by Julia Quinn
Besides, he had already decided that he wasn’t going to allow his thoughts to wander in such directions. Daphne was Anthony’s sister, for God’s sake. He couldn’t seduce her.
“I refuse to listen to another disparaging word about his grace,” Violet stated emphatically, “and that is the end of the subject.”
“But—”
“I don’t like your tone, Anthony Bridgerton!”
Simon thought he heard Daphne choke on a chuckle, and he wondered what that was all about.
“If it would please Your Motherhood,” Anthony said in excruciatingly even tones, “I would like a private word with his grace.”
“This time I’m really going to get that vase,” Daphne announced, and dashed from the room.
Violet crossed her arms, and said to Anthony, “I will not have you mistreat a guest in my home.”
“I shan’t lay so much as a hand on him,” Anthony replied. “I give you my word.”
Having never had a mother, Simon was finding this exchange fascinating. Bridgerton House was, after all, technically Anthony’s house, not his mother’s, and Simon was impressed that Anthony had refrained from pointing this out. “It’s quite all right, Lady Bridgerton,” he interjected. “I’m sure Anthony and I have much to discuss.”
Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “Much.”
“Very well,” Violet said. “You’re going to do what you want no matter what I say, anyway. But I’m not leaving.” She plopped down onto the sofa. “This is my drawing room, and I’m comfortable here. If the two of you want to engage in that asinine interchange that passes for conversation among the males of our species, you may do so elsewhere.”
Simon blinked in surprise. Clearly there was more to Daphne’s mother than met the eye.
Anthony jerked his head toward the door, and Simon followed him into the hall.
“My study is this way,” Anthony said.
“You have a study here?”
“I am the head of the family.”
“Of course,” Simon allowed, “but you do reside elsewhere.”
Anthony paused and turned an assessing stare on Simon. “It cannot have escaped your notice that my position as head of the Bridgerton family carries with it serious responsibilities.”
Simon looked him evenly in the eye. “Meaning Daphne?”
“Precisely.”
“If I recall,” Simon said, “earlier this week you told me you wanted to introduce us.”
“That was before I thought you’d be interested in her!”
Simon held his tongue as he preceded Anthony into his study, remaining silent until Anthony shut the door. “Why,” he asked softly, “would you assume I would not be interested in your sister?”
“Besides the fact that you have sworn to me that you will never marry?” Anthony drawled.
He had a good point. Simon hated that he had such a good point. “Besides that,” he snapped.
Anthony blinked a couple of times, then said, “No one is interested in Daphne. At least no one we’d have her marry.”
Simon crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “You don’t hold her in terribly high regard, do y—?”
Before he could even finish the query, Anthony had him by the throat. “Don’t you dare insult my sister.”
But Simon had learned quite a bit about self-defense on his travels, and it took him only two seconds to reverse their positions. “I wasn’t insulting your sister,” he said in a malevolent voice. “I was insulting you.”
Strange gurgling sounds were coming from Anthony’s throat, so Simon let him go. “As it happens,” he said, brushing his hands against each other, “Daphne explained to me why she has not attracted any suitable suitors.”
“Oh?” Anthony asked derisively.
“Personally, I think it has everything to do with your and your brothers’ apelike ways, but she tells me it is because all London views her as a friend, and none sees her as a romantic heroine.”
Anthony was silent for a long moment before saying, “I see.” Then, after another pause, he added thoughtfully, “She’s probably right.”
Simon said nothing, just watched his friend as he sorted all of this out. Finally, Anthony said, “I still don’t like your sniffing about her.”
“Good God, you make me sound positively canine.”
Anthony crossed his arms. “Don’t forget, we ran in the same pack after we left Oxford. I know exactly what you’ve done.”
“Oh, for the love of Christ, Bridgerton, we were twenty! All men are idiots at that age. Besides, you know damn well that h—h—”
Simon felt his tongue grow awkward, and faked a coughing fit to cover his stammer. Damn. This happened so infrequently these days, but when it did, it was always when he was upset or angry. If he lost control over his emotions, he lost control over his speech. It was as simple as that.
And unfortunately, episodes such as this only served to make him upset and angry with himself, which in turn exacerbated the stammer. It was the worst sort of vicious circle.
Anthony looked at him quizzically. “Are you all right?”
Simon nodded. “Just a bit of dust in my throat,” he lied.
“Shall I ring for tea?”
Simon nodded again. He didn’t particularly want tea, but it seemed the sort of thing one would ask for if one truly did have dust in one’s throat.
Anthony tugged at the bellpull, then turned back to Simon and asked, “You were saying?”
Simon swallowed, hoping the gesture would help him to regain control over his ire. “I merely meant to point out that you know better than anyone that at least half of my reputation is undeserved.”
“Yes, but I was there for the half that was deserved, and while I don’t mind your occasionally socializing with Daphne, I don’t want you courting her.”
Simon stared at his friend—or at least the man he thought was his friend—in disbelief. “Do you really think I’d seduce your sister?”
