“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.”