“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?”
“It’s nothing,” Hyacinth mumbled. But between this conversation and the one the previous week with her mother, she was beginning to wonder how, exactly, the world saw her.
Because she wasn’t so certain it corresponded with how she saw herself.
“I wasn’t saying that I want you to change,” Felicity said, taking Hyacinth’s hand in a gesture of friendship. “Goodness, no. Just that you need someone who can keep up with you. Even you must confess that most people can’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Hyacinth said, giving her head a little shake. “I overreacted. I just…I haven’t felt quite like myself the last few days.”
And it was true. She hid it well, or at least she thought she did, but inside, she was in a bit of a turmoil. It was that talk with her mother. No, it was that talk with Mr. St. Clair.
No, it was everything. Everything all at once. And she was left feeling as if she wasn’t quite sure who she was anymore, which was almost impossible to bear.
“It’s probably a sniffle,” Felicity said, looking back out at the ballroom floor. “Everyone seems to have one this week.”
Hyacinth didn’t contradict her. It would have been nice if it was just a sniffle.
“I know you are friendly with him,” Felicity continued. “I heard you sat together at both the Smythe-Smith musicale and the Pleinsworth poetry recitation.”
“It was a play,” Hyacinth said absently. “They changed it at the last moment.”
“Even worse. I would have thought you’d have managed to get out of attending at least one.”
“They weren’t so awful.”
“Because you were sitting next to Mr. St. Clair,” Felicity said with a sly smile.
“You are terrible,” Hyacinth said, refusing to look at her. If she did, Felicity was sure to see the truth in her eyes. Hyacinth was a good liar, but not that good, and not with Felicity.
And the worst of it was—she could hear herself in Felicity’s words. How many times had she teased Felicity in the very same way before Felicity had married? A dozen? More?
“You should dance with him,” Felicity said.
Hyacinth kept her eyes on the ballroom floor. “I can’t do anything if he does not ask.”
“Of course he’ll ask. You have only to stand on the other side of the room, where he is more likely to see you.”
“I’m not going to chase him.”
Felicity’s smile spread across her face. “You do like him! Oh, this is lovely! I have never seen—”
“I don’t like him,” Hyacinth cut in. And then, because she realized how juvenile that sounded, and that Felicity would never believe her, she added, “I merely think that perhaps I ought to see if I might like him.”
“Well, that’s more than you’ve ever said about any other gentleman,” Felicity pointed out. “And you have no need to chase him. He wouldn’t dare ignore you. You are the sister of his host, and besides, wouldn’t his grandmother take him to task if he didn’t ask you to dance?”
“Thank you for making me feel like such a prize.”
Felicity chuckled. “I have never seen you like this, and I must say, I’m enjoying it tremendously.”
“I’m glad one of us is,” Hyacinth grumbled, but her words were lost under the sharp sound of Felicity’s gasp.
“What is it?” Hyacinth asked.
Felicity tilted her head slightly to the left, motioning across the room. “His father,” she said in a low voice.
Hyacinth turned around sharply, not even trying to conceal her interest. Good heavens, Lord St. Clair was here. All of London knew that father and son did not speak, but invitations to parties were still issued to both. The St. Clair men seemed to have a remarkable talent for not appearing where the other might be, and so hostesses were generally spared the embarrassment of having them attend the same function.