@uneactrice “ i do not mind a stirring tale or a book of fact but, in truth i find myself drawn back time and time again to stories of… love. ” ⋆𐙚 ₊˚⊹♡
it had been near an eon ( or so it seemed ) since hyacinth bridgerton had seen marguerite st. just — or marguerite blakeney now, she supposed. margot certainly hadn't lost any semblance of grace or beauty in the years passed, and if anything — seemed all the more stately, with her dark hair pulled away from her face and leaving space for her all too familiar green eyes to gleam.
it wasn't an uncommon society outing, to take a tour of some esteemed families libraries ( “ but really, how many of these books have truly been read? ” is what she'd asked eloise, once. ), and it was an event that hyacinth was rather fond of. there is a lot one can garner of one's character from their collection of books, and hyacinth was coming to learn that lady arden was something of a romantic — if her extensive collection of leather-bound jane austen novels was anything to go off. hyacinth kept her gaze on marguerite's impassive face, slowly stalking across the room in her direction.
