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Most people at the age of 18 years old had no idea what they wanted to do with their lives but for Hyacinth Bridgerton had know what she as going to do from the age of 12.
She was going to go to Cambridge and do Politics and International Studies, she had spent years of her youth learning Italian and then after her second oldest brother married Sophie, who was part French, she had spent the last 6 years being taught French by Sophie.
Hyacinth had everything planned out, mapped out… the one that she had not accounted for, was Gareth St Clair.
Agatha Danbury’s grandson.
Agatha was an employee at Bridgerton Enterprises and worked closely with the family and was like a surrogate grandmother to her, and she had spent a lot of time in the older woman’s office reading books and reading to the woman over the years as when she had gone to visit her old brother and surrogate father at work.
Gareth St Clair was rather handsome, with his hair in a bun at the back of his head, much to the distain of his grandmother, and he was an absolute prick Hyacinth had decided within her first two weeks of term, he had gotten in her way 6 times. He had blocked her getting in and out of the lecture hall, he had made her late on more than one occasion and she often found herself daydreaming about stapling post it notes to his forehead.
Gareth had taken a year out, he had, had a rather large falling out with his father, and he had refused to fund his university costs. Richard St Clair was a vile man and a defendant lawyer and had attempted to protect some of the scum that had walked this earth and hadn’t cared for his son.
Though, technically Gareth wasn’t his son. He just pretended he was for the sake of appearances and he hated him. Gareth’s brother George, who had been 4 years old than him had died in an accident when Gareth was 16 and he had lost his last great protector, save his grandmother and Gareth had gone off he rails but now at 20, he had promised his grandmother to sort his act out and she had paid for him to go to Cambridge. He had no idea what to do and she had suggested Politics, just to wind his father up.
He had agreed and signed up but now he was sure there was another reason for it, she had spent a lot of time in the last 2 years trying to set him up with the daughter of a friend and he had refused. He didn’t want to be set up, he was rather happy “sowing his wild oats” as his father would have put it.
But he had found himself rather drawn to Hyacinth. He loved irritating her, he watched the furrow in her brow as she scowled at him when he leaned against the door and blocked her entry to the lecture hall.
She was wild and she had a reputation of taking no shit. She had reduced a third year to tears during a debate in the hall way between lectures, she was stubborn and she was passionate and he rather admired that but he found her to be condescending and brash and you did not want to stand in her way or you would get trampled.
When their lecturer had paired them and they had to prepare a presentation to debate “ Where there is no modern state, there tends to be civil war or occupation by other states” they had complained for different reasons. Hyacinth thought Gareth lazy and that he had scraped by barely for the most part of the year, Gareth had complained as Hyacinth was so over analytical, spent days in the library, sometimes sleeping in there, he had seen her a few times buried in her books muttering away to herself as she slept.
They just weren’t compatible to work together, they both knew this and had argued with the lecturer about it but he refused to be moved. “You’re my two best students, you are opposites and I think it will work well. It’s work 30% of your year end grade so you better buck up and get it sorted!” he had huffed and stalked off from them quarrelling duo.
Hyacinth had let out of very undignified and unladylike groan of frustration as she turned around and jammed her finger into Gareth’s firm chest “If you think I am doing all the work you have another thing coming!” she said her eyes narrowed looking furious.
“I’d never let you do all the work” he said defensively. “You heard him. I’m one of the best students”
“Fine” she said “Library at 7pm. Bring coffee and your own food. I am not sharing my pizza” she said and she turned on the heel of her trainer, her pony tail whipping him in the face as she stalked off leaving Gareth stood there blinking wondering what the fuck had just happened.
He did what he was told, turning up to the spot in the library he had received an email about, but he knew it was her little nest area in the library when she had stuff to work on, he had brought them both a coffee and had his own Chinese noodles tucked into a bag as he walked into the room 10 minutes early and she had reacted a little surprised but they got straight down to work.
No messing about, just got on with it and they found much to their joint surprise that they seemed to work well, where Hyacinth would come up with an idea, Gareth was able to think of the counter argument and they could draft a response. They had a normal, none class related conversation, chatting about food to start with, and ended up sharing her pizza and his noodles.
She had complained it wasn’t a proper Italian pizza and that she loved the little place just down from the college which did real Italian pizza. Gareth, being half Italian from his mother, knew of the place and promised her, that if they got a first in the paper, he would take her out for pizza.
She smirked at him “you have yourself a deal” and from then on she was relentless.
