“But it seems to me,” she added, “that the jewels must be hidden in her bedchamber.”
“And why would you think that?”
“Where else would she put them?”
“Her dressing room,” he suggested, tilting his head to the side, “the drawing room, the attic, the butler’s closet, the guest bedroom, the other guest bedroom—”
“But where,” she cut in, looking rather annoyed with his sarcasm, “would make the most sense? Thus far, she has been keeping everything to the areas of the house least visited by your grandfather. Where better than her bedchamber?”
He eyed her thoughtfully and for long enough to make her blush. Finally, he said, “We know he visited her there at least twice.”
She blinked. “Twice?”
“My father and my father’s younger brother. He died at Trafalgar,” he explained, even though she hadn’t asked.
“Oh.” That seemed to take the winds out of her sails. At least momentarily. “I’m sorry.”
Gareth shrugged. “It was a long time ago, but thank you.”
She nodded slowly, looking as if she wasn’t quite sure what to say now. “Right,” she finally said. “Well.”
“Right,” he echoed.
“Well.”
“Well,” he said softly.
“Oh, hang it all!” she burst out. “I cannot stand this. I am not made to sit idly by and brush things under the rug.”
Gareth opened his mouth to speak, not that he had any idea of what to say, but Hyacinth wasn’t done.
“I know I should be quiet, and I know I should leave well enough alone, but I can’t. I just can’t do it.” She looked at him, and she looked like she wanted to grab his shoulders and shake. “Do you understand?”
“Not a word,” he admitted.
“I have to know!” she cried out. “I have to know why you asked me to marry you.”
It was a topic he did not wish to revisit. “I thought you said you didn’t come here to discuss my father.”
“I lied,” she said. “You didn’t really believe me, did you?”
“No,” he realized. “I don’t suppose I did.”
“I just—I can’t—” She wrung her hands together, looking more pained and tortured than he’d ever seen her. A few strands of her hair had come loose from its pinnings, probably the result of her anxious gestures, and her color was high.
But it was her eyes that looked the most changed. There was a desperation there, a strange discomfort that did not belong.
And he realized that that was the thing about Hyacinth, the distinguishing characteristic that set her so apart from the rest of humanity. She was always at ease in her own skin. She knew who she was, and she liked who she was, and he supposed that was a large part of why he so enjoyed her company.
And he realized that she had—and she was—so many things he’d always wanted.
She knew her place in this world. She knew where she belonged.
She knew who she belonged with.
And he wanted the same. He wanted it with an intensity that cut right down to his soul. It was a strange, almost indescribable jealousy, but it was there. And it seared him.
“If you have any feeling for me whatsoever,” she said, “you will understand how bloody difficult this is for me, so for the love of God, Gareth, will you say something?”