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Prologue
Hyacinth is cursed.
Do not make assumptions, it has nothing to do with the tragic loss of her father before she could take her first breath, or the scars she may carry somewhere in between her delightful personality and perfectly symmetrical features. Astonishingly, it isn’t due to the seven – yes, seven – siblings she must tolerate either, even if she would argue they can be a burden more often than she’d like. None of that is the matter, no. Because much like Cassandra of Troy, Hyacinth is cursed with the gift of foresight.
Particularly, the foresight to know who her idiotic siblings shall marry. Who their love match is, if you will. And since the first year her eldest sister Daphne was set to debut, not a single one of them would listen to her!
In all fairness, though, Hyacinth herself wasn’t fully aware of her abilities at all but ten years of age. As a little girl with her head full of fairytales, it was easy to get distracted by fantasies of being the sister of a princess. Still, she’d had the niggling feeling in the back of her neck that Daphne was fated to be with the Duke, even before His Grace offered her a pony. It wasn’t until she watched her oldest brother – the one who was supposed to be the head of the family, mind you – make an utter mess of his engagement that she started paying attention to the prickling feeling inside her. As tiresome and clueless as her family can be, Hyacinth is simply too soft-hearted not to care. If only she’d pointed Anthony in Kate’s direction before he botched it by proposing to her sister. Goodness, if she’d listened to her instincts earlier, maybe Eloise’s first season might not have been such a disaster.
One thing was for certain: none of her brothers and sisters could see what was right in front of them regarding their love lives. They are in desperate need of her cunning intellect and resourceful ideas.
This is precisely why now, at the wise age of three and ten, the cleverest Bridgerton cannot be asked to watch quietly while her brother Colin circles Penelope Featherington like a bee around pollen-filled flowers. The little redhead has only been in Aubrey Hall for a couple of hours, and Hyacinth has already been subjected to their awkward flirting three times, despite Eloise’s commitment to monopolising her friend’s time. The first painfully clumsy exchange happened mere moments after Penelope arrived to join the Bridgertons in anticipation of the Christmas festivities, as she’s wont to do for as long as anyone can recall. No sooner was Miss Featherington’s presence announced, did Colin jump up from the settee and make a beeline toward the flustered girl.
“Pen! How good to see you,” her brother exclaimed, hastily wiping cookie crumbs off his trousers before reaching to wrap her gloved hands in his.
“Col–in,” said Penelope in a broken, high-pitched voice, “Um, it is lovely to see you as well.”
And if the impropriety of holding hands didn’t suffice, the furious blush on their cheeks and lingering eye contact should have been enough to alert the rest of the family to the nature of their relationship, surely. But because of Hyacinth’s cursed reality, she had no choice but to hold back a snort as Eloise linked her arm through Penelope’s, effectively pulling the girl away from their increasingly forlorn-looking brother, and out of the drawing room.
Then there was the endlessly entertaining supper in which she strategically sat opposite Colin who had rushed in, claiming his seat next to Penelope, and immediately began his pitiful attempts to steal her attention away from El’s latest tirade. Hyacinth had to concede to Penelope’s quiet mastery at managing those two and their bottomless need for her attention. However, her admiration didn’t mean she wasn’t amused by the ridiculous picture they made, the tiny girl comically turning her head left and right in her attempt to follow two lines of thought at once, all the while keeping an open expression and a sweet smile on her face. The poor girl could hardly eat like this. Hyacinth had to swallow a huge gulp of juice to refrain from giggling when Eloise’s brittle patience inevitably shattered.
“Colin, must you always attempt to monopolise my best friend’s every thought?” she inquired, acknowledging his presence for the first time since he joined them at the table. “Go write to your own friends from Greece, or Spain, or wherever else you’ve deemed appropriate to spend your summer.”
Penelope, however, didn’t share Hyacinth’s humour, and was quick to intervene, “Eloise! Stop being rude to your brother.”
Needless to say, Colin beamed his way through dessert and beyond. Only after they had all retired together to the drawing room, did his smug smile give way to a contemplative look as he stood near the fireplace. This brings us to their latest interaction, which has Hyacinth tightening her hands into fists to avoid covering her face in frustration. Because the minute Eloise was pulled into a chess game with Benedict with a mutter of ‘you shall never win’ and a determined expression on her face, a flushed Penelope flutters her way toward Colin.
“Are you enjoying the fire?” she asks, standing beside him while fiddling with her pretty pink gloves.
“Pen!” He startles before grinning stupidly at her, “I am. In fact, looking at these flames, I was reminded of the suns–” he stops abruptly, shaking his head in embarrassment, “Forgive me, Pen, you must be tired of my rambles after all those letters, you have been so…”
Her infatuated brother is clearly at a loss for words and seems to think he would find them somewhere deep in Penelope’s eyes, but the oblivious girl doesn’t let him suffer long. “No, please, I could never tire of your musings,” she breathes, touching his arm absentmindedly.
Enough!
Even if Hyacinth wasn’t cursed.
Even if she couldn’t feel the annoying tingling in her spine when observing their interactions.
Even then, no one could be better suited for her restless, overly excitable brother than the girl who looks at him as if he invented those very flames he’d been waxing poetic about himself.
So Hyacinth leaps up from her seat and, in a flurry of movement, heads directly to her bed chamber, waving off her mother’s concern.
Now that she had decided to take charge of those fools’ hopeless love lives she must strategise.
