Hyacinth watchedthe Kentish fields pass by as they made their approach to the Brooke family’s country house.
A few of the trees had begun to show their fall colors, as the temperatures had cooled as soon as September came. The chill in the country air was delightfully refreshing, and the sun seemed to cast a golden glow over the haystacks dotting the fields.
Opposite her in their private train car, Griffin and Lily sat in quiet conversation. Beside her, Marigold had tipped her head back and fallen asleep a couple of hours into their train journey, but Hyacinth couldn’t rest. She’d woken early, full of excitement and not a small dose of anxiety. Now, with their arrival so close, the feelings or trepidation mixed with eagerness had only increased.
Not twenty minutes later, their train pulled into the station, and the four of them and their luggage were all bundled into a hired carriage for the journey to Oakhill.
“I wonder if there will be music and dancing,” Marigold mused.
“There will be,” Hyacinth affirmed, eyes fixed out the carriage window, nearly breathless for her first glimpse of Tristan and Emma’s home. “In a letter, Emma mentioned some of what she has planned. She’s eager for everyone to enjoy themselves.” She flicked a glance at Griffin and Lily. “I think she’s a bit nervous about you two. Their family isn’t used to hosting dukes.”
Lily and Griffin exchanged an amused look. “We promise to be on our best behavior,” Lily said with a smile.
In truth, they’d all grown up in a country house that Hyacinth suspected was a great deal like Oakhill before moving onto the ducal estate after Lily became duchess. She missed Briarfield to this day.
“Oh, is that it?” Marigold asked from her side of the carriage.
Hyacinth turned to peer out her sister’s window and gasped.
And as she looked out the window, she saw the prettiest country house. It’s sandstone face was a warm caramel color and its leaded glass windows sparkled in the sun. And it did remind her of Briarfield, where she and her sisters had grown up. Nothing ostentatious, and yet all the more appealing because it was not gaudy in any way. Flowers bloomed in flowing bedsaround the front of the house. And two pillars holding up the pediment above the front door were covered in climbing vines whose blooms had faded and whose leaves were beginning to turn.
Hyacinth loved all of it on first sight. And she could admit to herself thathewas part of the reason. Somewhere behind the thick oak front door of the charming country house, she’d find Tristan.
She rolled her hands together. Felt a trickle of sweat at the back of her neck and a little sheen of perspiration on her forehead.
Would it be awkward when they saw one another again? Would he remember how easy things had been in the garden? Or would it be formal and uncomfortable?
A footman emerged from the front door of Oakhill, and their coachman jumped down to assist with their traveling cases. Griffin climbed out of the carriage first and handed each of them down.
By the time Marigold climbed out, Hyacinth could see Emma. She gulped at the sight of Tristan emerging through the front door behind her friend.
He looked magnificent in a dark charcoal morning coat, darker trousers, and a rich blue waistcoat that reminded her of his eyes.
Emma rushed off the front step to greet them. “We're so glad you're here. Welcome, Your Grace and Your Grace.” She beamed at Hyacinth. “And Miss Bridewell and Miss Bridewell. You're our second guests to arrive.” As she hooked an arm through Hyacinth’s she leaned and murmured, “Only Lord Cartwright and his aunt have arrived so far.”
Tristan gestured for them all to enter Oakhill, his gaze catching Hyacinth’s for a moment that made her cheeks immediately and traitorously begin to heat.
“Welcome,” he said once they were all gathered in the house’s foyer. “Cartwright and Lady Hemphill have gone up their rooms, and Mrs. Paxton will show you to yours.” He nodded toward a middle-aged woman in a mobcap, who Hyacinth guessed was Oakhill’s housekeeper. “We plan to have everyone gather in the drawing room in a few hours.”
Mrs. Paxton bustled forward, introduced herself, and then started the climb up the main staircase.
Hyacinth lingered at the back of the procession.
“I’ll try to sneak up and speak to you before we gather in this evening,” Emma whispered to Hyacinth.
“I look forward to it.” Hyacinth could all but feel the excitement and nervousness vibrating in Emma’s voice. “We’ll all so pleased to be here,” she added, in an attempt to reassure her.
Emma reached out and gave Hyacinth’s fingers a squeeze.
The whole time, Hyacinth was intensely aware of Tristan standing nearby, watching the whole exchange. When their gazes met, it was a bit like looking up into a bright sky. Lovely and a touch overwhelming. Hyacinth dipped her head, determined not to stare, and began making her way upstairs.
“Thank you for coming,” he murmured.
Hyacinth stilled and looked back at him, uncertain if he was speaking to her.
He was. His gaze was fixed on her.
“Of course,” she replied.
