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.