following her mother into the drawing room. “Mother, you have six married children, and they all are quite happy with their choices. Why must you try to push me into an unsuitable alliance?”
Violet sat and prepared a cup of tea for Hyacinth. “I’m not,” she said, “but Hyacinth, couldn’t you even look?”
“Mother, I—”
“Or for my sake, pretend to?”
Hyacinth could not help but smile.
Violet held the cup out, then took it back and added another spoonful of sugar. Hyacinth was the only one in the family who took sugar in her tea, and she’d always liked it extra sweet.
“Thank you,” Hyacinth said, tasting the brew. It wasn’t quite as hot as she preferred, but she drank it anyway.
“Hyacinth,” her mother said, in that tone of voice that always made Hyacinth feel a little guilty, even though she knew better, “you know I only wish to see you happy.”
“I know,” Hyacinth said. That was the problem. Her mother did only wish her to be happy. If Violet had been pushing her toward marriage for social glory or financial gain, it would have been much easier to ignore her. But no, her mother loved her and truly did want her to be happy, not just married, and so Hyacinth tried her best to maintain her good humor through all of her mother’s sighs.
“I would never wish to see you married to someone whose company you did not enjoy,” Violet continued.
“I know.”