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Kate found Hyacinth lingering in the corridor outside the nursery, her hands clasped tightly behind her back.
“Keeping watch?” Kate asked gently.
“I—no,” Hyacinth startled, as though she had been caught in the middle of something illicit. “I forgot my shawl. I was just preparing to take a turn in the garden.”
“Ah,” Kate replied, stepping forward to peer through the narrow crack in the door.
Inside, Anthony rocked Edmund gently in the chair, his head bowed, and his movements slow and careful as the soft groan of the rocker filled the quiet room. Warmth bloomed in Kate’s chest at the steady and familiar sight.
She turned back—and the warmth stalled.
Hyacinth had not moved. She stood precisely where Kate had found her, gaze fixed too carefully ahead, posture composed to the point of strain. No step toward the stairs. No glance toward the hall. Only waiting.
Kate studied her for a moment longer than politeness required.
“You look as though you may be in need of assistance,” she said mildly.
“I—Forgive me.”
The apology lingered longer than it should have.
In all the years Kate had known Hyacinth, she could not recall ever hearing the girl apologize—certainly not for something as trivial as lingering. The unfamiliar restraint settled uneasily in her chest.
“Would you like some company for your stroll?” Kate asked, her tone warm. “We have been back several days now, and I have not yet had the chance to catch up with my favorite Bridgerton.”
Hyacinth’s gaze flicked toward the nursery door—a glance so quick Kate might have missed it had she blinked—before she answered. “Yes.”
Still, the girl did not move.
“Your shawl?” Kate prompted gently.
“Oh.” Hyacinth blinked, as though only just remembering it. “Perhaps I will not need it after all. It is rather warm, is it not?”
Kate’s mouth curved. “I believe we will survive without it.”
She looped her arm through Hyacinth’s, and together they made their way through the house and out into the garden, the hum of voices and footsteps fading until only birdsong and open air remained. Kate felt the subtle shift the moment they crossed the threshold—the way Hyacinth’s shoulders lowered, just slightly, as though she had been holding herself too carefully indoors.
“You’ve grown quite a bit since we’ve been gone,” Kate said after a moment. “The last time we walked together, you hardly reached my shoulder. Now you nearly look me in the eye.”
That earned a small smile. “Mother says we have spent more time at the modiste over the past year than anywhere else. At one point she threatened to stop having dresses made until I had finished growing—but she quickly recanted once I threatened to parade through Mayfair with my ankles showing.”
Kate laughed, squeezing Hyacinth’s arm. “A scandal indeed.”
They walked on in companionable silence, the gravel crunching softly beneath their feet. Kate did not rush to fill it. Hyacinth had always spoken when she was ready; Kate suspected this moment would be no different.
“He is very good with Edmund,” Hyacinth said at last, her voice careful.
“He is,” Kate agreed.
“He always has been,” Hyacinth added quickly. Then, after a pause, “With children, I mean.”
Kate let the words settle between them, the quiet stretching—not uncomfortable, merely attentive.
“There are so many people about now,” Hyacinth continued, her gaze fixed ahead. “Everyone wishes to see him. And the baby.” She hesitated. “It is…very busy.”
It was not an accusation—only a statement. And yet Kate heard the question beneath it all the same.
She stopped walking, the gravel shifting beneath her feet, and waited.
Hyacinth faltered, turning back at once. “I do not mind,” she said quickly. “Truly. I only meant—”
Kate reached for her hands, holding them gently and looking the youngest Bridgerton in the eye. For all that Hyacinth had grown in their time away, for all that society now hovered on the horizon, the eyes looking back at her were the same wide, earnest ones Kate had first encountered at Aubrey Hall.
“Hyacinth,” she began softly, “do you know what I heard from him every single day while we were away?”
Hyacinth shook her head, her fingers tightening around Kate’s.
“‘Hyacinth would love this,’” Kate continued with a smile. “‘Hyacinth would adore that. We must bring Hyacinth with us next time.’” She brushed her thumb along her knuckles. “He spoke of you constantly. He missed you.”
Hyacinth’s eyes widened. “He really talked about me the whole time?”
“Yes,” Kate said without hesitation. “You—and how the tea in India does nothing but give him indigestion.”
Hyacinth huffed a small laugh.
“Having a son does not mean Anthony has less love to give,” Kate said gently. “You are still his little sister—his favorite little sister. That is not a title that will be taken away by Edmund, or by any other children who may come.”
The corner of Hyacinth’s mouth curled. “I knew I was his favorite.”
“Yes, well,” Kate said dryly, patting her arm as they resumed walking, “please do not tell Eloise I said so. She would be insufferable.”
“I won’t,” Hyacinth assured her. Then, at Kate’s skeptical look, she amended, “Or I will at least not incriminate you in the process of lording it over her.”
Kate laughed, the sound soft with relief, as the girl she had come to love settled back into herself.
“He will still have time for me?” Hyacinth asked, her voice smaller now.
Kate smiled, sure and unwavering. “Hyacinth, your brother has never been one to love in halves.”
“No,” Hyacinth agreed. “Not since he met you, at least.”
Kate squeezed her arm gently. “You should speak to him. Tell him what you are feeling. He would want to know.”
Hyacinth nodded, drawing a steadying breath. “I will.”
“Good,” Kate said, giving her arm one last pat. “Now—I was hoping to host a tea in the coming weeks, and I thought you might help me. We could put those finishing lessons to use.”
Hyacinth brightened at once, launching into a spirited assessment of table linens and pastries, already revising Kate’s ideas as if they were a foregone conclusion.
Kate listened, smiling, struck by how easily the girl moved between childhood and something newly unfolding. Her chest tightened at the thought—but it did not ache.
She and Anthony would be there to witness it all.