Everything must be perfect.
one
Hyacinth knows there’s a reason Daphne has always been her favourite sister.
Not only is she patient, kind, and always willing to play dolls when they were younger – even if Hyacinth herself had been the doll most of the time – but Daphne has perfect timing. As if she could sense her younger sister’s desperate need for inspiration, a letter from her arrives first thing in the morning. Most of the family is still breaking their fast, but Hyacinth had been too excited to sleep in and had the fortune of intercepting the note from Humboldt before he could deliver it to Mama.
Alone in the parlour, she carefully opens the heavy envelope and pulls out the carefully folded paper:
Dear Family,
It burdens me greatly that I am unable to celebrate this festive season amongst you, even if it is due to a joyous cause. Baby B should be making its debut soon, and Simon is hoping for a Christmas miracle. Do not tell him but I would rather spend this holiday peacefully and painlessly. Whatever the case, I will send word as soon as I know.
In the meantime, I beg you to enjoy the festivities on my behalf. Eloise, I have been meaning to tell you Auggie’s temper has been reminding me of you as of late. You two shall get along seamlessly when you next meet. Colin, please, tell me you plan to stay in the country long enough to meet your new niece or nephew. Hyacinth and Gregory, your presents should arrive shortly, I hope they are to your liking. Last but not least, Mama, I am sending you some mistletoe as a small token so that I may share in the season’s spirit since I cannot be there in earnest.
I wish you all the merriest of Christmases,
Daphne Basset
“Brilliant, sister,” she mutters to herself, pulling a sprig from the bottom of the envelope and examining it closely, “how did I not think of this before?”
The sound of footsteps startles Hyacinth, who immediately hides her hands behind her back, turning to greet the intruder.
“Darling, Humboldt informs me we received a letter from Daphne? I must know if the baby has arrived yet,” Mama asked, eager.
“Oh, no it has not–” escapes her mouth before it dawns on her what she was confessing to. “I,” she clears her throat, “I mean to say–”
“I believe it’s quite clear what you meant, dearest,” Violet says, scowling “Now would you please pass me your sister’s letter?”
Hyacinth paints a contrite expression on her face as she extends the hand with the letter to Violet whilst hiding the mistletoe under the sash of her dress.
“I am sorry, Mama,” she looks up from beneath her eyelashes, “I simply miss Daphne so much I could not stop myself from opening it. Please, forgive me?”
Violet huffs before biting her lips— to contain her annoyance or amusement, Hyacinth can’t be sure. “Very well, I see no point extending this matter further when no harm’s been done. I will take it to the dining room to share it with everyone, seeing as it’s addressed to the entire family,” she says, pointedly arching a brow.
“Of course,” Hyacinth nods effusively, but Violet is already turning away, engrossed in the letter.
Letting out a deep breath of relief she pulls the twig of mistletoe out of her sash. “Now, where shall I place you?”
***
It takes a little effort but Hyacinth is finally happy with the result of her endeavour.
By effort, she naturally means convincing the servants to set it up in the perfect spot. And could there be a spot more perfect than precisely above the centre window at the library, in that nook she’d seen her targets reading together time and again? Of course not.
This plan is flawless.
It’s mid-morning, and Penelope always excuses herself to read for a while after breaking her fast since Eloise is known for her late rising and Colin has been following her everywhere, the absence of their dear sister only makes it all the more reasonable that he should follow her to the library as well. Giddy, Hyacinth strategically positions herself between two high bookshelves with a clear view of said nook. She’s hidden in the shadows but the sunlight from the large windows illuminates the foliage beautifully, making it impossible to miss.
She cannot wait!
…but wait, she does.
She skims some poetry books but finds Byron or Keats too tiresome. Eventually, she settles for the well-loved “Gulliver’s Travels”, sliding unceremoniously to the floor. She’s almost dozing, her head leaning lightly against the side of the shelf when her brother’s voice startles her awake.
“See, here,” the deep voice filters through the library, “mistletoe.” Hyacinth can’t quite put a finger on it, but his tone sounds strange to her ears.
A female giggle cuts through the silence. “Pray, what shall we do about it?”
Hyacinth doesn’t like her tone either. Perhaps she should leave her hiding place…
Startled laughter breaks through the silence, followed by male grunting and heavy breathing, and then… a crashing sound?
With her pulse fastening in shock and fear, she carefully crawls to the edge of the shelf and, still hidden in the shadows, peeks in the direction of the noise.
The couple is doing something with their mouths underneath the mistletoe, but it is undoubtedly more than kissing. The young girl lacks words to describe this… activity… She wishes she could tear her eyes away from the tangle of bodies but something about it captivates her, even as it gives her a peculiar feeling in her stomach. The fragments of the vase that got pushed out of the way decorate the floor with a pretty shade of blue but her brother seems unbothered by them, his face buried into his partner’s neck as arms and legs cling to him, holding him close.
“Anthony,” Kate breathes, “we must stop.” She pulls her hand out of his hair to push him away by a fraction.
He mumbles something unintelligible in her ear before she pushes him away in earnest and attempts to rearrange the wayward locks back into her braid – unsuccessfully, in Hyacinth’s opinion.
“Because,” she asserts, “it is daytime,” she gives him what could only be described as a consolation kiss, “our family will be looking for us,” another peck, “and there are children around.” Kate finally lets go of him, turning to face the door.
