“For what?”
Hyacinth sighed. “Iris was the undisputed belle of her season, and many young ladies felt eclipsed by her, Lady Joanna among them. Then Iris had the temerity to go on to become the Marchioness of Huntington. Unforgivable, especially for a lady new to London, and one without a title.”
“Is that all?” Lachlan’s lip curled. “Lady Joanna nearly took your head off because Iris was a belle, and married a marquess?”
“No, there was something else to it, as well—something to do with Finn thrashing Lady Joanna’s brother.”
“Finn thrashed her brother?” Lachlan’s eyebrows shot up. “Two English noblemen, rolling about in the dust? I wish I’d seen that. Why did he thrash him?”
Hyacinth tapped her lip, thinking. “I’m not entirely sure. I was in Brighton with my grandmother at the time, so I didn’t see it, but it was something to do with Iris and a horse race. Lord Claire nearly unseated Iris, and Finn fell into a fury and thrashed Lord Claire. Now I think on it, no one ever explained to me what happened.”
That was a common enough occurrence. Her sisters and grandmother tended to avoid telling her any news they thought would distress her. She didn’t recall it ever bothering her before, but for pity’s sake, marquesses didn’t thrash earls every day, did they? How was it she hadn’t demanded more details?
“But why should Lady Joanna punish you for something to do with Iris?” Lachlan asked. “You had nothing to do with it.”
“Well, she has to punish someone, and Iris would never allow…”
Iris would never allow Lady Joanna to belittle her.
But Hyacinth would. Shehad.
Lady Joanna would never have dared to be as vicious to Iris as she’d been to Hyacinth tonight, and yet Hyacinth hadn’t said a word to defend herself.
“Iris would never have allowed what?”
Lachlan was so close now she had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes, and she could see by the intent way he held her gaze he already knew the answer. “You know what.”
“I want you to say it.”
She pushed out a sigh so deep it burned as it left her chest. “Iris would never allow anyone to speak to her in such a way, and Lady Joanna knows very well how to choose her victim.”
He looked down at her for a long moment, then gave a slow shake of his head. “She can’t make you her victim unless you let her, Hyacinth.”
There it was again, written plainly across his face.
Disappointment.
“I kept waiting for you to stand up for yourself, but you never did.”
“I don’t remember how, or…perhaps I never knew.” Hyacinth’s gaze dropped to the floor, her cheeks burning with shame. Her struggle tonight hadn’t really been against Lady Joanna. It had been against herself. She’d lost similar battles before, but somehow this failure cut more deeply than the others, because for the first time in as long as she could remember, someone had expected more from her, and she’d disappointed him.
He tipped her face up to his with a finger under her chin. “Lady Huntington told me you were shy even as a child, but it’s more than shyness now, isn’t it?”
Hyacinth stared up into those knowing hazel eyes, and wondered why Lachlan Ramsey, of all people, should be the only person to understand this about her. Her sisters, her grandmother, her own family—none of them ever questioned her failings. They simply worked around them, and she’d learned to do the same. She no longer knew anymore whether she’d taught them to expect so little of her, or if they’d taught her to expect so little of herself.
But it hardly mattered, did it? Either way, the result was the same.
Two inches of space. No more than that, and it was growing narrower every day. Her life was being whittled down to a sliver while she was ducking behind columns and hiding in libraries.
“Yes, it’s more than shyness. I don’t know how it happened, or why, or even when, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like two people. There’s the timid Hyacinth everyone knows, and then the other, braver Hyacinth.”
His lips quirked. “I know her. She’s the one who called me an ass.”
Hyacinth’s cheeks heated. “Yes, she did. She’s…a trifle unruly, I’m afraid.”
ThatHyacinth had ideas. She had opinions.ThatHyacinth had a quick temper, and a wicked sense of humor, and she had mouthfuls of words. But it had always been so difficult to say them—such a struggle to get her words past her stammer, at some point she’d simply stopped trying, untilthatHyacinth had been reduced to nothing more than a voice in her head.
How long would it be, before she disappeared entirely?