They had exchanged numbers that night and she was texting him every single day. Sending him new ideas, occasionally calling him a crentino when he took too long to respond. She was just consistent in her messages.
They would meet 4 times a week to work on the paper, Hyacinth helped him on his other papers on one of those nights and he would help her on his. She always seemed to be in motion, doing something, fiddling with her pen, biting her nails, over the next three months, Gareth learned a lot about Hyacinth, and she learned that maybe it wasn't so bad to be partnered with him after all and they were becoming friends. Hyacinth was ignoring the little lurches in her stomach, or the way she'd smile when he text her, or how she would remember his funny anecdotes when they worked.
One night Gareth was walking Hyacinth back to her college dorms when the worst possible thing could happen, they bumped into his father. Gareth had paused as Hyacinth had been asking “when do you wish to return to the libr…” her world trailed off as she sensed him stiffening next to her, his eyes focused sharply over her shoulder.
Hyacinth turned around to see what had grabbed his attention. Her breath caught. His father was walking down the path, coming straight toward them. She looked quickly around. They were on the less fashionable side of the park, and as such, it was empty given the lateness of the hour.
Hyacinth looked again from one St. Clair gentleman to the other. She knew they did not see eye to eye. She knew enough from Gareth, from Agatha and from her own families dealing with Richard St Clair as Araminta’s trial and then appeal. Both of which he had lost.
Half of her wanted to pull Gareth to the side and avoid a scene, and half was dying of curiosity. If they stayed put, and she was finally able to witness their interaction, she might finally learn the cause of their estrangement first hand. But she knew that it wasn’t up to her. It had to be Gareth’s decision. “Do you want to go?” she asked him, keeping her voice low.
His lips parted slowly as his chin rose a fraction of an inch. “No,” he said, his voice strangely contemplative. “It’s a public park, it's late he is hardly going to cause much of scene at this late an hour.” Hyacinth looked from Gareth to his father and back, her head bobbing, she was sure, like a broken nodding dog on a dashboard. “Are you certain?” she asked, but he didn’t hear her.
She didn’t think he would have heard a bomb going off right by his ear, so focused was he on the man ambling far too casually toward them. “Father,” Gareth said, giving him an oily smile, a smile that made Hyacinth’s skin crawl, she did not like it. “How pleasant to see you.”
A look of revulsion passed across Richard St. Clair’s face before he suppressed it, Hyacinth wasn’t sure if that was due to his son, or her, knowing that the Bridgerton’s had ruined his reputation and had his license revoked for trying to bribe a jury... “Gareth,” he said, his voice even, and in Hyacinth’s opinion, utterly bloodless. “How . . . odd . . . to see you here with Miss Bridgerton.” Hyacinth’s head jerked with surprise. He had said her name too deliberately. It was obvious who she was, she was the youngest of the Bridgerton children, she had followed Gregory to Cambridge but no one had ever referred to as Miss Bridgerton other than her teachers and she found she did not like it.
She hadn’t expected to be drawn into their war, but it seemed that somehow it had already happened. “Have you met my father?” Gareth drawled, directing the question to her even as his eyes did not leave the older man’s face.
“Not directly” she said, the look of utter contempt and disgust rather obvious on her striking features.
“Do you enjoy my son’s company?” Mr St. Clair asked her ignoring her barb, and Hyacinth noticed that once again, someone was asking her a question without actually looking at her.
“Of course,” she said, her eyes flitting back and forth between the two men, she couldn’t believe that someone could be that cold to their child... “He is a most entertaining and gentlemanly companion.” And then, because she couldn’t resist, she added, “You must be very proud of him.”
That got the man's attention, and he turned to her, his eyes dancing with something that wasn’t quite humour. “Proud? hmmm,” he murmured, his lips curving into a half smile that she thought was rather like Gareth’s. “That is a rather an interesting adjective do you not think?.”
“Rather straightforward, I think,” Hyacinth said coolly, a hint of a smirk on her face.
“Nothing is ever straightforward with my father,” Gareth said. The former lawyer’s eyes went hard. “What my son means to say is that I am able to see the nuance in a situation . . . when one exists.”
Richard turned to Hyacinth. “Sometimes, my dear Miss Bridgerton, the matters at hand are quite clearly black and white.”
Her lips parted as she glanced to Gareth and then back at his father. What the hell were they talking about? Gareth’s hand tightened into a fist, but when he spoke, his voice was light and casual. Too casual, it made the hairs on the back of Hyacinth’s neck raised. “For once my father and I are in complete agreement. Very often one can view the world with complete clarity.”
