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Violet Bridgerton grew to pride herself on her children’s success in love. After 6 of her 8 children found themselves in long term, committed relationships with people who suited them in a time where it seemed that more young people grew jaded and disinterested in romance, it was no small feat. Indeed, a 75% success rate and counting!
As such, the 25% niggled at her, and she had made it her mission in recent years to not only become a stellar grandmother, but find a way to produce more grandbabies for the army she was growing. Her youngest children were the victims.
With Gregory doing whatever Gregory liked and Hyacinth being devoted to her career, Violet lacked certain opportunities to find her children matches. This wasn’t a deterrent, and Violet’s fervent mingling with other London mamas was now how Hyacinth Bridgerton found herself in a ditzy pub, nursing a beer while waiting for her newest blind date.
It had become a routine, of sorts, for Hyacinth to be placed in front of a new man biweekly. She went to her mother’s for dinner, got asked about her love life, and when she reported on the admittedly dry happenings, her mother mentioned this quite handsome man, the son of her lady friend who also was free this Friday!
One after another, each man disappointed her, whether it be an offhand misogynistic comment, two thoughts to bang together in their heads, or an arrogant, suffocating air about them. The failures only seemed to make Violet more eager for a hit. Gregory, the lucky bastard, too often managed to escape. Hyacinth suspected Gregory may come back home with a pregnant gal in tow eventually, anyway. Each time she came back to her mother with no man to escort her, the pressure worsened.
Hyacinth was establishing her reputation as a barrister and every man she met in her field was a pompous ass. It didn’t make her any more willing to mingle with new ones. Her mentor, Agatha, had always encouraged her to be as prickly as possible to men, and she lived up to the expectation. Every spurned man gained Hyacinth immense praise.
That didn’t mean her mother was pleased. Despite Eloise’s trailblazing, Hyacinth was the youngest, and compared to serial monogamist Felicity, who’d practically been adopted into the family? She didn’t stand a chance.
The lights flickered, and Hyacinth took another unladylike swig of her beer. Her mystery man had agreed to sunset, but here she was in the dank ambience, sat alone as the pub began to fill around her. The less seats available, the more stares she received, seemingly hogging her two seater table.
Her mother had good intentions, of course. She knew the joy that was found in relationships and wished it for her children. Still, relationships in the modern era of Instagram models and red pill enthusiasts made dating a bit trickier than Violet had remembered it being for herself.
She stared at her beer for a couple of long moments more, willing it to suddenly be full and for her to suddenly be twice as tipsy. She could get Indian food after the date. It would likely be a 20 minute conversation before the guy got bored or offended and she was free. It just needed to be long enough to appease her mother.
It was the Indian thought that prompted a man to knock fully into her seated frame, the increasingly crowded pub forcing bodies through the swarm. She looked up, a sharp exclamation on her tongue and a harsh furrow of her brow, meeting the gaze of a burly, apologetic looking man.
“Oops.” Not apologetic enough, it seemed. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
Hyacinth sighed out her frown lines, knowing full well that if she opened her mouth, she’d only snap at the guy, and heaven forbid she gets into trouble before the date even begins. With a remarkable level of self control, she turned back to her beer.
“Hey, you look familiar,” The man stuck a finger out towards her face, all awkward limbs and audacity. “Wait.. are you huh… Hyacinth?”
She glanced back up at him at the sound of her name. “Who are you?” This time there was no shame in the scowl she gave him.
He was unphased. “I think I am supposed to have dinner with you tonight! My mum said so.” The man dropped into the seat across from her, and the chair squealed across the floor as he scooted it back. “I’m Tom.”
Hyacinth regarded his nearly empty beer and the worn t-shirt he slapped over a pair of blue jeans the same color. Great.
“Nice to meet you.” She didn’t bother to smile. Seriously, he had time to drink an entire mug before he even bothered to try and find her?
“Thanks!” His grin spread across his whole face, genuine and without thought. “My mum was telling me about this one girl who couldn’t find a guy, so I volunteered to see you! I’m glad we met.”
“How kind of you.” She willed her expression into impassivity rather than her disgusted glare. Screw twenty, she was ditching this dweeb after five minutes.
“Say, have you ever been to this pub before? It seems like a place not suited for ladies.” Tom’s eyes grew soft, as if he was saddened by the thought of her visiting such an establishment.
“I haven’t. I live across town.”
Her clipped answers didn’t deter him, and that smile stayed glued to his face. “Wow! I live just a block away.”
“Interesting.”
“Right? I love living here.” She didn’t comment on the alleyways that smelled like piss just around the corner. “I have my own house and everything.”
“Really.”
“Of course! It’s my favorite birthday gift. My mum found it specially for me.” As he spoke, she noted the patchy stubble of his chin and upper lip.
“Your mum found it?”
“Oh yeah, it was picked out by her and then my dad bought it. It’s awesome, you should come over some time!” Hyacinth made a show of finishing off her beer, tipping her head back and tapping the mug on the table.
“Tommy, you wouldn’t happen to be able to fetch us more drink, would you?” She batted her lashes for extra effect, despite her blatant rudeness towards him.
The blockhead took the bait anyway, awkwardly rising to grab their mugs with that same grin. “Sure!”
As she watched him fold into the herd of people, she let out a breath, her shoulders drooping from their standoffish tension. It was like her mother didn’t even check these men. Just the amount of mentions of his own mother were enough to turn her off, if not for the obvious airheadedness he traipsed about with.
Hyacinth drew a long breath again and bent her back over her chair, staring up at the dim lights. Is this how she was to spend the rest of her career? A bitter virgin who needed her mother to set up dates? Hell, she’d begun her first year of uni with so many guys asking her out that she had begun to resent it.