For a fraction of a second, Hyacinth’s blood runs cold. Had Kate seen her? She can feel her cheeks warm at the thought of having to face them after what she just witnessed. This isn’t something she can explain away with a charming smile. It is humiliating.
“Ugh, fine,” Anthony complies, adjusting his clothes. “I will refrain from touching you for now,” he immediately contradicts his words as he pulls her by the waist for one more kiss, “but you are mine later.”
Looking softly up at him, Kate murmurs, “I am always yours.”
Before this mishap, Hyacinth might have found the look they shared sweet and romantic, but now? Quite honestly, she doesn’t know what she feels. All she knows is that her convoluted emotions have taken home somewhere between her ribs and behind her navel, and for the life of her, she cannot tell if she likes it or not.
She’s so lost in her reveries that she misses their departure. She’d been so certain her plan was failproof but not only did she catch the wrong couple, she was left feeling much younger than before. And Hyacinth will do anything to avoid feeling younger than her witless siblings.
two
It’s December 15th, and Hyacinth hasn’t put another plan in motion in the three days since the incident. Eloise told her to stop wallowing the day before last but that isn’t what she’s doing at all. She’s simply taking her time. She can’t risk another failure; honestly, she wants to avoid getting caught in another deplorable situation. Her cheeks still burn whenever that memory invades her.
“Look out!” Gregory suddenly appears, pointing the bow Colin brought him from Marseille directly at her face.
“Gregory!” she shouts back, moving out of his way, “what are you doing?!”
“No time to explain,” the little blighter says, before rushing past her and toward the gardens.
She can see her brother shooting at a flight of pigeons from where she's standing by the window. He knows he cannot shoot at living animals, especially without their brothers’ supervision. Mama would be exasperated if he inadvertently drove wild animals into the house; he barely survived the accident with the horse… excrement, last year. She seriously considers bringing Mama the information; someone needs to protect the integrity of their belongings, after all. But then…
Well, she has a better idea.
A rather brilliant idea, in fact.
“Boo!” She comes up behind him, scaring both him and the few birds remaining. Her brother’s alarm is vindicating and she need not point a weapon at him to achieve it.
“Goodness, Hyacinth!” he gasped.
“Oh, do forgive me, little brother, I did not mean to scare you,” she says, unable to resist mocking him.
“Indeed you did,” he grumbles, picking up the scattered arrows, “and I am older than you.”
“Yet I am taller,” she responds, as always, “but I did not come here to argue with you.”
“You mean to tell me you had another purpose besides aggravating me?” He finally gathers all the arrows and sets them down next to the bow before returning to the house.
“Of course not, do you truly believe me so petty?” Hyacinth is internally grateful to follow him somewhere warm; she would hate for shivers to disrupt her moment of splendour. “I have far more urgent matters to preoccupy myself with,” she adds haughtily.
Gregory rolls his eyes. “And why won’t you go see to those matters, then, hmm?”
“Because, dear brother,” her cheeks hurt from smiling wide, “you will be helping me with them.”
The bow makes a dull sound as it hits the balcony floor.
“What?” Gregory enquires, baffled, “Why would I help you after you ruined my hunt?”
Hyacinth can’t keep her boisterous laughter. “Your hunt, is that what you pretend you were doing?”
“You are not helping your case,” he huffs, bending to pick up his weapon once more.
“Oh, but I am not worried.” She takes pity on him and bends to gather the missing arrow. “I am sure you will be helping me. Unless you wish me to tell Mum about this… hunt of yours.”
He furrows his brow. She offers him the arrow, delighted.
“Hyacinth, you would not!” he exclaims, forcefully pulling the arrow from her hand.
“Would I not inform our mother you have been risking our well-being by conducting a ‘hunt’ this close to the house?” she dares, curling her hand into a fist to conceal a scratch. She would not give him the satisfaction.
He throws his arms up in frustration before turning to the house, but Hyacinth knows he’s expecting her to follow.
“And how exactly would I be of help?” She can hear his faint mutter as she rushes to follow him inside.
She wins this round.
***
This is a disaster.
She cannot remember what possessed her to think Gregory Bridgerton, the family pet, would be a good ally.
Firstly, it was oddly difficult to convince him of her plan. She’d truthfully thought the only Bridgertons oblivious to Penelope’s and Colin’s connection were Colin and Eloise. If she were not cursed – and if she had not caught Colin offering Pen a slice of his favourite cake just this morning – she might have doubted herself. As it were, she was forced to detail each and every piece of evidence she’d observed during their stay at Aubrey Hall.
It was undeniable.
And yet, even after presenting her case, he still seemed unwilling to help. As perceptive as Hyacinth knew herself to be, she could not grasp where his hesitation stemmed from. After much debate, he agreed they needed more mistletoe around the house to achieve their objectives. She must concede, though, that he was instrumental when it came to charming the servants into doing their bidding. There is now Mistletoe everywhere: above every entrance, by the window in the parlour, near the staircase on the first floor, even atop the pianoforte.
It is a new day, and there are several traps– several opportunities to bring the clueless pair together. They cannot escape it this time. Even if it puts her at risk of running into Kate and Anthony again, she must persevere. For Colin and Pen.
Gregory makes a strange face when she attempts to share her encouraging thoughts. She’s long given up trying to discern how he’s feeling but she’s certain it is not… encouraged. However, there is no time to ponder that as they reach the last step of their plan: luring their prey underneath one of the carefully placed branches.
