Hyacinth lifted her chin, looking her brother squarely in the eye. “I don’t know,” she said, since despite their constant bickering, he probably knew her better than anyone else in the world. And he’d know it for certain if she were lying.
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.