“I’m trying to embroider.” Hyacinth held up her handiwork as proof.
“You’re trying to avoid—” Her mother stopped, blinking. “I say, why does that flower have an ear?”
“It’s not an ear.” Hyacinth looked down. “And it’s not a flower.”
“Wasn’t it a flower yesterday?”
“I have a very creative mind,” Hyacinth ground out, giving the blasted flower another ear.
“That,” Violet said, “has never been in any doubt.”
Hyacinth looked down at the mess on the fabric. “It’s a tabby cat,” she announced. “I just need to give it a tail.”
Violet held silent for a moment, then said, “You can be very hard on people.”
Hyacinth’s head snapped up. “I’m your daughter!” she cried out.
“Of course,” Violet replied, looking somewhat shocked by the force of Hyacinth’s reaction. “But—”
“Why must you assume that whatever is the matter, it must be my fault?”
“I didn’t!”
“You did.” And Hyacinth thought of countless spats between the Bridgerton siblings. “You always do.”
Violet responded with a horrified gasp. “That is not true, Hyacinth. It’s just that I know you better than I do Mr. St. Clair, and—”
“—and therefore you know all of my faults?”
“Well…yes.” Violet appeared to be surprised by her own answer and hastened to add, “That is not to say that Mr. St. Clair is not in possession of foibles and faults of his own. It’s just that…Well, I’m just not acquainted with them.”
“They are large,” Hyacinth said bitterly, “and quite possibly insurmountable.”
“Oh, Hyacinth,” her mother said, and there was such concern in her voice that Hyacinth very nearly burst into tears right then and there. “Whatever can be the matter?”
Hyacinth looked away. She shouldn’t have said anything. Now her mother would be beside herself with worry, and Hyacinth would have to sit there, feeling terrible, wanting desperately to throw herself into her arms and be a child again.
When she was small, she had been convinced that her mother could solve any problem, make anything better with a soft word and a kiss on the forehead.
But she wasn’t a child any longer, and these weren’t a child’s problems.
And she couldn’t share them with her mother.
“Do you wish to cry off?” Violet asked, softly and very carefully.
Hyacinth gave her head a shake. She couldn’t back out of the marriage. But…
She looked away, surprised by the direction of her thoughts. Did she even want to back out of the marriage? If she had not given herself to Gareth, if they hadn’t made love, and there was nothing forcing her to remain in the betrothal, what would she do?
She had spent the last three days obsessing about that night, about that horrible moment when she’d heard Gareth’s father laughingly talk about how he had manipulated him into offering for her. She’d gone over every sentence in her head, every word she could remember, and yet she was only just now asking herself what had to be the most important question. The only question that mattered, really. And she realized—
She would stay.
She repeated it in her mind, needing time for the words to sink in.
She would stay.
She loved him. Was it really as simple as that?