“We must decide which one to focus on,” she tells her brother, looking around for inspiration, “as it will not do to have them under different sprigs.”
She believes she saw them sitting together in the parlour after breakfast, perhaps–
Wait. It is too quiet.
“Gregory?” she calls, turning toward the empty stool he occupied mere seconds ago.
Now where–
No.
That buffoon.
Hyacinth cannot believe what she is seeing.
Because right there, standing precisely underneath the sprig of mistletoe that hangs prettily from the lintel above the drawing room’s door, is her fatheaded brother. And he is luring his prey, indeed.
“Miss Penelope, come, I wish to show you something,” he summons with a cheeky grin, and Hyacinth watches in horror as the young woman appears from behind her and heads straight toward his trap.
“What is it?” she asks warmly, her features quickly turning puzzled when the boy stops her from fully entering the drawing room by stepping in front of her. “Oh, darling, are you well?” she worries, raising a hand to his forehead.
The furious blush and awkward posture that betray his sudden discomfort almost calm the burning rage in Hyacinth’s chest.
Almost.
Because after merrily sabotaging her plan from within, the fool deserves to be coddled by the object of his affection. As if he were a baby.
“Um, I am well.” His voice sounds overly shrill – like a veritable child – so he clears his throat before continuing, “I simply wished to, to…” He falters.
It appears he hadn’t thought his plan through.
“Oh, that is true, you were saying you wished to show me something,” Penelope comes to his rescue.
He swallows.
Hyacinth thinks she can see his brow shining with sweat. She is delighted, this is very nearly punishment enough for his crime.
But not quite.
She takes a step forward. “Oh Pen, is it not obvious?”
She thinks he hurt his neck with the speed his head turned toward her, the desperation clear in his widening eyes. He subtly shakes his head, but Hyacinth ruthlessly continues, “My little brother here is so infatuated with you, that he wished to lure you under that mistletoe.”
She finishes with a flourish, pointing to the culprit hanging above, but the attention is no longer on her. Gregory moves his forearm in a pathetic manoeuvre she believes is either meant to dry his temple or hide from the humiliation.
Maybe both.
And Penelope?
Well.
“Aw,” she coos at him, “I am afraid you are much too young to be entertaining such thoughts.” She pulls at his arm – exposing his red, sweaty face in all his glory – before combing her fingers through his unkempt hair.
“Nevertheless,” she continues in that same tender voice that has Gregory’s cheeks reddening by the second, “if when you come back from Eton you are still interested in this old spinster, then you may court me.” She concludes with a sceptical laugh and the brush of her lips to the crown of his head, before taking her leave.
As soon as Pen is out of sight, his expression darkens. “I. will. end. you.”
She is grateful her legs are still longer than his for it gives her the necessary advantage to escape his ire.
Moments later, breathing heavily against the door in her bed chamber, Hyacinth takes a moment to reflect. This plan failed, of course, but all is not lost. There is still mistletoe in every other corner of Aubrey Hall, and she was not the one mortified this time around. Perhaps she was right to ask for help, but simply wrong about whom to?
With this experience, instead of being discouraged, she’s inspired. A partnership with Gregory was an interesting experiment. Now it’s time to refine her methods.
three
Two days have passed and Hyacinth is still uncertain about her next step.
Having so many siblings gives her many options, indeed, which can be a blessing and a curse. She’s discarded Gregory and Daphne for obvious reasons – although one might argue the latter’s already done her part. She is therefore left with four options: Anthony, Benedict, Eloise and Francesca.
She immediately discards Anthony for his strict attitude and for fear he might… become distracted again.
Eloise demands more time to ponder. On the one hand, she is Penelope’s best friend. Their closeness would surely afford them privileged information, not to mention direct access to Pen’s movements and motives. On the other hand, this is Eloise. Hyacinth is not so foolish as to invite another Bridgerton who would rather duel Colin for Penelope’s attention so soon after the incident she’s come to think of as The Swap.
She shudders at the thought.
That leaves Ben and Fran. Suddenly, the decision becomes all too obvious.
***
“Brother, may I speak with you?” she asks upon finding him sitting by the nursery’s window.
He stirs, closing a simple, black boo– is that a journal?
“Uh, no,” he swallows.
“No, I may not speak with you?” she jests.
Benedict springs up from the window seat and pulls the suspicious book behind his back, his long, clumsy limbs betraying his distress.
“What is it you want, Hyacinth?” he huffs, and she can spot a touch of red colouring his cheeks.
It would be easy to use his discomfort to manipulate him like she did Gregory, she supposes, but…
“Do not worry, brother, I am not here to meddle in your affairs,” she begins, pointing mindlessly toward the book but ultimately choosing to confide in him. “In point of fact, I wish to ask you for your help to meddle with someone else’s affairs.”
Benedict’s delighted grin assures her of her choice, as does his immediately relaxing posture.
“And if I were to agree, exactly whose affairs were we to meddle with?” he asks, unable to hide the curious gleam in his eyes.
Hyacinth should have known Benedict would never deny an opportunity for mischief. Yet, something’s still holding her back from being candid. She has been burned twice before and she won’t allow for a third.
“How am I to know I can trust you, brother?” She can’t stop her eyes from finding the little black book he still holds in his hand, no longer hidden.
Benedict narrows his eyes, “Were you simply luring me into a false sense of security, dearest sister?”