“Like Right now, right in this moment perhaps?” the older man murmured.
Well, no, Hyacinth wanted to blurt out. As far as she was concerned, this was the most abstract, weirdest and muddied conversation of her life, which considering the secrets her family had tried to keep and cover up was saying something. But she somehow held her tongue. Partly because it really wasn’t her place to speak, but also partly because she didn’t want to do anything to halt the unfolding scene in front of her, it was fascinating to watch.
She turned to Gareth. He was smiling, but his eyes were far too cold, it was a little frightening. “I do believe my opinions right now are clear,” he said softly.
And then quite suddenly attention shifted to Hyacinth. “What about you, Miss Bridgerton?” Richard asked. “Do you see things in black and white, or is your world painted in shades of grey?”
“It depends,” she replied, lifting her chin until she was able to look him evenly in the eye.
Richard St. Clair was tall, as tall as Gareth, and he looked to be healthy and fit. His face was pleasing and surprisingly youthful, with blue eyes and high, wide cheekbones. But Hyacinth disliked him on sight. There was something angry about him, something underhanded and cruel. And she didn’t like how he made Gareth feel. Not that Gareth had said anything to her, but it was clear as day on his face, in his voice, even in the way he held his chin.
“A very politic answer, Miss Bridgerton,” the baron said, giving her a little nod of salute.
“How funny,” she replied. “I am studying politics.”
“Yes I do rather suppose you are… ” he murmured. “You do have a rather . . . candid reputation.”
Hyacinth’s eyes narrowed. “It is well deserved I assure you Mr St Clair.”
he man chuckled. “Just make certain you are in possession of all of your information before you form your final opinions, Miss Bridgerton. Or”—his head moved slightly, causing his gaze to angle onto her face in strange, sly manner—“before you make any decisions.”
Gareth stalked off, not waiting for Hyacinth, needed to put as much distance between him and his father as he could.
“What was that all about?” she asked, breathless from trying to keep up with him. He was striding through the park with a speed her shorter legs simply could not match.
“Nothing,” he bit off. “It wasn’t nothing.” She glanced over her shoulder to see if his father was still behind them.
He wasn’t, and the motion set her off-balance and She stumbled, falling against Gareth, who didn’t seem inclined to treat her with any tenderness and solicitude and just looked at her, the coldness in his eyes from earlier had not melted.
He did stop, though, just long enough for her to regain her footing and right herself. “It was nothing,” he said again, and his voice was sharp and curt and a hundred other things she’d never thought it could be, they walked the rest of the way to her college in silence and Hyacinth all but slammed her door in his face.
It was remarkable, Gareth thought with more than a little self-loathing the following morning as he nursed a bit of a bad head, how one encounter with his father could ruin a perfectly good day. It had been a really good day, he had spent it all in Hyacinth’s company and it felt right.
He hated how he had left Hyacinth at her door, without so much as a goodbye, not a thank you for her help with some of the Italian translations, he felt like an arse but wasn’t what bothered him, what kept him up at night nursing a bottle of vodka, as he mentally smacked himself for his stupidity. He hated what his father did to him, how one conversation could turn him into a stranger. Or if not a stranger, then an astonishingly good facsimile of his sixteen year old self..
He was an adult now! He was twenty for god’s sake... He’d left home and, he had he hoped, grown up. He should be able to behave like an adult when in an interview with the man that was supposedly not his father but declared himself as such when he was born. He shouldn’t feel this way. He should feel nothing. Nothing. But it happened every time. He got angry. And snappish. And he said things just for the sake of being provoking. It was rude, and it was immature, and he didn’t know how to stop it. And this time, it had happened in front of Hyacinth.
He had to apologise, they were partners after all, they had to work together.
He showered and poured a large black coffee down his neck and set off to her dorms, sneaking past the porters he made his way to her door and knocked.
“Will you come in?” Hyacinth asked after the customary greetings were given
He shook his head. “I’d best not.”
She looked up at him, her eyes uncommonly serious. “I would like you to come in,” she said. It was a simple statement, so bare and plain that he knew he could not refuse.
He gave her a nod, and together they walked into the small living area, there were books and papers everywhere, organised chaos as she liked to call it. There was something inherently welcoming and comforting about the room. Hyacinth waited near the door until he reached the seating area, and then she shut it behind her and leaned against the door pausing for a moment before she started to talk.
