Or maybe it was neither of those things. Maybe it was just her.
Chapter 6
The following Tuesday, in the ballroom at Bridgerton House. The candles are lit, music fills the air, and the night seems made for romance
But not, however, for Hyacinth, who is learning that friends can be just as vexing as family
Sometimes more so.
“Do you know whom I think you should marry? I think you should marry Gareth St. Clair.”
Hyacinth looked at Felicity Albansdale, her closest friend, with an expression that hovered somewhere between disbelief and alarm. She absolutely, positively, was not prepared to say that she should marry Gareth St. Clair, but on the other hand, she had begun to wonder if perhaps she ought to give it just a touch of consideration.
But still, was she so transparent?
“You’re mad,” she said, since she wasn’t about to tell anyone that she might be developing a bit of a tendre for the man. She didn’t like to do anything if she didn’t do it well, and she had a sinking feeling that she did not know how to pursue a man with anything resembling grace or dignity.
“Not at all,” Felicity said, eyeing the gentleman in question from across the ballroom. “He would be perfect for you.”
As Hyacinth had spent the last several days thinking of nothing but Gareth, his grandmother, and his other grandmother’s diary, she had no choice but to say, “Nonsense. I hardly know the man.”
“No one does,” Felicity said. “He’s an enigma.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Hyacinth muttered. Enigma sounded far too romantic, and—
“Of course he is,” Felicity said, cutting into her thoughts. “What do we know about him? Nothing. Ergo—”
“Ergo nothing,” Hyacinth said. “And I’m certainly not going to marry him.”
“Well, you have to marry somebody,” Felicity said.
“This is what happens when people get married,” Hyacinth said disgustedly. “All they want is to see everyone else married.”
Felicity, who had wed Geoffrey Albansdale six months earlier, just shrugged. “It’s a noble goal.”
Hyacinth glanced back at Gareth, who was dancing with the very lovely, very blond, and very petite Jane Hotchkiss. He appeared to be hanging on her every word.
“I am not,” she said, turning to Felicity with renewed determination, “setting my cap for Gareth St. Clair.?
?
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Felicity said airily.
Hyacinth gritted her teeth. “The lady protested twice.”
“If you stop to think about it—”
“Which I won’t do,” Hyacinth interjected.
“—you’ll see that he is a perfect match.”
“And how is that?” Hyacinth asked, even though she knew it would only encourage Felicity.
Felicity turned to her friend and looked her squarely in the eye. “He is the only person I can think of who you wouldn’t—or rather, couldn’t—run into the ground.”
Hyacinth looked at her for a long moment, feeling unaccountably stung. “I am unsure of whether to be complimented by that.”
“Hyacinth!” Felicity exclaimed. “You know I meant no insult. For heaven’s sake, what is the matter with you?”