Maybe that was her true downfall, and it got her a spiteful reputation that she seemed to need to live up to. Why she never even considered this date as fruitful or worthwhile before she met the guy.
The ceiling tiles blurred in her vision as she zoned out, the alcohol thrumming in her veins. She’d get that Indian food, probably a Fanta on her way bac-
“Not a fan of mummies, eh?”
Hyacinth jumped in her chair, painfully knocking her elbow into the armrest. “Bloody hell! What is your problem-” She exclaimed, drawing even more eyes to her table.
She shot a glare at the offender, who’d snatched Tom’s seat across from her and apparently all of his audacity, too. The smug grin he wore was almost more appalling than him startling her.
Ugh. Yet another evil man to torment a poor, innocent woman. If only she had a soulmate dumped on her lap like half of her siblings, and didn’t have to endure these “dates”.
“It simply hurt my heart to see a woman in anguish. I am empathetic to the ladies of the world.” He smiled, and it felt just the barest bit mocking.
Hyacinth smiled right back, her teeth bared. “How kind of you. I suppose I ought to be buying you the drink now, for being my truest savior.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” His grin spread further, and Hyacinth almost missed the dimple on his right cheek. “I’m simply fulfilling my fairytale dream, rescuing a damsel from her distress. A true hero requires no compensation.”
“And that’s a Friday night prowl? Preying on vulnerable maidens?” Hyacinth continued her own debate; it was what she was best at. Catching people off guard, exploiting each weakness, impressing spectators with her wit. It was exhilarating.
“Oh, I’d never use such outdated language. A woman is not defined by her maidenhood.” He aimed at sincerity, a dramatic hand thrown over his heart.
She played into his bit, frowning sarcastically, “I apologize for thinking so little of you, sir. I should have known by your mojito that you truly embody the feminine spirit.”
He smiled back at her, a rawness to it that was new and disarming. She hated it. “If you ask me, it’s a bigger shame the male population hasn’t yet opened themselves up to it.”
“Good thing no one’s asking you. They’re repulsive.” Hyacinth raised a brow at his green glass and the leaves within it.
He didn’t drop his grin. “Ah, so I see you’ve never tried one before. I promise, the review will be stellar.”
Hyacinth, who’d been raised on the old whiskeys and aged wines she could steal from her family’s collections, merely huffed. “Oh, this is a game now?”
“If you’ll make it one.”
She rolled her eyes, “This must be heaven for those unsuspecting damsels.”
“Unsuspecting, perhaps. Unwilling? Never.” He punctuated his cheeky statement with an even cheekier wink, and it was then Hyacinth came to a few conclusions.
First, he was absolutely, without a doubt, trying to get in her pants. Obviously. She knew it the moment he sat down, but the near immediate reference to sex was the clearest indicator of not only his desire, but also his practice and experience. His banter, his smirks, his lidded stares… he was a Whore.
Second, she found herself falling into his trap of conversation. It wasn’t a debate. She wasn’t winning. The fact that she had responded at all gave him the open door he wanted. Hyacinth’s cool retorts meant nothing when she’d already invited him for conversation.
Her third realization came last, and perhaps gave her the biggest fright of them all: she was, horrifyingly, despite her being played, despite her stabby remarks, enjoying herself.
Well shoot.
A little struck, her response was awkwardly delayed before she scoffed haughtily, tossing her hair in the most flippant and hopefully disinterested looking display. “And somehow I doubt that.”
“Oh, believe what you want, Hyacinth, but it doesn’t make it any less true,” He finished with a wink and a cool sip of his drink.
Hyacinth rolled her eyes. What an arrogant basta- wait. Wait wait wait. Wait.
“How the hell do you know my name?”
The man froze mid sip, an awkward, sheepish chuckle escaping his lips. “Well.. I must confess, Miss Bridgerton, I have been withholding.” She glared at him as he paused, quite dramatic for the circumstance. “I knew who you were the moment I saw you.” Seriously, was this a movie or something? “My name is Gareth St. Clair.”
To her chagrin, the realization didn’t come immediately. Hyacinth’s face scrunched as she ran through her mind, trying to make the connection he offered so plainly. What- oh. “You’re Gareth St. Clair.” She repeated, a bit dumbly. He took pity on her and didn’t let his lips quirk up in amusement.
“Yes.”
“Agatha’s grandson.”
He then smirked at her, clearly enjoying watching her play mental catch up. He knew she wasn’t the type to arrive second to a conclusion, and it was maddening her. “Yes.”
Her frown deepened. “Why the fuck did you come over here then? You weren’t stalking me, were you? Did Agatha put you up to this?” She waggled an accusatory finger at him.
He didn’t so much as blink at her foul language. “I recognized you from her pictures. Figured I’d see for myself who she spoke of so highly. My grandmother doesn’t hand out praise lightly, you know.”
Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “I do know. The real question in this is not my character, but rather why on earth you decided that anonymously flirting with me would be the best course of action.”
He smiled, most of his smug amusement dissipated. Most of. “Well, the flirting was not quite premeditated.” He paused when she raised her one brow cynically, in a manner much too similar to his grandmother.
“And did you get what you wanted? Do you judge me acceptably or do you have critiques?”
Her response was sarcastic, yet there was a soft smile on his face when he answered, “Just one.”
Hyacinth’s mouth dropped open, a retort on the tip of her tongue, when he held a finger up in the air, his smugness palpable. He then reached for her own hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips as he replied,
“You’re a lot more charming than I was hoping you’d be.”
Somewhere in distant London, Agatha Danbury and Violet Bridgerton share a conspiring smile.