The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(7)

"Why, Daphne," Violet said, her eyes growing watery, "what a lovely thing to say."

Daphne twirled a lock of her chestnut hair around her finger, and grinned, letting the sentimental moment melt into a more teasing one. "I'm happy to follow in your footsteps when it comes to marriage and children, Mother, just so long as I don't have to have eight. "





*



At that exact moment, Simon Basset, the new Duke of Hastings and the erstwhile topic of the Bridgerton ladies' conversation, was sitting at White's. His companion was none other than Anthony Bridgerton, Daphne's eldest brother. The two cut a striking pair, both tall and athletic, with thick dark hair. But where Anthony's eyes were the same deep chocolate brown as his sister's, Simon's were icy blue, with an oddly penetrating gaze.

It was those eyes as much as anything that had earned him his reputation as a man to be

reckoned with. When he stared at a person, clear and unwavering, men grew uncomfortable.

Women positively shivered.

But not Anthony. The two men had known each other for years, and Anthony just laughed when Simon raised a brow and turned his icy gaze upon him. "You forget, I've seen you with your head being lowered into a chamber pot," Anthony had once told him. "It's been difficult to take you seriously ever since."

To which Simon had replied, "Yes, but if I recall, you were the one holding me over that fragrant receptacle."

"One of my proudest moments, to be sure. But you had your revenge the next night in the form of a dozen eels in my bed."

Simon allowed himself a smile as he remembered both the incident and their subsequent

conversation about it. Anthony was a good friend, just the sort a man would want by his side in a pinch. He'd been the first person Simon had looked up upon returning to England.

"It's damned fine to have you back, Clyvedon," Anthony said, once they'd settled in at their table at White's. "Oh, but I suppose you'll insist I call you Hastings now."

"No," Simon said rather emphatically. "Hastings will always be my father. He never answered to anything else." He paused. "I'll assume his title if I must, but I won't be called by his name."

"If you must?" Anthony's eyes widened slightly. "Most men would not sound quite so resigned about the prospect of a dukedom."

Simon raked a hand through his dark hair. He knew he was supposed to cherish his birthright and display unwavering pride in the Basset family's illustrious history, but the truth was it all made him sick inside. He'd spent his entire life not living up to his father's expectations; it seemed ridiculous now to try to live up to his name. "It's a damned burden is what it is," he



finally grumbled.

"You'd best get used to it," Anthony said pragmatically, "because that's what everyone will call you."

Simon knew it was true, but he doubted if the title would ever sit well upon his shoulders.

"Well, whatever the case," Anthony added, respecting his friend's privacy by not delving further into what was obviously an uncomfortable topic, "I'm glad to have you back. I might finally get some peace next time I escort my sister to a ball."

Simon leaned back, crossing his long, muscular legs at the ankles. "An intriguing remark."

Anthony raised a brow. "One that you're certain I'll explain?"

"But of course."

"I ought to let you learn for yourself, but then, I've never been a cruel man."

Simon chuckled. "This coming from the man who dunked my head in a chamber pot?"

Anthony waved his hand dismissively. "I was young."

"And now you're a model of mature decorum and respectability?"

Anthony grinned. "Absolutely."

"So tell me," Simon drawled, "how, exactly, am I meant to make your existence that much more peaceful?"

"I assume you plan to take your place in society?"

"You assume incorrectly."

"But you are planning to attend Lady Danbury's ball this week," Anthony said.

"Only because I am inexplicably fond of the old woman. She says what she means, and—"

Simon's eyes grew somewhat shuttered.

"And?" Anthony prompted.

Simon gave his head a little shake. "It's nothing. Just that she was rather kind to me as a child. I spent a few school holidays at her house with Riverdale. Her nephew, you know."

Anthony nodded once. "I see. So you have no intention of entering society. I'm impressed by your resolve. But allow me to warn you—even if you do not choose to attend the ton's events,



they will find you."

Simon, who had chosen that moment to take a sip of his brandy, choked on the spirit at the look on Anthony's face when he said, "they." After a few moments of coughing and sputtering, he finally managed to say, "Who, pray tell', are 'they'?"

Anthony shuddered. "Mothers."

"Not having had one myself, I can't say I grasp your point."

"Society mothers, you dolt. Those fire-breathing dragons with daughters of—God help us—