“I don’t know what to think. I know you plan never to marry. I know that Daphne does.” Anthony shrugged. “Frankly, that’s enough for me to keep you two on opposite sides of the dance floor.”
Simon let out a long breath. While Anthony’s attitude was irritating as hell, he supposed it was understandable, and in fact even laudable. After all, the man was only acting in the best interests of his sister. Simon had difficulty imagining being responsible for anyone save himself, but he supposed that if he had a sister, he’d be damned picky about who courted her as well.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
“Enter!” Anthony called out.
Instead of the maid with tea, Daphne slipped into the room. “Mother told me that the two of you are in beastly moods, and I should leave you alone, but I thought I ought to make certain neither of you had killed the other.”
“No,” Anthony said with a grim smile, “just a light strangle.”
To Daphne’s credit, she didn’t bat an eyelash. “Who strangled whom?”
“I strangled him,” her brother replied, “then he returned the favor.”
“I see,” she said slowly. “I’m sorry to have missed the entertainment.”
Simon couldn’t suppress a smile at her remark. “Daff,” he began.
Anthony whirled around. “You call her Daff?” His head snapped back to Daphne. “Did you give him permission to use your given name?”
“Of course.”
“But—”
“I think,” Simon interrupted, “that we are going to have to come clean.”
Daphne nodded somberly. “I think you’re right. If you recall, I told you so.”
“How genteel of you to mention it,” Simon murmured.
She smiled gamely. “I could not resist. With four brothers, after all, one must always seize the moment when one may say, ‘I told you so.’”
Simon looked from sibling to sibling. “I don’t know which one of you I pity more.”
“What the devil
is going on?” Anthony demanded, and then added as an aside, “And as for your remark, pity me. I am a far more amiable brother than she is a sister.”
“Not true!”
Simon ignored the squabble and focused his attention on Anthony. “You want to know what the devil is going on? It’s like this . . .”
Chapter 7
Men are sheep. Where one goes, the rest will soon follow.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 30 April 1813
All in all, Daphne thought, Anthony was taking this rather well. By the time Simon had finished explaining their little plan (with, she had to admit, frequent interruptions on her part), Anthony had raised his voice only seven times.
That was about seven fewer than Daphne would have predicted.
Finally, after Daphne begged him to hold his tongue until she and Simon were done with their story, Anthony gave a curt nod, crossed his arms, and clamped his mouth shut for the duration of the explanation. His frown was enough to shake the plaster off the walls, but true to his word, he remained utterly silent.
Until Simon finished with, “And that’s that.”
There was silence. Dead silence. For a full ten seconds, nothing but silence, although Daphne would have sworn she could hear her eyes moving in their sockets as they darted back from Anthony to Simon.
And then finally, from Anthony: “Are you mad?”
“I thought this might be his reaction,” Daphne murmured.
“Are you both completely, irrevocably, abominably insane?” Anthony’s voice rose to a roar. “I don’t know which of you is more clearly the idiot.”
“Will you hush!” Daphne hissed. “Mother will hear you.”
“Mother would perish of heart failure if she knew what you were about,” Anthony retorted, but he did use a softer tone.
“But Mother is not going to hear of it, is she?” Daphne shot back.
“No, she’s not,” Anthony replied, his chin jutting forward, “because your little scheme is finished as of this very moment.”
Daphne crossed her arms. “You can’t do anything to stop me.”
Anthony jerked his head toward Simon. “I can kill him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Duels have been fought for less.”
“By idiots!”
“I’m not disputing the title as regards to him.”
“If I might interrupt,” Simon said quietly.
“He’s your best friend!” Daphne protested.
“Not,” Anthony said, the single syllable brimming with barely contained violence, “anymore.”
Daphne turned to Simon with a huff. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
His lips quirked into an amused half-smile. “And when would I have had the chance?”
Anthony turned to Simon. “I want you out of this house.”
“Before I may defend myself?”
“It’s my house, too,” Daphne said hotly, “and I want him to stay.”
Anthony glared at his sister, exasperation evident in every inch of his posture. “Very well,” he said, “I’ll give you two minutes to state your case. No more.”
Daphne glanced hesitantly at Simon, wondering if he’d want to use the two minutes himself. But all he did was shrug, and say, “Go right ahead. He’s your brother.”
She took a fortifying breath, planted her hands on her hips without even realizing it, and said, “First of all, I must point out that I have far more to gain from this alliance than his grace. He says he wishes to use me to keep the other women—”
“And their mothers,” Simon interrupted.
“—and their mothers at bay. But frankly”—Daphne glanced at Simon as she said this—“I think he’s wrong. The women aren’t going to stop pursuing him just because they think he might have formed an attachment with another young lady—especially when that young lady is me.”
“And what is wrong with you?” Anthony demanded.
Daphne started to explain, but then she caught a strange glance pass between the two men. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing,” Anthony muttered, looking a trifle sheepish.
“I explained to your brother your theory on why you have not had more suitors,” Simon said gently.
