“You’ll be seeing him tomorrow night, anyway.”“I am?” Hyacinth asked, at precisely the moment Mr. St. Clair said, “She will?”“You’re accompanying me to the Pleinsworth poetry reading,” Lady D told her grandson. “Or have you forgotten?”Hyacinth sat back, enjoying the sight of Gareth St. Clair’s mouth opening and closing in obvious distress. He looked a bit like a fish, she decided. A fish with the features of a Greek god, but still, a fish.“I really…” he said. “That is to say, I can’t—”“You can, and you will be there,” Lady D said. “You promised.”He regarded her with a stern expression. “I cannot imagine—”“Well, if you didn’t promise, you should have done, and if you love me…”Hyacinth coughed to cover her laugh, then tried not to smirk when Mr. St. Clair shot a dirty look in her direction.“When I die,” he said, “surely my epitaph will read, ‘He loved his grandmother when no one else would.’”“And what’s wrong with that?” Lady Danbury asked.”

“He turned to her. “Didn’t you see the lightning strike the steeple?”She recovered with a sip of tea, then smiled sweetly. “I was listening too devotedly to the sermon.”“Claptrap last week,” Lady D announced. “I think the priest is getting old.”Gareth opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, his grandmother’s cane swung around in a remarkably steady horizontal arc. “Don’t,” she warned, “make a comment beginning with the words, ‘Coming from you…’”“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he demurred.“Of course you would,” she stated. “You wouldn’t be my grandson if you wouldn’t.” She turned to Hyacinth. “Don’t you agree?”To her credit, Hyacinth folded her hands in her lap and said, “Surely there is no right answer to that question.”“Smart girl,” Lady D said approvingly.“I learn from the master.”Lady Danbury beamed.”

“Gareth?” Hyacinth said softly.He turned to her, wondering how long he’d been standing there, pondering his options. “Hyacinth,” he said.She looked at him expectantly.“Hyacinth,” he said again, this time with a bit more certitude. He smiled, letting his eyes melt into hers. “Hyacinth.”“We know her name,” came his grandmother’s voice.Gareth ignored her and pushed a table aside so that he could drop to one knee. “Hyacinth,” he said, relishing her gasp as he took her hand in his, “would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”Her eyes widened, then misted, and her lips, which he’d been kissing so deliciously mere hours earlier, began to quiver. “I…I…”It was unlike her to be so without words, and he was enjoying it, especially the show of emotion on her face.“I…I…”“Yes!” his grandmother finally yelled. “Yes! She’ll marry you!”“She can speak for herself,” he said.“No,” Lady D said, “she can’t. Quite obviously.”

“Speaking of which,” he murmured.Hyacinth’s mouth fell open as he dropped down to oneknee. “What are you doing?” she squeaked, franticallylooking this way and that. Lord St. Clair was surely peekingout at them, and heaven only knew who else was, too.“Someone will see,” she whispered.He seemed unconcerned. “People will say we’re inlove.”“I—” Good heavens, but how did a woman argueagainst that?“Hyacinth Bridgerton,” he said, taking her hand in his,“will you marry me?”She blinked in confusion. “I already said I would.”“Yes, but as you said, I did not ask you for the right reasons.They were mostly the right reasons, but not all.”“I—I—” She was stumbling on the words, choking onthe emotion.He was staring up at her, his eyes glowing clear andblue in the dim light of the streetlamps. “I am asking youto marry me because I love you,” he said”

“I’m not trying to impress you,” he replied, glancing up at the front of the room. “Gads,” he said, blinking in surprise. “What is that ?”Hyacinth followed his gaze. Several of the Pleinsworth progeny, one of whom appeared to be costumed as a shepherdess, were milling about.“Now that’s an interesting coincidence,” Gareth murmured.“It might be time to start bleating,” she agreed.“I thought this was meant to be a poetry recitation.”Hyacinth grimaced and shook her head. “An unexpected change to the program, I’m afraid.”“From iambic pentameter to Little Bo Peep?” he asked doubtfully. “It does seem a stretch.”Hyacinth gave him a rueful look. “I think there will still be iambic pentameter.”His mouth fell open. “From Peep?”She nodded, holding up the program that had been resting in her lap. “It’s an original composition,” she said, as if that would explain everything. “By Harriet Pleinsworth.The Shepherdess, the Unicorn, and Henry VIII .”“All of them? At once?”“I’m not jesting,” she said, shaking her head.“Of course not. Even you couldn’t have made this up.”Hyacinth decided to take that as a compliment.“Why didn’t I receive one of these?” he asked, taking the program from her.“I believe it was decided not to hand them out to the gentlemen,” Hyacinth said, glancing about the room. “One has to admire Lady Pleinsworth’s foresight, actually. You’d surely flee if you knew what was in store for you.”

“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.”