Thursday—November 26th, 2020

Night of Lady Danbury's Thanksgiving Bash, 6pm

Hyacinth couldn't believe Lady Danbury had actually invited the Smythe-Smith sisters to play at her party. Again.

"Why do we pretend they're good at this?" she wondered aloud, about ten minutes after Freddie Mercury began to rotate in his grave. She should've gone to a real party; Francesca had. But no, Hyacinth had chosen to stay faithful to her friend, the old hag. 

"Because we are good, kind people," her sister Eloise answered. She didn't look like she was having a good time either. Knowing Eloise, she would much rather have stayed home with a book, drinking rosé. 

"One would think," Hyacinth persisted, "that the kind thing would be to stop them from embarrassing themselves year after year. Or maybe—"

"Hyacinth?" Eloise said.

Hyacinth swung her gaze to her sister, lifting one brow in question.

"Let it go, alright? Enjoy the show."

"I physically cannot."

"Hyacinth."

Hyacinth sighed and rolled her eyes, but she complied. Thankfully, she only had to go through this once a year, because Hyacinth was quite certain it would take a full twelve months for her ears to recover. She let out another sigh, this one louder than the last. "I'm not sure I'm either good or kind."

"I'm not sure, either," Eloise replied, "but I have faith in you."

"How good and kind of you," Hyacinth teased.

"I thought so, too."

I'm going to go deaf, she thought, as she watched the scene unfolding on the small, makeshift stage. Another year, another opportunity to learn just how many ways one could ruin a perfectly good piece of music.

"The Bridgerton sisters," Lady Danbury said, or rather barked, from behind them, making the two sisters jump.

"Oh, good evening, Lady Danbury," Eloise said to the elderly woman.

"We were just commenting on how good and kind you are, Emerauld," Hyacinth said, causing Lady D to narrow her eyes, "always remembering to include the Smythe-Smith. How you think of others."

"Ha," Lady Danbury said. It was, Hyacinth reflected, her favorite syllable. That and hmmmph. "If I were good or kind I would've spared us all this torture, wouldn't I?"

"One would hope," Hyacinth replied.

"And I might add," she said with a sniff, "that you were most unkind last week, leaving off with poor Priscilla hanging from a cliff." Hyacinth visited Lady D regularly these days and often read to her. Nothing substantial really—just ridiculous books they could make fun of together. Like Fifty Shades of Grey and other embarrassing stuff.

"It's where the author ended the chapter," Hyacinth said unrepentantly, "and besides, isn't patience a virtue?"

"Absolutely not," Lady Danbury said emphatically, "and if you think so, you're less smart than I thought."

No one understood why Hyacinth visited Lady Danbury, but she enjoyed her afternoons with the woman. Lady Danbury was crotchety and honest to a fault, and Hyacinth adored her.

"The two of you together are a menace," Eloise remarked.

"My aim in life," Lady Danbury announced, "is to be a menace to as great a number of people as possible, so I'll take that as a compliment, Miss Bridgerton."

Hyacinth grinned. When she was old, she wanted to be exactly like Lady Danbury. Truth be told, she liked the elderly woman better than most of the people she knew her own age. After fifteen years in Great Hamptons, Hyacinth was growing just a little bit weary of the same people day after day. Events like this one could still be pretty enjoyable under the right circunstances—that much she had to concede—she wasn't about to be one of those girls who complained about all of the wealth and privilege she was forced to endure—but it could get pretty tiring, people could get pretty fake.

Lady Danbury thumped her cane against the floor, narrowly missing Hyacinth's right foot. "I say," she said, "have either of you caught sight of my grandson?"

Eloise didn't even bother to hide her shock.

"Don't look at me like I've lost my mind," Lady D cackled. "I'm not senile just yet. I'm very much aware that my dear George has passed away. I meant my other grandson."

"Oh." Eloise looked uncomfortable. "Of course. I didn't mean..."

"I know exactly what you meant, dear, and you don't need to walk on eggshells around me. I'm an old woman and as such, unfortunately, I am used to death. Some tried to talk me out of having this party, but George wouldn't have wanted that. It's Thanksgiving. We should be grateful for the ones who have stayed. And we should be thankful for the ones we were allowed to have even if for a short time."

"That's lovely," Hyacinth said, "but before you break into poetry, Emerauld, I heard this grandson of yours has plans to stay in town. Is that true?"

"Yes. I can hardly believe it myself. I keep waiting for a shaft of heavenly light to burst through the ceiling."

Eloise's nose crinkled. "I think that might be blasphemous."

"It's not," Hyacinth said, without even looking at her sister. "But why? I thought he hated it here. And don't you try to convince me that it has anything to do with spending time with the family in face of such a horrible tragedy because I know you and you're not sentimental people."

"Hyacinth!" Eloise scolded. "That is so rude."

But Lady Danbury didn't seem to think so. She smiled slowly, like a snake, and said, "Why are you so interested?"

