The Duke And I

9 - Part 1

The Duke of Hastings was espied yet again with Miss Bridgerton. (That is Miss Daphne Bridgerton,

for those of you who, like This Author, find it difficult to differentiate between the multitudes of

Bridgerton offspring.) It has been some time since This Author has seen a couple so obviously

devoted to one another .

It does seem odd, however, that, with the exception of the Bridgerton family outing to Greenwich,

which was reported in this newspaper ten days earlier, they are seen together only at evening

functions. This Author has it on the best authority that while the duke called upon Miss Bridgerton

at her home a fortnight ago, this courtesy has not been repeated, and indeed, they have not been

seen riding together in Hyde Park even once !

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers, 14 May 1813

Two weeks later, Daphne found herself in Hampstead Heath, standing on the fringes of Lady

Trowbridge's ballroom, far away from the fashionable crowd. She was quite content with her

position.

She didn't want to be at the center of the party. She didn't want to be found by the dozens of

suitors now clamoring to claim her in a dance. In all truth, she didn't want to be in Lady

Trowbridge's ballroom at all.

Because Simon was not there.

This did not mean that she was destined to spend the evening as a wallflower. All of Simon's

predictions in regard to her burgeoning popularity had proven correct, and Daphne, who had

always been the girl everyone liked but no one adored, was suddenly proclaimed the season's

Incomparable. Everyone who cared to air an opinion on the subject (and this being the ton, that

meant everyone) declared that they always knew that Daphne was special and were just waiting

for everyone else to notice. Lady Jersey told everyone who would listen that she had been

predicting Daphne's success for months, and the only mystery was why no one had listened to

her sooner.

Which was, of course, hogwash. While Daphne had certainly never been the object of Lady

Jersey's scorn, not one Bridgerton could recall ever hearing Lady Jersey refer to her (as she was

presently doing) as 'Tomorrow's Treasure."

But even though Daphne's dance card was now full within minutes of her arrival at any ball, and

even though men fought for the privilege of fetching her a glass of lemonade (Daphne had

almost laughed out loud the first time that had happened), she found that no evening was truly

memorable unless Simon was at her side.

It didn't matter that he seemed to find it necessary to mention at least once every evening that he

was adamantly opposed to the institution of marriage. (Although, to his credit, he usually

mentioned this in conjunction with his thankfulness to Daphne for saving him from the

multitudes of Ambitious Mamas.) And it didn't matter that he occasionally fell silent and was

even almost rude to certain members of society. All that seemed to matter were those moments

when they were not quite alone (they were never alone), but still somehow left to their own

devices. A laughing conversation in a corner, a waltz around a ballroom. Daphne could look into

his pale blue eyes and almost forget that she was surrounded by five hundred onlookers, all of

whom were inordinately interested in the state of her courtship.

And she could almost forget that her courtship was a complete sham.

Daphne hadn't tried to talk to Anthony about Simon again. Her brother's hostility was apparent

every time the duke's name was brought up in conversation. And when he and Simon actually

met—well, Anthony usually managed a certain level of cordiality, but that was all he seemed

able to muster.

And yet even amidst all this anger, Daphne could see faint glimmers of the old friendship

between them. She could only hope that when all this was over—and she was married off to

some boring but affable earl who never quite managed to make her heart sing—that the two men

would be friends again.

At Anthony's somewhat forceful request, Simon had elected not to attend every social event to

which Violet and Daphne had RSVP'ed in the affirmative. Anthony said that the only reason he

had agreed to this ridiculous scheme was so that Daphne might find a husband among all her

new suitors. Unfortunately, in Anthony's opinion (and fortunately in Daphne's) none of these

eager young gentlemen dared to approach her in Simon's presence.

"A fat lot of good this is doing," were Anthony's exact words.

Actually, those exact words had been appended a fair amount of cursing and invective, but

Daphne had seen no reason to dwell on this. Ever since the incident at—or rather in —the

Thames, Anthony had spent a great deal of time applying expletives to Simon's name.

But Simon had seen Anthony's point, and Simon had told Daphne that he wanted her to find a

suitable husband.

And so Simon stayed away.

And Daphne was miserable.

She supposed she should have known that this was going to happen. She should have realized

the dangers of being courted—even falsely—by the man society had recently dubbed The

Devastating Duke.

The moniker had begun when Philipa Featherington had pronounced him "devastatingly

handsome," and since Philipa didn't know the meaning of the word "whisper," all the ton bore

witness to her statement Within minutes some droll young buck just down from Oxford had

shortened and alliterated, and The Devastating Duke was born.

Daphne found the name woefully ironic. For The Devastating Duke was devastating her heart.

Not that he meant to. Simon treated her with nothing but respect and honor and good humor.

Even Anthony was forced to admit that he'd been given no cause to complain in that quarter.

Simon never tried to get Daphne alone, never did anything more than kiss her gloved hand (and

much to Daphne's dismay, that had only happened twice).

They had become the best of companions, their conversations ranging from comfortable silences

to the wittiest of repartee. At every party, they danced together twice—the maximum permitted

without scandalizing society.

And Daphne knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was falling in love.

The irony was exquisite. She had, of course, begun spending so much time in Simon's company

specifically so that she might attract other men. For his part, Simon had begun spending time in

her company so that he might avoid marriage.

Come to think of it, Daphne thought, sagging against the wall, the irony was exquisitely painful.

Although Simon was still quite vocal on the subject of marriage and his determination never to

enter that blessed state, she did on occasion catch him looking at her in ways that made her think

he might desire her. He never repeated any of the risqué comments he'd made before he'd learned

she was a Bridgerton, but sometimes she caught him looking at her in the same hungry, feral way

he'd done that first evening. He turned away, of course, as soon as she noticed, but it was always

enough to set her skin tingling and shorten her breath with desire.

