Of course none of those men was suitable. Half were after your fortune, and as for the other half—well, you would have reduced them to tears within a month.”
“Such tenderness for your youngest child,” Hyacinth muttered. “It quite undoes me.
I’m trying to embroider.” Hyacinth held up her handiwork
as 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 a
flower.”
“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 a
tabby cat,” she announced. “I just need to give it a tail.
There is so much I hope to teach you, little one. I hope that I may do so by example, but I feel the need
to put the words to
paper as well. It is a quirk of mine, one which I expect you will recognize and find amusing by the time
you read this letter.
Be strong.
Be diligent.
Be conscientious. There is never anything to be gained by taking the easy road. (Unless, of course, the
road is an easy one to begin with. Roads sometimes are. If that should be the case, do not forge a new,
more difficult one. Only martyrs go out
looking for trouble.)
Love your siblings. You have two already, and God willing, there will be more. Love them well, for they
are your blood,
and when you are unsure, or times are difficult, they will be the ones to stand by your side.
Laugh. Laugh out loud, and laugh often. And when circumstances call for silence, turn your laugh into a
smile.
Don't settle. Know what you want and reach for it. And if you don't know what you want, be patient.
The answers will
come to you in time, and you may find that your heart s desire has been right under your nose all the
while.
And remember, always remember that you have a mother and a father who love each other and love
you.
I feel you growing restless. Your father is making strange gasping sounds and will surely lose his temper
altogether if I
do not move from my escritoire to my bed.
Welcome to the world, little one. We are all so delighted to make your acquaintance.
But when he said he couldn’t shoot, it just seemed to make an odd sort of
sense to tell him that Hermione couldn’t dance. It fit, really. Men were supposed to shoot, and women
were supposed to dance, and trusty best friends were supposed to keep their foolish mouths shut.
Clearly, all three of them needed a bit of instruction.
Yes.” She sighed again, with even more drama, not that Gregory would have imagined it possible. “It is
all so romantic,” she added. “The bride, the groom…”
“Both are considered standard in the ceremony, I understand.”
His mother shot him a peevish look. “How could I have raised a son who is so unromantic?”
Gregory decided there could not possibly be an answer to that.
You might wish to revisit your understanding of the word everything.” Gregory turned to his mother.
“Vocabulary and comprehension were never her strong suits.”
Violet rolled her eyes. “Every day I marvel that the two of you managed to reach adulthood.”
“Afraid we’d kill each other?” Gregory quipped.
“No, that I’d do the job myself.
It was a damned good thing men couldn’t have children. Gregory took no shame in admitting that the
human race would have died out generations earlier.
I do love it when I am right,” Hyacinth said triumphantly.
“Which is fortunate, since I so often am.”
Penelope just looked at her. “You do know that you are
insufferable.”
“Of course.” Hyacinth leaned toward Penelope with a
devilish smile. “But you love me, anyway, admit it.”
“I admit nothing until the end of the evening.”
“After we have both gone deaf?”
“After we see if you behave yourself.”
Hyacinth laughed. “You married into the family. You
have to love me. It’s a contractual obligation.”
“Funny how I don’t recall that in the wedding vows.”
“Funny,” Hyacinth returned, “I remember it perfectly
The Smythe-Smith musicale. Thankfully, it came around just once per year, because Hyacinth was quite
certain it would take a full twelve months for her ears to
recover.
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.
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