Chapter 1
Belgravia, London
Hyacinth Bridewell stepped into the Beckfords’ ballroom and tried to tamp down the anxious flutter in her chest.
She scanned the ballroom for one person, though she tried to do so surreptitiously.
Do not gawk, her governess had one chastised.
Hyacinth had never quite outgrown the tendency to take in the world with wide-eyed wonder.
Too curious by half, her elder brother had often teased when she was a child. And that avid curiosity was still very much a part of her nature too.
Tonight, she took in the Beckfords’ ballroom, with its high ceiling, crystal chandeliers, and gilded walls, but all her curiosity truly centered on one particular gentleman and whether he would be present this evening.
A few nobleman glided toward them, but they weren’t coming for her.
They were no doubt eager to secure a spot on her twin’s dance card.
She and her twin sister, Marigold, looked alike, but the contrasts between them had become more stark over the years, and never more so than their first Season out.
From a mere glance, one could spot the ways they differed.
Marigold had a certain poise that Hyacinth had never quite learned.
Marigold could speak to anyone, making the driest small talk seem interesting.
And fashion was a passion of Marigold’s.
Whereas Hyacinth chose colors and styles on impulse, her twin was strategic.
She always looked extraordinarily put together, even though they had the same dressmaker.
In short, Marigold was simply better at lavish social gatherings such as this one.
Hyacinth would rather spend hours talking to one dear friend than hear about the horses at Newmarket or the latest gossip.
When she attended a ball with her twin and their elder sister, Lily, Duchess of Edgerton, and her husband, Griffin, Duke of Edgerton, Hyacinth had a tendency to wander off, searching for the library or the garden, or the billiards room.
And when, on a rare occasion, she was asked to dance, she didn’t find it to be an easy endeavor.
Though she and Marigold had both been provided with the same dance lessons by the same dance tutor, Marigold tended to look more fluid when she danced, while Hyacinth was too aware of the mechanics.
Too aware of her body as she took a turn about the ballroom with so many eyes on her.
But Hyacinth had found a wonderful solution that made coming to balls enjoyable. She had embraced being wallflower. On the edge of a ballroom with other overlooked ladies, she could engage in the most interesting discussions.
Her passion lay in the sciences, particularly paleontology.
Though she’d been encouraged from childhood to read her father’s science books and pursue her interest by attending lectures, she’d soon realized that gentlemen seemed to find it appalling when a lady spoke with fervor about ancient bones.
Ladies, however, did not. Well, one lady in particular.
Miss Emma Brooke. A fellow wallflower and the dearest friend Hyacinth had made during the Season.
Neither of them had a “successful” Season. Neither had received proposals, nor been intently courted by any gentleman. Though Hyacinth had suspicions about Emma’s interest in one particular nobleman. Thankfully, her friend had not yet noted that Hyacinth had her eye on a particular gentleman too.
After Marigold added the two eager nobleman to her dance card, she turned to Hyacinth.
“If you paid them any attention,” Marigold whispered, “some of them would ask you to dance too.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Hyacinth whispered back. “Even in the first days of the Season, when I was wide-eyed and ready to be danced with by anyone at all, few of them did.”
Marigold tipped her head. “And you only want to dance with one particular gentleman now, is that it?”
Hyacinth’s cheeks flamed under her sister’s scrutiny. “Stop. I’m not speaking about him.”
Emma might not have sussed out Hyacinth’s feelings, but she could never hid anything from her twin. Glancing around the ballroom, Hyacinth searched for friend. She did not want Emma to overhear this discussion.
“I meant that gentlemen as a whole,” Hyacinth said defensively, “do not tend to seek me out for a spot on my dance card.”
Marigold turned to face her, avoiding the stares of another eager nobleman, who looked as if he attended to ask for a dance.
“But you do like him. Sir Tristan Brooke. I can tell.”
Hyacinth closed her eyes, dearly wishing she wasn’t blushing like a fool. That was her secret. Sir Tristan Brooke, Emma’s elder brother, occupied her thoughts, her dreams, and an increasingly large piece of her heart.
