It's In His Kiss

neatly out of three-and four-way conversations didn’t seem to do the trick so well with only two.

“Is anything amiss?” Violet asked.

“Of course not.” Hyacinth didn’t want to look up, but avoiding eye contact would surely make her mother suspicious, so she set her needle down and lifted her chin. In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided. If she was going to lie, she might as well make it convincing. “He’s merely busy, that is all. I rather admire him for it. You wouldn’t wish for me to marry a wastrel, would you?”

“No, of course not,” Violet murmured, “but still, it does seem odd. You’re so recently affianced.”

On any other day, Hyacinth would have just turned to her mother and said, “If you have a question, just ask it.”

Except then her mother would ask a question.

And Hyacinth most certainly did not wish to answer.

It had been three days since she had learned the truth about Gareth. It sounded so dramatic, melodramatic even-“learned the truth.” It sounded like she’d discovered some terrible secret, uncovered some dastardly skeleton in the St. Clair family closet.

But there was no secret. Nothing dark or dangerous, or even mildly embarrassing. Just a simple truth that had been staring her in the face all along.

And she had been too blind to see it. Love did that to a woman, she supposed.

And she had most certainly fallen in love with him. That much was clear. Sometime between the moment she had agreed to marry him and the night they had made love, she’d fallen in love with him.

But she hadn’t known him. Or had she? Could she really say that she’d known him, truly known the measure of the man, when she hadn’t even understood the most basic element of his character?

He’d used her.

That’s what it was. He had used her to win his never-ending battle with his father.

And it hurt far more than she would ever have dreamed.

She kept telling herself she was being silly, that she was splitting hairs. Shouldn’t it count that he liked her, that he thought she was clever and funny and even occasionally wise? Shouldn’t it count that she knew he would protect her and honor her and, despite his somewhat spotted past, be a good and faithful husband?

Why did it matter why he’d asked her to marry him? Shouldn’t it only matter that he had?

But it did matter. She’d felt used, unimportant, as if she were just a chess piece on a much larger game board.

And the worst part of it was-she didn’t even understand the game.

“That’s a rather heartfelt sigh.”

Hyacinth blinked her mother’s face into focus. Good heavens, how long had she been sitting there, staring into space?

“Is there something you wish to tell me?” Violet asked gently.

Hyacinth shook her head. How did one share something such as this with one’s mother?

– Oh, yes, by the by and in case you’re interested, it has recently come to my attention that my affianced husband asked me to marry him because he wished to infuriate his father.

– Oh, and did I mention that I am no longer a virgin? No getting out of it now!

No, that wasn’t going to work.

“I suspect,” Violet said, taking a little sip of her tea, “that you have had your first lovers’ quarrel.”

Hyacinth tried very hard not to blush. Lovers, indeed.

“It is nothing to be ashamed about,” Violet said.

“I’m not ashamed,” Hyacinth said quickly.

Violet raised her brows, and Hyacinth wanted to kick herself for falling so neatly into her mother’s trap.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, poking at her embroidery until the yellow flower she’d been working on looked like a fuzzy little chick.

Hyacinth shrugged and pulled out some orange thread. Might as well give it some feet and a beak.

“I know that it is considered unseemly to display one’s emotions,” Violet said, “and certainly I would not suggest that you engage in anything that might be termed histrionic, but sometimes it does help to simply tell someone how you feel.”

Hyacinth looked up, meeting her mother’s gaze directly. “I rarely have difficulty telling people how I feel.”

“Well, that much is true,” Violet said, looking slightly disgruntled at having her theory shot to pieces.

Hyacinth turned back to her embroidery, frowning as she realized that she’d put the beak too high. Oh, very well, it was a chick in a party hat.

“Perhaps,” her mother persisted, “Mr. St. Clair is the one who finds it difficult to-”

“I know how he feels,” Hyacinth cut in.

“Ah.” Violet pursed her lips and let out a short little exhale through her nose. “Perhaps he is not sure how to proceed. How he ought to go about approaching you.”

“He knows where I live.”

Violet sighed audibly. “You’re not making this easy for me.”

“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