Garden Interrogations

[Hippolyte Barthélemy]

It seemed almost like a dream, when one was in the home of the Bridgertons. Stately, as those things ought to be according to the principles of status, of course, but here was something beyond that, too. The way the sun's rays illuminated the bright greens and the fine flowers was something on its own, but then there was the intense quiet about the place.

These were gardens, not battlefields, even if the earth was both churned and fertilized in both cases. He walked along the perfectly kept rows with no real purpose. Certainly, he was an intruder on these grounds, these stately reminders of the regime which had not been dulled by the fervour that had grasped his home country. Was it better this way? That depended on the perspective. Hippolyte was inclined to both disagree and agree, in any case.

He stopped his walk to consider the bloom of a stalk of roses, beautifully maintained as they crawled up the carefully arranged scaffolds. What was undeniable however, was that he was an intruder, the opposing force. The petals where soft like silk underneath his thumb as he brushed it over the apex of the flower. He could easily pull off the whole head, ruin it, but he resisted this impulse. This place was not untouched by grief, even if it might make pretenses to be past it. The passing of a patriarch left its mark on all he had loved in his life, and through Hippolyte's recollection, the late Lord Bridgerton had been a man with a heart large enough to encompass the whole of his family. Unusual of his station. No less interesting.

The thorns on the stem were so perfectly arranged along it, and running his thumb over them he felt the curve of their hooked structures. He rested his thumb on the tip of one. Sharp. The human body had a curious tolerance for pain; that which was excruciating often overstimulated the brain to the point of dullness both in mind and body, while the small and sudden - like the sudden sharp pain in his thumb as he slowly pushed it against the thorn until it broke the skin - would make even him wince.

Lost in thought, as he beheld the blood welling forth lazily from his thumb, shifted only slightly away from his thumb, he did not notice much of any movement in his environment. Certainly would be simple to sneak up upon in such a state.

lennie1

Made by Riley at THQ!

[lennie1]

Hyacinth had tried every single argument she could think of to be allowed at the soirée hosted at Bridgerton House this very evening. None of her attemtps had been successful, it was almost like Violet Bridgerton had heard every single argument to try and get out of or into a social event before with having eight children. So despite her arguments and despite her pleas Hyacinth had been informed she would not be in attendance that evening.

It wasn't even that she wanted to attend the party itself but she had heard her mother discussing the guest list and in the discussion heard her late father's name among the many names dropped. Of course she knew her dad would not be there, first of all he was not alive and had he been he would not have been on a guest list in his own home. But Hyacinth was persistent and observant and she had figured it out, actually she had bribed her maid with lemon drops to find out why she had heard whispers about her father in regards to the party taking place.

Four lemon drops later Hyacinth knew enough about Hippolyte Barthélemy to be sure she needed to meet him. Hyacinth never knew her father and when she found an opportunity to learn more about her father she wouldn't let the chance pass her by. So instead of continuing to argue with her mother Hyacinth had thrown a fit, she had stomped up the stairs screaming about how unfair it was she who wanted to attend the affair was not allowed. It made no sense, Hyacinth had seen her siblings drag their feet and complain about social events her entire life and now when she wanted to attend one she was too young.

Spending the evening working on her embroidery she had not made the progress she would have wanted to make, it still looked awful and Hyacinth was ready to give up on it. But despite the terrible needlework it was not so terrible to spend the evening in her room, at least Gregory had not been bothering her and she had had the opportunity to play a few games with her maid. She never would admit it but a quiet evening had been nice and now she had prepared to go to sleep.

Hyacinth peered out her window, a mischievous smile on her lips as she undid the hatch to push it open. There was a perfectly useful tree not too far from her window and Hyacinth climbed out, nimbly making her way down the tree to the ground. Feeling her feet hit the ground Hyacinth jumped excitedly, giving herself a moment for childish celebration before returning to her mission. With light steps she avoided the gravel paths, it'd only hurt her bare feet, choosing to walk on the grass instead and Hyacinth cleared her throat holding out her box of lemon drops, "Dr Barthélemy, may I interest you in a lemon drop?"

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