“Yes, but please let us not speak of it here.”
Marigold laid a gloved hand on her arm. “I pray that tonight he finally asks you to dance.”
Hyacinth managed a smile, despite her speeding pulse and the heat steadily filling her cheeks. Her sister meant well.
“Now, you’d better go and speak to Lord Marchmont,” Hyacinth urged. “He looks as if he’s only seconds away from interrupting if you don’t give him your attention.”
Marigold scoffed. “Then he’s not a gentleman I wish to give my attention to. You matter to me more than he does, than any of them do. And I want you to enjoy yourself this evening. I loathe seeing you standing along wallflower row.”
Hyacinth laughed. “I’ve become quite fond of my spot on the row. And it’s how I met Emma.”
“Your friendship with Miss Brooke is a boon, of course, but do accept if someone asks you to dance. Promise me?”
“I promise.” Hyacinth waved her off gently. “Now go. The first set will begin soon.”
Marigold smiled, squeezed her arm, and turned to find her first dance partner. Lord Marchmont immediately followed in her wake.
Hyacinth never blamed her sister for having the ability to draw others to her like a warm, bright light.
Sometimes, she even felt grateful that Marigold attracted all the attention to herself.
And her sister was right. There was only one person whose notice Hyacinth truly craved, though she wasn’t quite certain how to capture it.
Hyacinth was mostly excited to Emma. They had found themselves together, lining the edge noble families’ ballrooms many times this Season. But rather than mope or be sad about being on the outskirts, they’d taken to enjoying each other's company.
They had marvelous conversations, giggled far more than was ladylike, and always found ways to divert themselves.
Hyacinth sometimes sketched in her journal while Emma read.
They had a great deal in common because Emma, like Hyacinth, was not interested in novels or magazines. They shared an interest in science.
Emma came from a family of scientists. Their mother had been an amateur astronomer of some acclaim.
Her father had once taught chemistry at London University, and her brother…
Well, her brother was extraordinary. A paleontologist who had gained such renown in the field that he had been bestowed with a knighthood by Queen Victorian herself.
Though Hyacinth never attracted suitors like her sister, the truth was that no gentleman had ever had a chance to catch Hyacinth’s notice because Sir Tristan Brooke existed.
He was a brilliant scholar, a wonderful orator, and any time he entered a ballroom, her breath tangled in her throat while she tried, and failed, not to stare at him like a ninny.
Of course, he could not be surprised to find ladies’ gazes on him.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that always looked perfectly disheveled, as if he had the habit of running his fingers through it while he worked.
His eyes were the color of the sky on the brightest day of summer, and his voice was deep enough for its rumble to make her shiver.
Hyacinth had attended three of his lectures so far. And, of course, she had been introduced to him when he’d come over to speak to Emma. She’d never felt more awkward than she had in that moment. Her whole body had vibrated, and her mind emptied of everything she wished to say.
She’d managed to be polite—she hoped—but the memory remained a bit of a blur.
Yet, as with other gentlemen, his eyes didn't linger on her. Since their introduction, they'd only met a handful of times when he’d approached wallflower row to speak to his sister.
Emma had invited her to visit their home in the countryside at the end of the Season, but Hyacinth had yet to accept.
Her feelings toward Sir Tristan were a conundrum.
Even spotting him across a ballroom made her whole body warm.
Yet watching him dance with others left her feeling hollow.
She didn’t know if she could spend a fortnight in the same country house with him and have his gaze pass over her again and again.
“I was hoping you’d be here.” Emma came up alongside her with a bright smile on her face. “Oh, but you look a bit out of sorts. May I help in some way?”
“No, I promise that I’m quite all right.” Hyacinth gestured toward the side of the Beckfords’ ballroom. “Shall we find a prime spot?”
They headed toward the area where a few other wallflowers had gathered.
“I’ve brought a little book of poetry that fits in my pocket tonight,” Emma said. “Lord Arthur Cartwright gifted it to me.”