“I used to think,” Hyacinth said after a moment, “that the only thing that would have made my life better was a father.”
He said nothing, he just watched her as playing with the hem line of her top. “Whenever I was angry with my mother,” she continued, still standing by the door, “or with one of my brothers or sisters, I used to think—If only I had a father. Everything would be perfect, and he would surely take my side.” She looked up, and her lips were curved in an endearingly lopsided smile that made Gareth’s stomach give a bit of a lurch.. “He wouldn’t have done, of course, since I’m sure that most of the time I was in the wrong, but it gave me great comfort to think it.”
Gareth still said nothing. All he could do was stand there and imagine himself a Bridgerton. Picture himself with all those siblings, all that laughter. And he couldn’t respond, because it was too painful to think that she’d had all that and still wanted more, something else, something that she had never gotten to experience, she however had a life that had been filed with love and affection, he had not. Well his brother had loved him, his mother hadn’t lived long enough for him to know but he was sure she would have..
“Before last night, I had always been jealous of people with fathers,” she said, “but no longer.” He turned sharply, his eyes snapping to hers as her words brought him back to earth, brought her back into focus to him. She returned his gaze with equal directness, and he realized he couldn’t look away. Not shouldn’t—couldn’t. “It’s better to have no father at all than to have one such as yours, Gareth,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry you have been landed with that sorry excuse for a human being as a father.”
That was his undoing. Here was this girl who had everything, or at least everything he thought he’d ever wanted—and somehow she still understood. His grandmother talked about the Bridgerton’s all the time, hell he had even spent time looking at the SB Foundation website two years ago, seeing the stories of the Bridgerton’s made him so desperately want to be part of that family. To know that love and that affection.
“I have memories, at least,” she continued wistfully. “Or at least the memories my siblings and mother have told to me. I know who my father was, and I know he was a good man. He would have loved me. He would have loved me unconditionally” Her lips wobbled into an expression he had never seen on her before.
It was a little bit quirky, an awful lot self-deprecating. It was entirely unlike Hyacinth that he knew and if he was being true to himself, but liked and feared, and for that reason alone he found her completely mesmerizing.
“And I know,” she said, letting out a short, staccato breath, the sort you did when you couldn't quite believe what you were saying, “I know that it can be rather hard work to love me.” And suddenly Gareth realized that some things did come in a flash. And there were some things you just simply knew without being able to explain them, like the way he knew how to balance her arguments, like the way he knew how she took her coffee without even asking her… and how he knew she would love a spicy curry... Because as he stood there watching her, all he could think was... It would be rather easy for him to love Hyacinth Bridgerton.
He didn’t know where the thought had come from, or what strange corner of his brain had come to that conclusion, because he was quite certain it would be nearly impossible to live with her, but somehow he knew that it wouldn’t be at all difficult to love her. “I talk too much,” she said. He’d been lost in his own thoughts. What was she saying? “And I’m very opinionated.”
That was true, but what was— “And I can be an absolute pill when I do not get my way, although I would like to think that most of the time I’m reasonably reasonable . . . and I am nothing if not consistent in my approach to all things”
Gareth started to laugh. Good God, she was cataloguing all the reasons why she was difficult to love. She was right, of course, about all of them, but none of it seemed to matter to him anymore. He shook his head with a smile “You are nothing but consistent pain in my ass Hy...” he said.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked suspiciously and with a little bit of indignation.
“Be quiet,” he said, crossing the distance between them so he was stood directly in front of her.
“Why?”
“Just be quiet.”
“But—”
He placed a finger on her lips. “Do me a favour Hy, just this once” he said softly, “and don’t say a word.”
Amazingly, she complied.
For a moment he did nothing but look at her. It was so rare that she was still, that something on her face wasn’t moving or speaking or expressing an opinion with nothing more than a scrunch of her nose.
He just looked at her, memorizing the way her eyebrows arched into delicate wings and her eyes grew wide under the strain of keeping quiet. He savoured the hot rush of her breath across his finger, and the funny little sound she made at the back of her throat without realizing it.
And then he couldn’t help it. Like a moth drawn to a flame he just had to… he kissed her. He took her face in his hands, and he lowered his mouth to hers... This would be their first kiss, the first of many he hoped, as he felt Hyacinth melt into his arms, he knew it would be a one to remember for the rest of their days, there was no one else for him in this world but Hyacinth Bridgerton, the woman who had been a pain in his ass since the moment he had met her, and would remain the consistent pain his ass until their dying days.