“No, it is only–” It is she who huffs, now. She takes a deep breath to gather her courage, but he surprises her.
“You are truly concerned about this, are you not?” he asks in a curious murmur, his eyes scrutinising her for a long moment before nodding to himself. “This is merely the place I keep my sketches. I was embarrassed to admit I have yet to give them up entirely. See?” He skims through the pages, and she glimpses at plenty of drawing-filled pages. “Now will you trust me?”
Hyacinth is floored. She never expected such heart from her giddiest brother.
“Well?” he insists, “will you?” He’s artfully disguising his nerves behind eager eyebrows, but it’s no longer enough to fool her.
“I thank you for trusting me,” she tells him earnestly, “your drawings are beautifully crafted.”
He swallows, discomposed, and she decides it’s time to relieve him of this torture. They are both happier away from sentimentalities. “It is Colin.”
His eyes widen. “Colin?” he echoes.
“Yes, Colin. And Penelope, of course,” she adds, relieved to steer them back to the matter at hand.
After this conversation, she knows she can trust Benedict, and so she tells him everything.
***
Hyacinth cannot decide how she feels about Benedict’s plan.
Possibly because he has neglected to share said plan with her.
Granted, he was much easier to convince than Gregory. His giddy smile grew with every anecdote she recounted, his expression growing more mischievous by the minute. By the time she had finished, he was so invested she could merely nod in agreement as he assured her he knew exactly how to bring the couple together. Nevertheless, ever since she allowed him to take the lead, she’s been rather restless.
Trust me, he’d said, just before leaving to find their brother, muttering about some miraculous powder.
Why did he not confide in her?
How could a strange powder help them in any way?
And why, oh why did he hush her when she tried to ask him those precise questions at supper last night?
This is not a topic befitting a young lady like yourself.
She’d seethed all through her meal, but lying in bed she reminded herself he’d confided in her and shown her his sketches in a moment of genuine exposure.
And so here she is, sitting primly on an armchair in the parlour, watching as Penelope and Eloise discuss the merits of some book or other, and very much focused on not fidgeting lest she call attention to herself. There is sweat gathering on the nape of her neck, and thus she is in the midst of covertly wiping it with her glove when her brothers join them, at last.
“Hello there, ladies,” Benedict greets them with a wild grin. “Shall we have the honour of joining you on this delightful morning?”
Eloise looks up sharply, frowning, “What is with you?”
“Can a man not enjoy the company of his darling sisters?” Benedict replies, unmoved.
Hyacinth gives up any attempt to conceal her nerves, gripping her skirts tightly and biting her tongue to stop herself from interfering.
What a mess.
“Penelope is not my sister,” Colin groans, offended.
On any other day, Hyacinth might have been amused by how abhorrent her brother found the idea of being related to Penelope. Today, though, she’s too troubled by these – frankly rather bizarre – set of circumstances. First Benedict chooses to keep her in the dark, then runs off speaking nonsense, only to return the next day with a dopey Colin following behind him. She can’t put a finger on it but her third brother simply looks… odd. His eyes appear unfocused, his gait affected as he predictably makes a beeline toward the redhead.
A redhead who looks decidedly uncomfortable for being singled out.
“I never said I was your sister,” she retorted, needlessly insulted.
“No, of course not,” Colin frowned, finally managing to focus his eyes somewhere in the vicinity of her face.
Or so Hyacinth thought.
Colin surprises everyone by raising a hand directly to a red lock, wrapping it around his fingers and following its bounce, mesmerised. “So pretty,” he mumbles, before beginning anew with another lock.
Hyacinth has become used to their inappropriate touches over the last few days; she’s even come to expect them. Yet, this? This is extravagant even for them.
The intimacy of this action brings to mind the library scene with a different couple and she feels unsettled–
Is that laughter?
Of course, it is. She should not be surprised that throughout this baffling sequence of events, all her supposed ally seems to be able to do is laugh.
“Colin!” barks a confounded Eloise, “release Penelope’s hair at once.”
Colin does not do anything except stare at their sister. Hyacinth doesn’t think he fully understands her words at the moment.
Before she can think of some way to resolve this mess, Benedict laughs even louder, bending over and wiping stray tears from his eyes. “Col, was there not something you wished to tell Ms. Penelope?”
When she looks at the girl she realises all of Pen’s previous indignation has transformed into something else. She stands there with burning cheeks, eyes darting everywhere but at Colin, while he continues to stand too close for everyone’s comfort.
He’s looking at Ben, now, as if trying to make sense of his question, eyes widening and brows furrowing, before nodding. “Your hair is very pretty,” he says, proudly.
“Oh,” Penelope mutters, taking her hands to her face, hiding her blush.
Colin persists, “It is the prettiest colour I have ever seen, not even the Greek sunrise can rival it.”
“No?” Penelope squeaks.
Colin is too absorbed by Penelope’s auburn strands – burying both hands into it and whispering something about its softness – to notice Eloise’s horrified expression before it is too late. She takes hold of his waistcoat and pulls.
Too much happens at once:
Eloise cries, “Stop assailing my best friend, you brute!”
Colin stumbles backwards, inadvertently pulling on Penelope’s pretty hair.
Penelope yelps, instinctively holding onto Colin’s wrists to stop his movement.
And Benedict realises too late what a mess he’s provoked, his eyes widening into two perfectly round circles, his face sobering at last.
Hyacinth breathes a sigh of relief despite it all. At least she’s no longer alone in dealing with the aftermath of this catastrophe.