And his eyes! Everyone likened their color to ice, and when Daphne watched him converse with

other members of society, she could see why. Simon wasn't as loquacious with others as he was

with her. His words were more clipped, his tone more brusque, and his eyes echoed the hardness

in his demeanor.

But when they were laughing together, just the two of them poking fun at some silly society

rule, his eyes changed. They grew softer, gentler, more at ease. In her more fanciful moments,

she almost thought they looked as if they were melting.

She sighed, leaning even more heavily against the wall. It seemed her fanciful moments were

coming closer and closer together these days.

"Ho, there, Daff, why are you skulking in the corner?"

Daphne looked up to see Colin approaching, his usual cocky smile firmly in place on his

handsome face. Since his return to London, he had taken the town by storm, and Daphne could

easily name a dozen young ladies who were positive they were in love with him and desperate

for his attention. She wasn't worried about her brother's returning any of their affections,

however; Colin obviously had many more wild oats to sow before he settled down.

"I'm not skulking," she corrected. "I'm avoiding."

"Avoiding whom? Hastings?"

"No, of course not. He's not here tonight, anyway."

"Yes, he is."

Since this was Colin, whose primary purpose in life (after chasing loose women and betting on

horses, of course) was to torment his sister, Daphne meant to act blasé, but still she lurched to

attention as she asked, "He is?"

Colin nodded slyly and motioned with his head toward the ballroom entrance. "I saw him enter

not fifteen minutes ago."

Daphne narrowed her eyes. "Are you bamming me? He told me quite specifically that he wasn't

planning to attend tonight."

"And you still came?" Colin laid both his hands on his cheeks and faked surprise.

"Of course I did," she retorted. "My life does not revolve around Hastings."

"Doesn't it?"

Daphne had the sinking feeling that he was not being facetious. "No, it doesn't," she replied,

lying through her teeth. Her life might not revolve around Simon, but her thoughts certainly did.

Colin's emerald eyes grew uncharacteristically serious. "You've got it bad, don't you?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

He smiled knowingly. "You will."

"Colin!"

"In the meantime"—he motioned back toward the ballroom's entrance—"why don't you go and

locate him? Clearly my scintillating company pales in comparison. I can see that your feet are

already inching away from me."

Horrified that her body would betray her in such a way, Daphne looked down.

"Ha! Made you look."

"Colin Bridgerton," Daphne ground out, "sometimes I swear I think you're no more than three

years old."

"An interesting concept," he mused, "and one that would place you at the tender age of one and

a half, little sister."

Lacking a suitably cutting retort, Daphne just fixed upon him her blackest scowl.

But Colin only laughed. "An attractive expression to be sure, sis, but one you might want to

remove from your cheeks. His Devastatingness is heading this way."

Daphne refused to fall for his bait this time. He wasn't going to Make Her Look.

Colin leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "This time I'm not kidding, Daff."

Daphne held her scowl.

Colin chuckled.

"Daphne!" Simon's voice. Right at her ear.

She whirled around.

Colin's chuckles grew more heartfelt. "You really ought to have more faith in your favorite

brother, dear sis."

"He's your favorite brother?" Simon asked, one dark brow raised in disbelief.

"Only because Gregory put a toad in my bed last night," Daphne bit off, "and Benedict's

standing has never recovered from the time he beheaded my favorite doll."

"Makes me wonder what Anthony's done to deny him even an honorable mention," Colin

murmured.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Daphne asked pointedly.

Colin shrugged. "Not really."

"Didn't," she asked through clenched teeth, "you just tell me you promised a dance to Prudence

Featherington?"

"Gads, no. You must have misheard."

"Perhaps Mother is looking for you, then. In fact, I'm certain I hear her calling your name."

Colin grinned at her discomfort. "You're not supposed to be so obvious," he said in a stage

whisper, purposely loud enough for Simon to hear. "He'll figure out that you like him."

Simon's entire body jerked with barely contained mirth.

"It's not his company I'm trying to secure," Daphne said acidly. "It's yours I'm trying to avoid."

Colin clapped a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Daff." He turned to Simon. "Oh, how she

wounds me."

"You missed your calling, Bridgerton," Simon said genially. "You should have been on the

stage."

"An interesting idea," Colin replied, "but one that would surely give my mother the vapors." His

eyes lit up. "Now that's an idea. And just when the party was growing tedious. Good eve to you

both." He executed a smart bow and walked off.

Daphne and Simon remained silent as they watched Colin disappear into the crowd. "The next

shriek you hear," Daphne said blandly, "will surely be my mother's."

"And the thud will be her body hitting the floor in a dead faint?"

Daphne nodded, a reluctant smile playing across her lips. "But of course." She waited a moment

before saying, "I wasn't expecting you this evening."

He shrugged, the black cloth of his evening jacket wrinkling slightly with the movement. "I was

bored."

"You were bored so you decided to come all the way out to Hampstead Heath to attend Lady

Trowbridge's annual ball?" Her eyebrows arched up. Hampstead Heath was a good seven miles

from Mayfair, at least an hour's drive in the best of conditions, more on nights like tonight, when

all the ton was clogging the roads. "Forgive me if I start to question your sanity."

"I'm starting to question it myself," he muttered.

"Well, whatever the case," she said with a happy sigh, "I'm glad you're here. It's been a ghastly

evening."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I have been plagued by questions about you."

"Well, now, this grows interesting."

"Think again. The first person to interrogate me was my mother. She wants to know why you

never call upon me in the afternoon."