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.