The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(52)

vowels aside from "I'—he managed to say, "Oh?" He was pleased that his voice came out sharp and condescending.

But if the old man heard the rancor in his tone, he made no reaction to it. "I was with him when he died," Middlethorpe said.

Simon said nothing.





Daphne—bless her—leapt into the fray with a sympathetic, "My goodness."

"He asked me to pass along some messages to you. I have several letters in my house."

"Burn them."

Daphne gasped and grabbed Middlethorpe by the arm. "Oh, no, don't do that. He might not want to see them now, but surely he will change his mind in the future."

Simon blasted her with an icy glare before turning back to Middlethorpe. "I said burn them."

"I—ah—" Middlethorpe looked hopelessly confused. He must have been aware that the Basset father and son were not on good terms, but clearly the late duke had not revealed to him the true depth of the estrangement. He looked to Daphne, sensing a possible ally, and said to her, "In addition to the letters, there were things he asked me to tell him. I could tell them to him now."

But Simon had already dropped Daphne's arm and stalked outside.

"I'm so sorry," Daphne said to Middlethorpe, feeling the need to apologize for Simon's atrocious behavior. "I'm sure he doesn't mean to be rude."

Middlethorpe's expression told her that he knew Simon meant to be rude.

But Daphne still said, "He's a bit sensitive about his father."

Middlethorpe nodded. "The duke warned me he'd react this way. But he laughed as he said it, then made a joke about the Basset pride. I must confess I didn't think he was completely serious."

Daphne looked nervously through the open door to the terrace. "Apparently he was," she murmured. "I had best see to him."

Middlethorpe nodded.

"Please don't burn those letters," she said.

"I would never dream of it. But—"

Daphne had already taken a step toward the terrace door and turned around at the halting tone of the old man's voice. "What is it?"she asked.

"I'm not a well man," Middlethorpe said. "I—The doctor says it could be anytime now. May I trust the letters into your safekeeping?"

Daphne stared at the duke with a mix of shock and horror. Shock because she could not believe he would trust such personal correspondence to a young woman he'd known for barely an hour.

Horror because she knew that if she accepted them, Simon might never forgive her.



"I don't know," she said in a strained voice. "I'm not sure I'm the right person."

Middlethorpe's ancient eyes crinkled with wisdom. "I think you might be exactly the right person," he said softly. "And I believe you'll know when the time is right to give him the letters.

May I have them delivered to you?" Mutely, she nodded. She didn't know what else to do.

Middlethorpe lifted his cane and pointed it out toward the terrace. "You'd best go to him."

Daphne caught his gaze, nodded, and scurried outside. The terrace was lit by only a few wall sconces, so the night air was dim, and it was only with the aid of the moon that she saw Simon off in the corner. His stance was wide and angry, and his arms were crossed across his chest. He was facing the endless lawn that stretched out past the terrace, but Daphne sincerely doubted he saw anything aside from his own raging emotions.

She moved silently toward him, the cool breeze a welcome change from the stagnant air in the overcrowded ballroom. Light murmurs of voices drifted through the night, indicating that they were not alone on the terrace, but Daphne saw no one else in the dim light. Clearly the other guests had elected to sequester themselves in dark corners. Or maybe they had descended the steps to the garden and were sitting on the benches below.

As she walked to him, she thought about saying something like, "You were very rude to the duke," or "Why are you so angry at your father?" but in the end she decided this was not the time to probe into Simon's feelings, and so when she reached his side, she just leaned against the balustrade, and said, "I wish I could see the stars."

Simon looked at her, first with surprise, then with curiosity.

"You can never see them in London," she continued, keeping her voice purposefully light.

"Either the lights are too bright, or the fog has rolled in. Or sometimes the air is just too filthy to see through it." She shrugged and glanced back up at the sky, which was overcast. "I'd hoped that I'd be able to see them here in Hampstead Heath. But alas, the clouds do not cooperate."

There was a very long moment of silence. Then Simon cleared his throat, and asked, "Did you know that the stars are completely different in the southern hemisphere?"

Daphne hadn't realized how tense she was until she felt her entire body relax at his query.

Clearly, he was trying to force their evening back into normal patterns, and she was happy to let him. She looked at him quizzically, and said, "You're joking."

"I'm not. Look it up in any astronomy book."

"Hmmm."

"The interesting thing," Simon continued, his voice sounding less strained as he moved further into the conversation, "is that even if you're not a scholar of astronomy—and I'm not—"