His father rarely ever hugged him, and Tristan was so grateful for it that a little tear slipped down his cheek. He swiped it away with the sleeve of his night shirt.
“All right, my boy,” his father said, his voice a bit stronger. He even got to his feet. “I shall walk you back to your room. But heed what I say, my son. I want all good things for you.”
“Yes, Papa.”
CHAPTER 1
August 1901
Belgravia, London
Hyacinth Bridewell stepped into the Beckfords’ballroom with her twin sister, Marigold, beside her 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 once 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 noblemen 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 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 mastered. 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 or Parliament 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 even the portrait gallery.
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 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 all the details about Hyacinth’s feelings, but she could never hide 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.