“I see.” Daphne pursed her lips as she tried to decide whether that was something she ought to be irritated about. “Hmmph. Well, he should have figured that out on his own.”
Simon made an odd snorting sound that might have been a laugh.
Daphne leveled a sharp look at both men. “I do hope my two minutes do not include all of these interruptions.”
Simon shrugged. “He’s the timekeeper.”
Anthony clutched at the edge of the desk, probably, Daphne thought, to keep himself from going for Simon’s throat. “And he,” he said menacingly, “is going to find himself headfirst through the goddamned window if he doesn’t shut up.”
“Did you know I have always suspected that men were idiots,” Daphne ground out, “but I was never positive until today.”
Simon grinned.
“Allowing for interruptions,” Anthony bit off, shooting yet another deadly glare in Simon’s direction even as he spoke to Daphne, “you have a minute and a half left.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “Then I’ll reduce this conversation to one single fact. Today I had six callers. Six! Can you recall the last time I had six callers?”
Anthony just stared at her blankly.
“I can’t,” Daphne continued, in fine form now. “Because it has never happened. Six men marched up our steps, knocked on our door, and gave Humboldt their cards. Six men brought me flowers, engaged me in conversation, and one even recited poetry.”
Simon winced.
“And do you know why?” she demanded, her voice rising dangerously. “Do you?”
Anthony, in his somewhat belatedly arrived wisdom, held his tongue.
“It is all because he”—she jabbed her forefinger toward Simon—“was kind enough to feign interest in me last night at Lady Danbury’s ball.”
Simon, who had been leaning casually against the edge of the desk, suddenly straightened. “Well, now,” he said quickly, “I wouldn’t quite put it that way.”
She turned to him, her eyes remarkably steady. “And how would you put it?”
He didn’t get much past, “I—” before she added, “Because I can assure you those men have never seen fit to call on me before.”
“If they are so myopic,” Simon said quietly, “why do you care for their regard?”
She fell silent, drawing back slightly. Simon had the sinking suspicion that he might have said something very, very wrong, but he wasn’t positive until he saw her blinking rapidly.
Oh, damn.
Then she wiped one of her eyes. She coughed as she did it, trying to hide the maneuver by pretending to cover her mouth, but Simon still felt like the worst sort of heel.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Anthony snapped. He placed a comforting hand on his sister’s arm, all the while glaring at Simon. “Pay him no mind, Daphne. He’s an ass.”
“Maybe,” she sniffled. “But he’s an intelligent ass.”
Anthony’s mouth fell open.
She shot him a testy look. “Well, if you didn’t want me to repeat it, you shouldn’t have said it.”
Anthony let out a weary sigh. “Were there really six men here this afternoon?”
She nodded. “Seven including Hastings.”
“And,” he asked carefully, “were any of them men you might be interested in marrying?”
Simon realized that his fingers were gouging small holes in his thigh and forced himself to move his hand to the desk.
Daphne nodded again. “They are all men with whom I have enjoyed a previous friendship. It is only that they never viewed me as a candidate for romance before Hastings led the way. I might, if given the opportunity, develop an attachment for one of them.”
“But—” Simon quickly shut his mou
th.
“But what?” Daphne asked, turning to him with curious eyes.
It occurred to him that what he wanted to say was that if those men had only noticed Daphne’s charms because a duke had shown interest in her, then they were idiots, and thus she shouldn’t even contemplate marrying them. But considering that he had been the one to originally point out that his interest would gain her more suitors—well, frankly, it seemed a bit self-defeating to mention it.
“Nothing,” he finally said, raising a hand in a don’t-mind-me motion. “It doesn’t signify.”
Daphne looked at him for a few moments, as if waiting for him to change his mind, and then turned back to her brother. “Do you admit the wisdom of our plan, then?”
“‘Wisdom’ might be a bit of a stretch, but”—Anthony looked pained to say it—“I can see where you might think it might benefit you.”
“Anthony, I have to find a husband. Besides the fact that Mother is pestering me to death, I want a husband. I want to marry and have a family of my own. I want it more than you could ever know. And thus far, no one acceptable has asked.”
Simon had no idea how Anthony could possibly hold out against the warm pleading in her dark eyes. And sure enough, Anthony sagged against the desk and let out a weary groan. “Very well,” he said, closing his eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying, “I shall agree to this if I must.”
Daphne jumped up and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Anthony, I knew you were the very best of brothers.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re just occasionally misguided.”
Anthony’s eyes floated heavenward before focusing on Simon. “Do you see what I have to put up with?” he asked with a shake of his head. His tone was that particular timbre used only from one beleaguered male to another.
Simon chuckled to himself as he wondered when he’d turned from evil seducer back into good friend.
“But,” Anthony said loudly, causing Daphne to back up, “I am placing some conditions on this.”
Daphne didn’t say anything, just blinked as she waited for her brother to continue.
“First of all, this goes no further than this room.”
“Agreed,” she said quickly.
Anthony looked pointedly at Simon.