But it was an odd position. He was at the short end of the low, center table, and with all the Bridgertons on the sofas, it almost felt as if he were seated at its head.
“Milk?” Lady Bridgerton asked.
“Thank you,” Gareth replied. “No sugar, if you please.”
“Hyacinth takes hers with three,” Gregory said, reaching for a piece of shortbread.
“Why,” Hyacinth ground out, “would he care?”
“Well,” Gregory replied, taking a bite and chewing, “he is your special friend.”
“He’s not—” She turned to Gareth. “Ignore him.”
There was something rather annoying about being condescended to by a man of lesser years, but at the same time Gregory seemed to be doing an excellent job of vexing Hyacinth, an endeavor of which Gareth could only approve.
So he decided to stay out of it and instead turned back to Lady Bridgerton, who was, as it happened, the closest person to him, anyway. “And how are you this afternoon?” he asked.
Lady Bridgerton gave him a very small smile as she handed him his cup of tea. “Smart man,” she murmured.
“It’s self-preservation, really,” he said noncommittally.
“Don’t say that. They wouldn’t hurt you.”
“No, but I’m sure to be injured in the cross fire.”
Gareth heard a little gasp. When he looked over at Hyacinth, she was glaring daggers in his direction. Her brother was grinning.
“Sorry,” he said, mostly because he thought he should. He certainly didn’t mean it.
“You don’t come from a large family, do you, Mr. St. Clair?” Lady Bridgerton asked.
“No,” he said smoothly, taking a sip of his tea, which was of excellent quality. “Just myself and my brother.” He stopped, blinking against the rush of sadness that washed over him every time he thought of George, then finished with: “He passed on late last year.”
“Oh,” Lady Bridgerton said, her hand coming to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I’d forgotten completely. Please forgive me. And accept my deepest sympathies.”
Her apology was so artless, and her condolences so sincere, that Gareth almost felt the need to comfort her. He looked at her, right into her eyes, and he realized that she understood.
Most people hadn’t. His friends had all patted him awkwardly on the back and said they were sorry, but they hadn’t understood. Grandmother Danbury had, perhaps—she’d grieved for George, too. But that was somehow different, probably because he and his grandmother were so close. Lady Bridgerton was almost a stranger, and yet, she cared.
It was touching, and almost disconcerting. Gareth couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said something to him and meant it.
Except for Hyacinth, of course. She always meant what she said. But at the same time, she never laid herself bare, never made herself vulnerable.
He glanced over at her. She was sitting up straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching him with a curious expression.
He couldn’t fault her, he supposed. He was the exact same way.
“Thank you,” he said, turning back to Lady Bridgerton. “George was an exceptional brother, and the world is poorer for his loss.”
Lady Bridgerton was silent for a moment, and then, as if she could read his mind, she smiled and said, “But you do not wish to dwell on this now. We shall speak of something else.”
Gareth looked at Hyacinth. She was holding herself still, but he could see her chest rise and fall in a long, impatient breath. She had worked on the translation, of that he had no doubt, and she surely wished to tell him what she’d learned.
Gareth carefully suppressed a smile. He was quite certain that Hyacinth would have feigned death if that would somehow have gotten them an interview alone.
“Lady Danbury speaks very highly of you,” Lady Bridgerton said.
Gareth turned back to her. “I am fortunate to be her grandson.”
“I have always liked your grandmother,” Lady Bridgerton said, sipping at her tea. “I know she scares half of London—”
“Oh, more than that,” Gareth said genially.
Lady Bridgerton chuckled. “So she would hope.”
“Indeed.”
“I, however, have always found her to be quite charming,” Lady Bridgerton said. “A breath of fresh air, really. And, of course, a very shrewd and sound judge of character.”
“I shall pass along your regards.”
“She speaks very highly of you,” Lady Bridgerton said.
She’d repeated herself. Gareth wasn’t sure if it was accidental or deliberate, but either way, she couldn’t have been more clear if she had taken him aside and offered him money to propose to her daughter.
Of course, she did not know that his father was not actually Lord St. Clair, or that he did not in fact know who his father was. As lovely and generous as Hyacinth’s mother was, Gareth rather doubted that she’d be working so hard to bring him up to scratch if she knew that he most probably carried the blood of a footman.
“My grandmother speaks highly of you as well,” Gareth said to Lady Bridgerton. “Which is quite a compliment, as she rarely speaks highly of anyone.”
“Except for Hyacinth,” Gregory Bridgerton put in.
Gareth turned. He’d almost forgotten the younger man was there. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “My grandmother adores your sister.”
Gregory turned to Hyacinth. “Do you still read to her each Wednesday?”
“Tuesday,” Hyacinth corrected.