“Of course none of those men was suitable. Half were after your fortune, and as for the other half—well, you would have reduced them to tears within a month.”
“Such tenderness for your youngest child,” Hyacinth muttered. “It quite undoes me.”
Violet let out a ladylike snort. “Oh, please, Hyacinth, you know exactly what I mean, and you know that I am correct. None of those men was your match. You need someone who is your equal.”
“That is exactly what I have been trying to tell you.”
“But my question to you is—why are the wrong men asking for your hand?”
Hyacinth opened her mouth, but she had no answer.
“You say you wish to find a man who is your match,” Violet said, “and I think you think you do, but the truth is, Hyacinth—every time you meet someone who can hold his own with you, you push him away.”
“I don’t,” Hyacinth said, but not very convincingly.
“Well, you certainly don’t encourage them,” Violet said. She leaned forward, her eyes filled with equal parts concern and remonstration. “You know I love you dearly, Hyacinth, but you do like to have the upper hand in the conversation.”
“Who doesn’t?” Hyacinth muttered.
“Any man who is your equal is not going to allow you to manage him as you see fit.”
“But that’s not what I want,” Hyacinth protested.
Violet sighed. But it was a nostalgic sound, full of warmth and love. “I wish I could explain to you how I felt the day you were born,” she said.
“Mother?” Hyacinth asked softly. The change of subject was sudden, and somehow Hyacinth knew that whatever her mother said to her, it was going to matter more than anything she’d ever heard in her life.
“It was so soon after your father died. And I was so sad. I can’t even begin to tell you how sad. There’s a kind of grief that just eats one up. It weighs one down. And one can’t—” Violet stopped, and her lips moved, the corners tightening in that way they did when a person was swallowing…and trying not to cry. “Well, one can’t do anything. There’s no way to explain it unless you’ve felt it yourself.”
Hyacinth nodded, even though she knew she could never truly understand.
“That entire last month I just didn’t know how to feel,” Violet continued, her voice growing softer. “I didn’t know how to feel about you. I’d had seven babies already; one would think I would be an expert. But suddenly everything was new. You wouldn’t have a father, and I was so scared. I was going to have to be everything to you. I suppose I was going to have to be everything to your brothers and sisters as well, but somehow that was different. With you…”
Hyacinth just watched her, unable to take her eyes from her mother’s face.
“I was scared,” Violet said again, “terrified that I might fail you in some way.”
“You didn’t,” Hyacinth whispered.
Violet smiled wistfully. “I know. Just look how well you turned out.”
Hyacinth felt her mouth wobble, and she wasn’t sure whether she was going to laugh or cry.
“But that’s not what I’m trying to tell you,” Violet said, her eyes taking on a slightly determined expression. “What I’m trying to say is that when you were born, and they put you into my arms—it’s strange, because for some reason I was so convinced you would look just like your father. I thought for certain I would look down and see his face, and it would be some sort of sign from heaven.”
Hyacinth’s breath caught as she watched her, and she wondered why her mother had never told her this story. And why she’d never asked.
“But you didn’t,” Violet continued. “You looked rather like me. And then—oh my, I remember this as if it were yesterday—you looked into my eyes, and you blinked. Twice.”
“Twice?” Hyacinth echoed, wondering why this was important.
“Twice.” Violet looked at her, her lips curving into a funny little smile. “I only remember it because you looked so deliberate. It was the strangest thing. You gave me a look as if to say, ‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’ ”
A little burst of air rushed past Hyacinth’s lips, and she realized it was a laugh. A small one, the kind that takes a body by surprise.
“And then you let out a wail,” Violet said, shaking her head. “My heavens, I thought you were going to shake the paint right off the walls. And I smiled. It was the first time since your father died that I smiled.”
Violet took a breath, then reached for her tea. Hyacinth watched as her mother composed herself, wanting desperately to ask her to continue, but somehow knowing the moment called for silence.