“Say whatever is in your heart,” Violet said. Her lipstwisted wryly. “And if that doesn’t work, I suggest thatyou 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 youdid.”“Do you think?” Violet murmured, concealing her ownsmile with her teacup.“A large book,” Hyacinth queried, “or small?”“Large, I think, don’t you?”Hyacinth nodded. “Have we The Complete Works ofShakespeare in the library?”Violet’s lips twitched. “I believe that we do.”Something began to bubble in Hyacinth’s chest. Somethingvery close to laughter. And it felt so good to feel itagain.“I love you, Mother,” she said, suddenly consumed bythe need to say it aloud. “I just wanted you to know that.”“I know, darling,” Violet said, and her eyes were shiningbrightly. “I love you, too.”

“But that’s not what I’m trying to tell you,” Violet said, her eyes taking on a slightly determined expression. “What I’m trying to say is that when you were born, and they put you into my arms—it’s strange, because for some reason I was so convinced you would look just like your father. I thought for certain I would look down and see his face, and it would be some sort of sign from heaven.”Hyacinth’s breath caught as she watched her, and she wondered why her mother had never told her this story. And why she’d never asked.“But you didn’t,” Violet continued. “You looked rather like me. And then—oh my, I remember this as if it were yesterday—you looked into my eyes, and you blinked. Twice.”“Twice?” Hyacinth echoed, wondering why this was important.“Twice.” Violet looked at her, her lips curving into a funny little smile. “I only remember it because you looked so deliberate. It was the strangest thing. You gave me a look as if to say, ‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’ ”A little burst of air rushed past Hyacinth’s lips, and she realized it was a laugh. A small one, the kind that takes a body by surprise.“And then you let out a wail,” Violet said, shaking her head. “My heavens, I thought you were going to shake the paint right off the walls. And I smiled. It was the first time since your father died that I smiled.”Violet took a breath, then reached for her tea. Hyacinth watched as her mother composed herself, wanting desperately to ask her to continue, but somehow knowing the moment called for silence.For a full minute Hyacinth waited, and then finally her mother said, softly, “And from that moment on, you were so dear to me. I love all my children, but you…” She looked up, her eyes catching Hyacinth’s. “You saved me.”Something squeezed in Hyacinth’s chest. She couldn’t quite move, couldn’t quite breathe. She could only watch her mother’s face, listen to her words, and be so very, very grateful that she’d been lucky enough to be her child.“In some ways I was a little too protective of you,” Violet said, her lips forming the tiniest of smiles, “and at the same time too lenient. You were so exuberant, so completely sure of who you were and how you fit into the world around you. You were a force of nature, and I didn’t want to clip your wings.”“Thank you,” Hyacinth whispered, but the words were so soft, she wasn’t even sure she’d said them aloud.”

“Francesca actually felt her chin drop. “Mother,” she said, shaking her head, “you really should have stopped at seven.”“Children, you mean?” Violet asked, sipping at her tea. “Sometimes I do wonder.”“Mother!” Hyacinth exclaimed.Violet just smiled at her. “Salt?”“It took her eight tries to get it right,” Hyacinth announced, thrusting the salt cellar at her mother with a decided lack of grace.“And does that mean that you, too, hope to have eight children?” Violet inquired sweetly.“God no,” Hyacinth said. With great feeling. And neither she nor Francesca could quite resist a chuckle after that.”

“Charlotte Stokehurst,” Violet Bridgerton announced, “is getting married.”“Today?” Hyacinth queried, taking off her gloves.Her mother gave her a look. “She has become engaged. Her mother told me this morning.”Hyacinth looked around. “Were you waiting for me in the hall?”“To the Earl of Renton,” Violet added. “Renton.”“Have we any tea?” Hyacinth asked. “I walked all the way home, and I’m thirsty.”“Renton!” Violet exclaimed, looking about ready to throw up her hands in despair. “Did you hear me?”“Renton,” Hyacinth said obligingly. “He has fat ankles.”“He’s—” Violet stopped short. “Why were you looking at his ankles?”

“Mother,” Hyacinth said with a great show of solicitude,“you know I love you dearly—”“Why is it,” Violet pondered, “that I have come to expectnothing good when I hear a sentence beginning inthat manner?”

“I’m trying to embroider.” Hyacinth held up her handiworkas 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 aflower.”“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 atabby cat,” she announced. “I just need to give it a tail.”