“Pen?” Colin’s voice invades her contemplative state. He sounds surprised to see her and it dawns on Hyacinth that there is still room for this to escalate. “You are so beautiful” he says, as if in awe to discover that the owner of his beloved locks is Penelope in the end. One would think this to be his first sight of the girl by the way his eyes wander across her face.
Penelope, blinking rapidly, visibly swallows but is otherwise immobile.
Hyacinth does not blame her; she too feels paralysed by the weight of this moment.
“Penelope?” Eloise whispers, her horrified cries transformed into quiet dread.
Benedict clears his throat, sidestepping Eloise to stand closer to the couple. He pats Colin’s back, “Brother, perhaps it is time to let go of dear Penelope before someone happens upon you and misconceives your intentions, hm?”
His words do not have the intended effect on Colin but Penelope awakens from her trance, releasing his wrists as if they burned her through her gloves.
“Colin,” she calls him softly, “your brother is correct.” She keeps her voice carefully light, noticeably aware of his altered state and his attunement to her. “You do not wish for somebody to accuse you of compromising me.”
Of course it is her voice that finally rouses him from his trance. “No,” he removes his hands, letting his arms drop heavily, “please, forgive me Pen, I would never–”
“I know you would not,” she interrupts him with a grimace, her voice tight.
“No!” he insists. “You do not understand, I merely meant I would never want to impose, or…” he stutters, “or make you uncomfortable in any way.”
“Oh,” she sighs, relieved. “You did not,” she tells him earnestly, “you could never make me uncomfortable, Colin.”
Hyacinth can’t hear what he responds to because Benedict’s whispering in her ear, “See? Are you not glad to have trusted me, sister?”
She could easily kill him but she settles for elbowing his ribs instead.
His pained whimper is obscured by Eloise, who has finally reached her limit. “Penelope! Are you truly to indulge my brother’s misconduct for the rest of the day or might we retire to my bedchamber to discuss Emma in peace?”
The short girl takes a step back and proper distance is restored between the pair for the first time in this deranged morning.
“I’ll join you, El,” she answers, even as her eyes are still locked with Colin’s.
Fortunately, Eloise looks to be assuaged, nonetheless.
“I shall see you soon, Pen?” It is an affirmation from Colin but it sounds like a question.
“Yes,” Penelope says, her smile as tender as the moment they’re sharing, “you shall.”
He merely smiles adoringly at her, keeping watch until she finally turns to follow their sister out of the room. Hyacinth is not sure he is back to normal quite yet.
Perhaps he never will be.
“Brother,” she asks Benedict when Colin leaves a little while later, “is he forever to be affected by this magical powder you gave him?”
***
After leaving a hysterical Benedict to an inquisitive Violet, Hyacinth feels somewhat vindicated. It serves him right for refusing to clarify. She will not allow him to dismiss her the way he does his youngest sister.
In spite of, well, the utter chaos, she must admit Benedict was her best ally so far. Granted, she could only compare him to the boy who betrayed her and the sister who isn’t even here, but still. At the very least he is as committed as she is.
And if she were to look on the bright side – as she likes to do – she is now more sure than ever that Colin and Pen belong together. Even better, she is willing to give away her entire collection of dolls if the scene she was just privy to doesn’t allude to them also being aware of their bond.
Daphne showed her the path forward, Gregory inadvertently helped set the scenery, and Benedict’s magical powder pushed them closer to where she wants them to be.
Closer, but not quite there yet.
What is missing?
Oh.
Eureka.
How fitting that the only sibling left to ask is precisely the only one with the skill to help her with this endeavour.
four
The atmosphere.
That’s what’s been missing. Hyacinth had naively thought just the mistletoes alone would be enough to prompt them to see what was right in front of them. She realises now that there are other, more effective ways of ascertaining they can feel the romance.
And what could better establish the atmosphere than music?
Francesca is the perfect candidate to help with that plan, of course. Or she would be if she weren’t so averse to meddling.
“Please, sister,” Hyacinth begs, “please, you must have noticed they belong together!”
The older girl merely sighs in response as her sister takes her hands in a silent plea.
The youngest Bridgerton is proud of her tenacity, if it will help her achieve her goals. She locks eyes with Francesca and raises her eyebrows in question.
“I do not like the idea of interfering with our brother’s life in this way,” she says but her resigned tone only encourages Hyacinth further.
“Oh, you shan’t think of it as interference, dear sister, we would simply be…” she gestures with her hands excitedly, “um, guiding him gently.” She finishes with a nod.
Francesca covers her face, mumbling something unintelligible behind her hands.
“What was that?” Hyacinth asks, pulling the offending hands away from her sister’s face.
“I said Colin might benefit from some guidance,” she admits, unwillingly.
“Most men do,” Hyacinth adds, nearly talking over Francesca, “or at least that’s my understanding from observing our brothers.”
Her sister shakes her head in disapproval before adding, “However, my participation comes with a requisite.”
“Of course!”
“I must be made aware of every aspect of the plan, and I must agree to all of it,” she says, firmly.
“We have an agreement,” Hyacinth’s cheeks hurt from smiling. She has a feeling this is the time they will succeed. She cannot wait to put it into practice.
***
“Pen, will you join me for a duet?”
