The Duke and I (Bridgertons, #1)(6)

While Violet paced the room and huffed about this "hideous slight" against her family, Daphne looked up to make certain her mother wasn't paying her any attention, then let her eyes drop to peruse the rest of the scandal sheet. Whistledown —as it was now called—was a curious mix of



commentary, social news, scathing insult, and the occasional compliment. What set it apart from any previous society news sheets was that the author actually listed her subjects' names in full.

There was no hiding behind abbreviations such as Lord S------and Lady G------. If Lady

Whistledown wanted to write about someone, she used his full name. The ton declared themselves scandalized, but they were secretly fascinated.

This most recent edition was typical Whistledown. Aside from the short piece on the Bridgertons—which was really no more than a description of the family— Lady Whistledown

had recounted the events at the previous night's ball. Daphne hadn't attended, as it had been her younger sister's birthday, and the Bridgertons always made a big fuss about birthdays. And with eight children, there were a lot of birthdays to celebrate.

"You're reading that rubbish," Violet accused.

Daphne looked up, refusing to feel the least bit guilty. "It's a rather good column today.

Apparently Cecil Tumbley knocked over an entire tower of champagne glasses last night."

"Really?" Violet asked, trying not to look interested.

"Mmm-hmm," Daphne replied. "She gives quite a good account of the Middlethorpe ball.

Mentions who was talking to whom, what everyone was wearing—"

"And I suppose she felt the need to offer her opinions on that point, "Violet cut in.

Daphne smiled wickedly. "Oh, come now, Mother. You know that Mrs. Featherington has always looked dreadful in purple."

Violet tried not to smile. Daphne could see the corners of her mouth twitching as she tried to maintain the composure she deemed appropriate for a viscountess and mother. But within two seconds, she was grinning and sitting next to her daughter on the sofa. "Let me see that," she said, snatching up the paper. "What else happened? Did we miss anything important?"

Daphne said, "Really, Mother, with Lady Whistledown as a reporter, one needn't actually attend any events." She waved toward the paper. "This is almost as good as actually being there. Better, probably. I'm certain we had better food last night than they did at the ball. And give that back."

She yanked the paper back, leaving a torn corner in Violet's hands.

"Daphne!"

Daphne affected mock righteousness. "I was reading it."

"Well!"

"Listen to this." Violet leaned in. Daphne read: "The rake formerly known as Earl Clyvedon has finally seen fit to grace London with his presence. Although he has not yet deigned to make an appearance at a respectable evening function, the new Duke of Hastings has been spotted several



times at White's and once at Tattersall's. " She paused to take a breath. "His grace has resided abroad for six years. Can it be any coincidence that he has returned only now that the old duke is dead?"

Daphne looked up. "My goodness, she is blunt, isn't she? Isn't Clyvedon one of Anthony's friends?"

"He's Hastings now," Violet said automatically, "and yes, I do believe he and Anthony were friendly at Oxford. And Eton as well, I think." Her brow scrunched and her blue eyes narrowed with thought. "He was something of a hellion, if my memory serves. Always at odds with his father. But reputed to be quite brilliant. I'm fairly sure that Anthony said he took a first in mathematics. Which," she added with a maternal roll of her eyes, "is more than I can say for any of my children."

"Now, now, Mother," Daphne teased. "I'm sure I would take a first if Oxford would only see fit to admit women."

Violet snorted. "I corrected your arithmetic papers when your governess was ill, Daphne."

"Well, maybe in history, then," Daphne said with a grin. She looked back down at the paper in her hands, her eyes straying to the new duke's name. "He sounds quite interesting," she murmured.

Violet looked at her sharply. "He's quite unsuitable for a young lady of your years is what he is."

"Funny how my 'years,' as you put it, volley back and forth between being so young that I cannot even meet Anthony's friends and being so old that you despair of my ever contracting a good marriage."

"Daphne Bridgerton, I don't—"

"—like my tone, I know." Daphne grinned. "But you love me."

Violet smiled warmly and wrapped an arm around Daphne's shoulder. "Heaven help me, I do."

Daphne gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek. "It's the curse of motherhood. You're required to love us even when we vex you."

Violet just sighed. "I hope that someday you have children—"

"—just like me, I know." Daphne smiled nostalgically and rested her head on her mother's shoulder. Her mother could be overly inquisitive, and her father had been more interested in hounds and hunting than he'd been in society affairs, but theirs had been a warm marriage, filled with love, laughter, and children. "I could do a great deal worse than follow your example, Mother," she murmured.