She nodded. “I was surprised you didn’t ask earlier.”
“Distracted by the shepherdess,” he said, “although please don’t say as much to her mother. She’d surely take it the wrong way.”
“Mothers always do,” she agreed, glancing around the room.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“Hmmm? Oh, nothing. Just looking.”
“For what?” he persisted.
She turned to him, her eyes wide, unblinking, and startlingly blue. “Nothing in particular. Don’t you like to know everything that is going on?”
“Only as it pertains to me.”
“Really?” She paused. “I like to know everything.”
“So I’m gathering. And speaking of which, what have you learned of the diary?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, brightening before his eyes. It seemed an odd sort of metaphor, but it was true. Hyacinth Bridgerton positively sparkled when she had the opportunity to speak with authority. And the strangest thing was, Gareth thought it rather charming.
“I have only read twelve pages, I’m afraid,” she said. “My mother required my assistance with her correspondence this afternoon, and I did not have the time I would have wished to work on it. I didn’t tell her about it, by the way. I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a secret.”
Gareth thought of his father, who would probably want the diary, if only because Gareth had it in his possession. “It’s a secret,” he said. “At least until I deem otherwise.”
She nodded. “It’s probably best not to say anything until you know what she wrote.”
“What did you find out?”
“Well…”
He watched her as she grimaced. “What is it?” he asked.
Both corners of her mouth stretched out and down in that expression one gets when one is trying not to deliver bad news. “There’s really no polite way to say it, I’m afraid,” she said.
“There rarely is, when it comes to my family.”
She eyed him curiously, saying, “She didn’t particularly wish to marry your grandfather.”
“Yes, you said as much this afternoon.”
“No, I mean she really didn’t want to marry him.”
“Smart woman,” he muttered. “The men in my family are bullheaded idiots.”
She smiled. Slightly. “Yourself included?”
He should have anticipated that. “You couldn’t resist, could you?” he murmured.
“Could you?”
“I imagine not,” he admitted. “What else did she say?”
“Not a great deal more,” Hyacinth told him. “She was only seventeen at the beginning of the diary. Her parents forced the match, and she wrote three pages about how upset she was.”
“Upset?”
She winced. “Well, a bit more than upset, I must say, but—”