It is the evening of the twenty-first and they are all assembled in the music room. In three days it’ll be Christmas Eve, when they will have a proper gathering: a turkey-filled supper and carols by the piano. Tonight, though, is just for practice, making it a fitting time for them to act. Hyacinth is ashamed to admit it had taken them over three days of plotting to agree on a plan. Her own striking Francesca as too bold, Francesca’s being entirely too subtle. The scene unfolding before her eyes is the perfect compromise.
“Oh,” Penelope gasps, surprised, “I couldn’t, I am no musician.” She’s blushing, unused to being the centre of attention.
“Nonsense,” Francesca insists, “Eloise tells me you are quite the accomplished pianist.”
“I said that?” The fifth Bridgerton intervenes, distracted from her book by the mention of her name.
Hyacinth is very glad she never asked Eloise for help.
“Well, not in those words,” Francesca replied, amused. “I believe your exact words were ‘Would you believe Penelope was more interested in her sheet music than listening to my brilliant idea? Does she not realise this was our chance to escape the confines of this suffocating society?!’”
Eloise breathes out, averting her eyes.
“That was merely due to my music lessons,” Penelope intervenes in a small voice, her pitch higher than Hyacinth is accustomed to, making the redhead sound much younger than she is.
“You are being too modest, you forget I have heard you play before,” Francesca insists, gently. “Besides, with Daphne’s absence, I have no one to play with.”
Oh, Francesca is clever for appealing to Penelope’s desire to please their family. Hyacinth is impressed. She must admit she often undervalues her sister for being so reserved. She ought to remember the hidden wit behind that passive visage, lest it be used against her.
“Still, I could not,” Penelope shakes her head, looking around the room with wide eyes. “I mean to say, I–”
“You will join her, yes?” Hyacinth intervenes, impatient, just for her closest sister to admonish her with a look.
“Pen, pay her no heed,” Francesca interceeds. ‘I know how terrifying it can be to draw attention to oneself, believe me. That is precisely why it would give me so much pleasure to share this moment with you. Please do not leave me alone here.”
Oh, Francesca is very, very clever indeed.
“Very well,” Penelope sighs, and Hyacinth catches a stray look to her left, where the men are gathered playing Hazard. “I suppose I can play a short one.”
Another glance. Colin’s laughing at Benedict, who looks shocked by the dice before him. They seem palpably distracted.
Penelope draws in a breath before moving to join Francesca at the piano. It appears that seeing Colin preoccupied has at least abated some of her nerves.
“What I like most about playing is that it allows me to communicate feelings that I cannot put into words,” Francesca tells Pen, gathering a collection of sheet music in her hands. “Granted, I might rely on music too much for I am not the best with words, but it is my understanding there are some things that would never translate quite as well, do you not agree?”
Penelope’s blush deepens again but she nods.
“Would you like to pick a song that speaks to you? Perhaps something you can communicate through?”
Hyacinth might have thought Francesca’s comment to be a bit on the nose if they hadn’t proven themselves quite oblivious in the past days.
Penelope takes her time looking through the pages until her lips turn upward in a soft smile, “I rather like this one.”
“Oh, Schubert’s Fantasie in F minor! It is beautiful,” Francesca approves. “It is not, however, short.”
Penelope frowns. “Indeed it’s not.”
Hyacinth is ever so frustrated with Francesca’s ever-present need to be so literal.
“Won’t you play the first movement, at the very least?” Hyacinth beseeches, lest they miss their chance.
“Well, I suppose we can try?” Penelope asks Francesca.
“Of course.”
And so they begin. It takes a few adjustments. Penelope is too short to reach the pedals at Francesca’s usual position as their fingers tangle together awkwardly for a few minutes before they find their rhythm.
The unsophisticated sounds draw the attention of the other Bridgertons, including Colin. It is such a relief because as certain as Hyacinth was he’d be drawn to Penelope’s playing, she’d feared he might not realise it was her at the piano in time, with how absorbed he was in the game.
“Oh, what are you ladies up to?” Benedict approaches, intrigued.
“Is that not obvious?” Eloise responds. “And they say men are the intelligent ones,” she finishes with a roll of her eyes but it is muffled by Anthony’s bellowing that they haven’t yet finished the game.
“Pen!” Colin’s focus predictably narrows, “I didn’t know you enjoyed the pianoforte.”
“Oh, Colin, I-I d-don’t–” she stutters, pauses and begins again, averting his eyes. “I mean I enjoy it well enough but I am no pianist!”
“We have been through this before,” Francesca interrupts, “shall we try again?”
Penelope looks like a cornered animal.
Colin moves slowly toward her, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. “You do not need to play if you do not want to,” he murmurs, thumb caressing her boldly above her sleeve, “but I would love nothing more than to see you play.”
She blinks up at him, dazzled.
“I do not wish to disappoint you,” she says after a moment, before quickly adding, “a-any of you.”
Hyacinth looks around. Almost everyone has a knowing smile on their faces with the notable exception of Eloise and Anthony, who look annoyed. She takes note of Mama for the first time and is surprised by the twinkle in her eyes, even as she appears dutifully focused on her embroidery.
“You could never disappoint us,” Colin tells her adoringly.
“Listen to him, Pen,” Eloise adds, impatiently. “Who should care how well a young lady plays an instrument in any case? Your value should be in your ideas!”
Hyacinth wants to scream at Eloise but Penelope surprises them all by laughing. That must be why they are such good friends, her uncanny ability to overlook her tactless comments, or even find them amusing.