Hyacinth tipped her head and smiled. “Lord Cartwright seems a very kind gentleman. And quite charming and amiable. You’re fond of him?”
“Possibly.” Emma’s blush said it was not just possible but very likely. “He’s acquainted with Tristan, so I am going to insist that he is invited to the house party too. Please say you’ll come, and Marigold too, and the duke and duchess.”
Hyacinth’s sister and brother-in-law were the Duke and Duchess of Edgerton, and it was the reason she and Marigold had been afforded such a lavish Season and provided with sizable dowries.
“Do you know that gentleman?” Emma indicated across the room with the direction of her gaze.
Hyacinth looked over, then swallowed a groan. “Lord Litchfield. Yes, I know him. Well, not truly. He has visited Edgerton House. Early in the Season, he pursued Marigold quite avidly.”
“She wasn’t charmed, I take it.”
“Marigold has been steadfastly determined not to show favor to any particular gentleman until someone captures her heart.”
Her twin was determined, as all the Bridewell sisters were, to marry for love.
Their parents’ marriage had been an affectionate one, and their three elder sisters were besotted with their husbands too.
Marigold and Hyacinth had made a vow to each other at the Season’s start.
They wouldn’t be charmed by little more than a pretty face or nice manners.
They were seeking that one special gentleman who would notice them for more than their hefty dowries and familial ties to a dukedom.
“He looks as if he intends to approach,” Emma murmured. “Gird yourself.”
Hyacinth bit back a chuckle.
As Emma predicted, he strode toward them.
“Good heavens, he’s looking at you quite wolfishly,” Emma murmured under her breath.
“Well, I wish he would stop.” Hyacinth did her best not to meet Litchfield’s gaze, though she could sense his approach with increasing dread.
“I have an idea.” Emma reached for Hyacinth’s hand, taking it firmly into her own. “Come with me,” she said, then tugged Hyacinth toward the ballroom’s pocket doors.
“Where are we going?”
“First, we’re going to the retiring room until the immediate threat has passed.”
“I don’t think he’d truly mind if I refused to dance with him.” Hyacinth didn’t look back and hoped Litchfield got the intended message of her hasty departure. “The fact that he pursued my sister gives you an indication of just how important I am to him.”
“You have plenty of charms of your own,” Emma insisted as the proceeded at a quick clip out of the ballroom and down the Beckfords’ main hallway toward the ladies’ retiring room.
“Thank you, Em.” It wasn't that Hyacinth believed herself without charms. She only had to look at Marigold to know that she was pretty. They looked alike after all.
But Hyacinth was under no illusions about Litchfield or gentlemen like him. They were fare more interested in what they could gain from a connection to the Duke of Edgerton than any unique qualities Hyacinth or her sister possessed.
Once they were safely behind the closed door of the retiring room, Emma paced, a finger tapping her lips.
“Stay here,” she finally said. “I’l be back in a moment.”
“Wait, Emma. Where are you going?” Hyacinth all but bleated.
Foolish as it might be, she wanted to be in the ballroom when Sir Tristan arrived, though she could hardly admit that to her friend.
Emma strode to the door and turned back at the threshold. “I'm going to find Tristan.”
“Why?” Hyacinth’s heart rattled fiercely in her chest.
“Because he can ask you to dance. And then Lord Litchfield will stop looking at you like he’s starving and you’re a feast.”
“I don't think it's a good idea.”
“I do.” Emma shot Hyacinth a wink. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a moment.”
As soon as Emma departed, panic worked its way into Hyacinth’s chest until she could barely breathe.
It was what she wanted, of course. What she’d dreamed of. To dance with Tristan, to be held in his arms. She’d imagined it countless times, but she didn’t want him to do so as a favor to save her from Litchfield. Not if he truly had no interest in dancing with her.
He would only ever see her as Emma’s wallflower friend who needed rescuing from an unwanted suitor.
As she paced the retiring room, she couldn’t decided.
Was seeing her as a wallflower in need of rescue better than Sir Tristan not seeing her at all?