It's In His Kiss

sentence in her head, every word she could remember, and yet she was only just now asking herself what had to be the most important question. The only question that mattered, really. And she realized-

She would stay.

She repeated it in her mind, needing time for the words to sink in.

She would stay.

She loved him. Was it really as simple as that?

“I don’t wish to cry off,” she said, even though she’d already shaken her head. Some things needed to be said aloud.

“Then you will have to help him,” Violet said. “With whatever it is that troubles him, it will be up to you to help him.”

Hyacinth nodded slowly, too lost in her thoughts to offer a more meaningful reply. Could she help him? Was it possible? She had known him barely a month; he’d had a lifetime to build this hatred with his father.

He might not want help, or perhaps more likely-he might not realize that he needed it. Men never did.

“I believe he cares for you,” her mother said. “I truly believe that he does.”

“I know he does,” Hyacinth said sadly. But not as much as he hated his father.

And when he’d gone down on one knee and asked her to spend the rest of her life with him, to take his name and bear him children, it hadn’t been because of her.

What did that say about him?

She sighed, feeling very weary.

“This isn’t like you,” her mother said.

Hyacinth looked up.

“To be so quiet,” Violet clarified, “to wait.”

“To wait?” Hyacinth echoed.

“For him. I assume that is what you’re doing, waiting for him to call upon you and beg your forgiveness for whatever it is he has done.”

“I-” She stopped. That was exactly what she’d been doing. She hadn’t even realized it. And it was probably part of the reason she was feeling so miserable. She’d placed her fate and her happiness in the hands of another, and she hated it.

“Why don’t you send him a letter?” Violet suggested. “Request that he pay you a visit. He is a gentleman, and you are his fiancee. He would never refuse.”

“No,” Hyacinth murmured, “he wouldn’t. But”-she looked up, her eyes begging for advice-“what would I say?”

It was a silly question. Violet didn’t even know what the problem was, so how could she know the solution? And yet, somehow, as always, she managed to say exactly the right thing.

“Say whatever is in your heart,” Violet said. Her lips twisted wryly. “And if that doesn’t work, I suggest that you take a book and knock him over the head with it.”

Hyacinth blinked, then blinked again. “I beg your pardon.”

“I didn’t say that,” Violet said quickly.

Hyacinth felt herself smile. “I’m rather certain you did.”

“Do you think?” Violet murmured, concealing her own smile with her teacup.

“A large book,” Hyacinth queried, “or small?”

“Large, I think, don’t you?”

Hyacinth nodded. “Have we The Complete Works of Shakespeare in the library?”

Violet’s lips twitched. “I believe that we do.”

Something began to bubble in Hyacinth’s chest. Something very close to laughter. And it felt so good to feel it again.

“I love you, Mother,” she said, suddenly consumed by the need to say it aloud. “I just wanted you to know that.”

“I know, darling,” Violet said, and her eyes were shining brightly. “I love you, too.”

Hyacinth nodded. She’d never stopped to think how precious that was-to have the love of a parent. It was something Gareth had never had. Heaven only knew what his childhood had been like. He had never spoken of it, and Hyacinth was ashamed to realize that she’d never asked.

She’d never even noticed the omission.

Maybe, just maybe, he deserved a little understanding on her part.

He would still have to beg her forgiveness; she wasn’t that full of kindness and charity.

But she could try to understand, and she could love him, and maybe, if she tried with everything she had, she could fill that void within him.

Whatever it was he needed, maybe she could be it.

And maybe that would be all that mattered.

But in the meantime, Hyacinth was going to have to expend a bit of energy to bring about her happy ending. And she had a feeling that a note wasn’t going to be sufficient.

It was time to be brazen, time to be bold.

Time to beard the lion in his den, to-

“I say, Hyacinth,” came her mother’s voice, “are you quite all right?”

She shook her head, even as she said, “I’m perfectly well. Just thinking like a fool, that’s all.”

A fool in love.

Chapter 18

Later that afternoon, in the small study in Gareth’s very small suite of apartments. Our hero has come to the conclusion that he must take action.

He does not realize that Hyacinth is about to beat him to the punch.

A grand gesture.

That, Gareth decided, was what he needed. A grand gesture.

Women loved grand gestures, and while Hyacinth was certainly rather unlike any other woman he’d had dealings with, she was still a woman, and she would certainly be at least a little swayed by a grand gesture.

Wouldn’t she?

Well, she’d better, Gareth thought grumpily, because he didn’t know what else to do.

But the problem with grand gestures was that the grandest ones tended to require money, which was one thing Gareth had in short supply. And the ones that didn’t require a great deal of money usually involved some poor sod embarrassing himself in a most public manner-reciting poetry or singing a ballad, or making some sort of sappy declaration with eight hundred witnesses.

Not, Gareth decided, anything he was likely to do.

But Hyacinth was, as he’d often noted, an uncommon sort of female, which meant that-hopefully-an uncommon sort of gesture would work with her.

He would show her he cared, and she’d forget all this nonsense about his father, and all would be well.

All had to be well.

“Mr. St. Clair, you have a visitor.”

He looked up. He’d been seated behind his desk for so long it was a wonder he hadn’t grown roots. His valet was standing in the doorway to his office. As Gareth could not afford a butler-and really, who needed one with only four rooms to care for-Phelps often assumed those duties as well.

“Show him in,” Gareth said, somewhat absently, sliding some books over the papers currently sitting on his desk.

“Er…” Cough cough. Cough cough cough.

Gareth looked up. “Is there a problem?”

“Well…no…” The valet looked pained. Gareth tried to take pity on him. Poor Mr. Phelps hadn’t realized that he