“Fine,” she nods to Francesca, “let us begin.”
And they do. Hyacinth doesn’t recognise this song from memory but it is truly beautiful. It starts very quietly before growing in volume and intensity, a sense of both joy and longing haunts the melody. It is fast-paced so neither pianist has much time to look up from the keys, fully engrossed in their task. Colin, for his part, can't look away from Penelope Although, in all fairness, the music does entice a captive audience in every Bridgerton present. It is only because Hyacinth is so committed that she even notices his gaze never strays to their sister.
It isn't perfect, of course. There are a few pauses that last longer than they should, a couple of dissonant notes that disrupt the harmony that could have gone unnoticed to a layman if the players themselves didn't smile apologetically or stutter to find the next notes. But it is beautiful.
Colin has tears in his eyes by the end, when Penelope finally looks up and immediately searches for him. If she meant, as Francesca implied, to communicate without words, then the message was obviously meant for Colin. She holds his gaze, for once unafraid to sustain the vulnerable moment, giving him a small but confident smile. A smile he offers back to her, before the tempestuous sound of clapping breaks their moment.
Still, even amidst the noise, she hears Colin say, with a voice rough from the tears he swallowed, “That was amazing.”
“Thank you.” Penelope preens at Colin, making herself taller— or as tall as a five-feet tall young woman can appear whilst sitting on a bench. “Thank you all for pushing me to play, it was truly joyful,” she demures.
“I think I speak for everyone here when I say we thank you both for gifting us with that performance,” Benedict responds with a lighthearted nudge to Fran.
“Even Eloise?” Francesca quips.
“Hey!” calls Eloise, “I'll have you know I found this to be a delightful performance. I can appreciate art.”
“We all know you can, El,” Penelope placates her.
“Well, so can I,” Hyacinth speaks up, tired of silently observing. “In fact, I found this performance incredibly romantic! Were you thinking of any gentleman, in particular?”
“Hyacinth!” Mama admonishes her.
However, Hyacinth has trouble feeling too contrite when she catches the long look passing between Penelope and Colin. It seems those two have finally opened their eyes and ears to the myriad of ways they communicate beyond words, and they are enthralled by the revelations they bring.
“Forgive me, Mama,” she apologises half-heartedly. “I meant well.”
And if Violet correctly infers her daughter is referring to more than this passing comment, well…
Hyacinth does not mind.
It was well worth it.
Epilogue
Mistletoe.
The one that started it all, hanging innocently above the library window.
Hyacinth cannot believe she is here, again, watching a passionate couple kiss in ways that she hadn’t even known were possible.
It is Christmas Eve, and she’d been happy to distract herself with the festivities, confident she’d successfully driven her targets to a place of mutual understanding, despite the lack of wedding bells. For the time being, enough bells were jingling with holiday cheer.
She’d been distracted by the smell of delicious cookies when she passed the library, its door ajar. The sound of heavy breathing had startled her and she’d searched for the source without thinking.
And now here she is, frozen in place, watching Colin’s ridiculously large frame envelop Penelope’s small one in a passionate embrace. Before Hyacinth gathers herself enough to look away, they pull apart.
“My Pen,” Colin breathes, and it makes Hyacinth wish she didn't recognise that low pitch from the previous encounter.
“Colin,” Penelope’s hand raises to touch his hair tenderly.
Her brother moves in for another kiss, but Penelope stops him with a hand to his chest.
“Wait,” she says, breathlessly.
“Forgive me Pen,” he says, his hands up in surrender. “I did not mean to overstep if you were merely lost in the moment. No one needs to know,” he says, clearly distraught, bringing his hands to his hair in frustration.
“What?” Pen gasps in disbelief. “No, Colin, you did not overstep.” She shakes her head for emphasis. “I only needed you to be sure. Are you?”
With her permission, Colin's hands immediately reach for her waist.
“Penelope, of course I am sure,” he says, gazing into her eyes. “I love you,” he articulates every word.
This time it’s Penelope who reaches for him, mumbling her response against his lips. “I have always loved you.”
The sound of their lips meeting awakens Hyacinth’s limbs at last. As soon as she turns around she runs into a beaming Violet.
“Mama!” she yelps.
“Hello, dearest,” she says, looking smug. “Have you found what you were looking for?”
Suddenly Hyacinth feels a cold shiver run down her spine, as though it is she who got caught being naughty, and not the couple. Has Mama been aware of her plans all along? She feels sweaty despite the cold.
“Mama, forgive me, I-”
“The cookies, dear,” her mother interrupts, joyfully. “Was that not what you were looking for? I assume Colin brought a plate with him to the library. They smell delicious, indeed.”
Oh.
The cookies.
Of course.
She feels a sweet sense of relief take over her entire body.
“Right,” she says, smiling “No, the cookies are not here. Should we look for them elsewhere?” She takes Mama's arm, guiding her away from the scene.
“Of course, darling,” Violet agrees, “let us give them some privacy while no one is in the know, hm?”
“What?” Hyacinth’s voice sounds awfully shrill.
Mama simply looks at her knowingly. “It was a wonderful idea to use mistletoe to inspire them. All that was missing was some genuine Christmas spirit.” She pats her daughter's shoulder kindly.
As the surprise fades, Hyacinth is filled with a deep love for her mother. Lady Whistledown is right, the Bridgertons really are blessed. “Merry Christmas, Mama.”
“Merry Christmas.”