"I'm always interested in my friends' businesses," Hyacinth said quite candidly. "And I consider you a good and kind friend, Emerauld, didn't I already say that?"

"Hmmmph," Lady Danbury said. "I'll pretend I believe that. But if you must know, he's decided to stay because I asked him to. He's about to own a third of my company and I need him to learn a few tricks."

Of course; that made a lot of sense. Hyacinth should've guessed. Gareth St. Clair was turning eighteen and what had once belonged to his mother now would be his. His father had been put in charge of the affairs but now he would be set aside. Gareth and his father were famously estranged, although no one knew why—and Lady D refused to talk about it. Hyacinth personally thought it spoke well of Gareth that he didn't get along with that man—she'd met Angelo Guido and thought him unbearable.

The entire thing made her want to know more about the St. Clair boy. No one seemed quite certain how to view him. For some people, he was a troublemaker, the kind of boy you kept away from your daughters. For others, he had been touched by tragedy, which made him a romantic figure. It was appalling.

Hyacinth turned to face Lady Danbury, who was still searching the room for her grandson. "I don't think he's here yet," she said, then added under her breath, "No one's fainted."

"Enh? What was that?"

"I said I don't think he's here yet."

Lady D narrowed her eyes. "I heard that part."

"It's all I said," Hyacinth fibbed.

"Hmmmph."

Hyacinth looked past her to Eloise. "She treats me horribly, did you know that?"

Eloise shrugged. "Someone has to."

Lady Danbury's face broke out into a wide grin, and she turned to Eloise, and started asking her boring questions about college. Hyacinth was completely left out of the conversation. She absolutely hated when that happened.

"Hmmmph." Hyacinth cracked her knuckles watching the two of them talk. "Hmmmph."

"You sound," came an amused voice from over her shoulder, "exactly like my Nana."

Hyacinth looked up. There he was, Gareth St. Clair, inevitably at the moment of her greatest discomfiture.

"Doesn't she, though?" Lady Danbury asked, looking at her grandson as she thumped her cane against the floor. "She's quickly replacing you as my pride and joy."

"Ah. Tell me," St. Clair asked, one corner of his lips curving into a mocking half smile, "is Nana remaking you in her image?"

Hyacinth had no ready retort, which she found extremely irritating.

He reminded her of a lion, fierce and predatory, filled with restless energy. His hair, too, was tawny, hovering in that curious state between light brown and dark blond, and he wore it rakishly, defying convention by keeping it just long enough to tie in a short queue at the back of his neck. He was tall, although not overly so, with an athlete's grace and strength and a face that was just imperfect enough to be handsome, rather than pretty.

And his eyes were dark. Really dark. Uncomfortably dark.

She gave her head a little shake. That had to be quite the most asinine thought that had ever entered her head.

"And what brings you here, Hyacinth?" he asked and she felt stupidly elated that he knew her name. "I hadn't realized you were, uh, a lover of music."

"If she loved music," Lady D said from behind him, "she wouldn't have come."

"She does hate to be left out of a conversation, doesn't she?" he murmured, without turning around. "Ow!"

"Cane?" Hyacinth asked.

"Jesus, woman, that hurts," he muttered.

Hyacinth watched with interest as he reached behind him, and without even turning his head, wrapped his hand around the cane and wrenched it from his grandmother's grasp. "Here," he said, handing it to Hyacinth, "hold on to this. She won't need it while she's just standing here."

Hyacinth's mouth fell open. Even she had never dared to interfere with Lady Danbury's cane.

"Oh, have I impressed you?" He said with the expression of one who is quite pleased with himself. "I heard that it's almost impossible to do that."

"Yes," Hyacinth said before she could stop herself. "I mean, no. I mean, don't be stupid. I certainly haven't been not impressed by you."

"I'm touched," he murmured.

"What I meant," she said, grinding her teeth together, "is that I don't care enough to be impressed."

He tapped his heart with his hand. "Wounded," he said flippantly. "And right through the heart."

Hyacinth gritted her teeth. The only thing worse than being made fun of was not being sure if one was being made fun of. Everyone else in GH she could read like a book. But with Gareth St. Clair, she didn't know.

Hyacinth fidgeted a little, feeling uncommonly closed-in. In close proximity to Gareth St. Clair, she could feel him positively radiating heat. Hyacinth wished she could discreetly fan herself.

"Is something wrong?" he inquired, tilting his head as he regarded her with curious amusement.

"Of course not," she answered. "It's just warm in here, don't you think?"

He eyed her for one second longer than she would have liked, then turned to Lady Danbury. "Are you overheated, Nana?" he asked solicitously.

"Not at all," came the brisk reply.

He turned back to Hyacinth with a tiny shrug. "It must be you," he murmured.

"It must," she ground out, facing determinedly forward. She cursed him in her head: stupid Gareth St. Clair with his stupid leather jacket and his stupidly charming smile. 

*

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