The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(21)

dismay, had recently married. The wife was a perfectly charming young woman, but

unfortunately one with rather high social aspirations, and she had quickly determined that her road to happiness lay in her position as the one to introduce the new duke to society. And Simon, even though he fancied himself a world-weary, cynical sort, discovered that he wasn't quite rude enough to directly insult the wife of his old university friend.

And so, two hours later, he'd been introduced to every unmarried lady at the ball, every mother of every unmarried lady at the ball, and, of course, every older married sister of every unmarried lady at the ball. Simon couldn't decide which set of women was the worst. The unmarried ladies were decidedly boring, the mothers were annoyingly ambitious, and the sisters— well, the sisters were so forward Simon began to wonder if he'd stumbled into a brothel. Six of them had made extremely suggestive remarks, two had slipped him notes inviting him to their boudoirs, and one



had actually run her hand down his thigh.

In retrospect, Daphne Bridgerton was starting to look very good, indeed.

And speaking of Daphne, where the hell was she? He'd thought he'd caught a glimpse of her about an hour earlier, surrounded by her rather large and forbidding brothers. (Not that Simon found them individually forbidding, but he'd quickly decided that any man would have to be an imbecile to provoke them as a group.)

But since then she seemed to have disappeared. Indeed, he thought she might have been the only unmarried female at the party to whom he hadn't been introduced.

Simon wasn't particularly worried about her being bothered by Berbrooke after he'd left them in the hall. He'd delivered a solid punch to the man's jaw and had no doubt that he'd be out for several minutes. Probably longer, considering the vast quantities of alcohol Berbrooke had consumed earlier in the evening. And even if Daphne had been foolishly tender-hearted when it came to her clumsy suitor, she wasn't stupid enough to remain in the hallway with him until he woke up.

Simon glanced back over to the corner where the Bridgerton brothers were gathered, looking as if they were having a grand old time. They had been accosted by almost as many young women and old mothers as Simon, but at least there seemed to be some safety in numbers. Simon noticed that the young debutantes, didn't seem to spend half as much time in the Bridgertons' company as they did in his.

Simon sent an irritated scowl in their direction.

Anthony, who was leaning lazily against a wall, caught the expression and smirked, raising a glass of red wine in his direction. Then he cocked his head slightly, motioning to Simon's left.

Simon turned, just in time to be detained by yet another mother, this one with a trio of daughters, all of whom were dressed in monstrously fussy frocks, replete with tucks and flounces, and of course, heaps and heaps of lace.

He thought of Daphne, with her simple sage green gown. Daphne, with her direct brown eyes and wide smile...

"Your grace!" the mother shrilled. "Your grace!" Simon blinked to clear his vision. The lace-covered family had managed to surround him with such efficiency that he wasn't even able to shoot a glare in Anthony's direction.

"Your grace," the mother repeated, "it is such an honor to make your acquaintance."

Simon managed a frosty nod. Words were quite beyond him. The family of females had pressed in so close he feared he might suffocate.

"Georgiana Huxley sent us over," the woman persisted. "She said I simply must introduce my



daughters to you."

Simon didn't remember who Georgiana Huxley was, but he thought he might like to strangle her.

"Normally I should not be so bold," the woman went on, "but your dear, dear papa was such a friend of mine."Simon stiffened."He was truly a marvelous man," she continued, her voice like nails to Simon's skull, "so conscious of his duties to the title. He must have been a marvelous father."

"I wouldn't know," Simon bit off.

"Oh!" The woman had to clear her throat several times before managing to say, "I see. Well. My goodness."

Simon said nothing, hoping an aloof demeanor would prompt her to take her leave. Damn it, where was Anthony? It was bad enough having these women acting as if he were some prize

horse to be bred, but to have to stand here and listen to this woman tell him what a good father the old duke had been...Simon couldn't possibly bear it.

"Your grace! Your grace!"

Simon forced his icy eyes back to the lady in front of him and told himself to be more patient with her. After all, she was probably only complimenting his father because she thought it was what he wanted to hear.

"I merely wanted to remind you," she said, "that we were introduced several years ago, back when you were still Clyvedon."

"Yes," Simon murmured, looking for any break in the barricade of ladies through which he might make his escape.

"These are my daughters," the woman said, motioning to the three young ladies. Two were pleasant-looking, but the third was still cloaked in baby fat and an orangey gown which did nothing for her complexion. She didn't appear to be enjoying the evening.

"Aren't they lovely?" the lady continued. "My pride and joy. And so even-tempered."

Simon had the queasy feeling that he'd heard the same words once when shopping for a dog.